Page 54 of Kiss the Girl
“Then you can’t have my snacks.”
“All right, no detention. What are we playing tonight?”
We played Settlers of Catan over Grace’s objection of it being deeply nerdy, and Brooke dropped the subject of our fake dating.
We only had to keep up the act for the next few Saturday mornings in front of her dad and the boys. But it made me wish that we had more reasons to keep it up, because I liked how we were together. By the second Saturday, we had the boys doing some obnoxious hooting and catcalling when DeShawn asked point-blank again if we were dating, and I told him it was none of his business but dropped a kiss on Grace’s cheek.
Grace did a good job. An excellent job. She brushed against me often, sliding her arm around my waist casually and tucking herself against my side, where her head nestled perfectly beneath my shoulder. Or she’d brush my hair out of my eyes sometimes, even though I kept it too short to get in my way, like she was looking for an excuse to touch me. Other times, I’d catch her giving me long looks, even when no one else was paying attention to us.
I wished we weren’t faking.
There was something about Grace and the way you had to win a smile from her like it meant something. About the way she smelled like vanilla. About how she was patient with the boys. How she fussed after her dad. How she didn’t wear much makeup, but her hazel eyes always looked bright, and how her hair was so soft that I was always making up excuses to touch it, tucking in strays from her ponytails or messy buns.
It was torture, and I was thirstier for it with every single Saturday.
On the third Saturday, her mom came out midway through our booth-building session carrying a platter of donuts. Mr. Winters saw her and ducked his head but grinned.
I looked at Grace who shook her head at me, but she was smiling.
“Boys, gather in for a minute,” Mrs. Winters ordered. “Now, most of you probably don’t know this, but Mr. Winters here was diagnosed with cancer last year. Stage 3, which isn’t great. But he’s tough like Bulldog football, which he played, same as you boys. And he stuck it out, took a risk on a drug trial, and it paid off. We officially heard from the doctor on Thursday morning: Mr. Winters is cancer-free, and we’re celebrating with donuts!”
I looked over at Grace, and she grinned at me. I swooped her up and spun her. “That’s awesome! Congrats, Mr. Winters,” I called over her head.
“Thanks, son,” he said, smiling.
“The spin hug is a nice touch. You’re really selling this,” Grace said low enough that only I could hear her.
“That wasn’t a show,” I answered. “I’m just happy for you guys.”
Her big grin softened into a different kind of smile for a second—an almost intimate one—before she stepped out of my arms and went to help her mom distribute donuts.
Brooke had us over for game night the following week, and I found that Thursday nights and Saturday mornings were becoming my favorite parts of the whole week. There was no point in lying to myself about how much I liked Grace when every nerve-ending in my body lit up when she was around.
But for the sake of our friendship, I kept it to myself, and I didn’t get into it with Brooke, either. Every now and then at lunch, she’d ask how the fake dating thing was going, but I dodged the question like I was in a heavyweight boxing match.
The next game night turned out to be another exercise in Brooke’s version of “subtlety.”
“Hey,” she said, ushering me into the living room where Grace was already curled up on the sofa with a bowl of popcorn in her lap. I plunked down on the other end of the sofa and stole the bowl from her.
“Hey!” she objected.
“Should’ve eaten faster,” I said around a mouthful of popcorn. “Wait, is this my recipe?”
“Yeah. And I might have told it to Tabitha, so you can look forward to it being on the Food Channel someday.”
“You stole my secret family recipe. We’re in a blood feud now,” I informed her.
She gave me a lazy kick. “Gimme back the popcorn.”
“Shots fired,” I said. “Now you’re going to have to wait in terror for a surprise revenge noogie.”
“A noogie?” Brooke asked with disgust. “Are you five?”
“No, but Evie is, and I spend a lot of time on her level. What are we playing tonight?” I asked.
“A movie,” she said.
“Tired of losing all the time?” Grace asked.
