Page 91 of Play Along With Me
This makes her laugh, the sound warming something in my chest. "What a sales pitch we're making for ourselves. 'Dateme: I'm a highly functioning disaster with questionable life choices!'"
"Honesty in advertising," I shrug. "No false pretenses."
"Unlike our initial arrangement," she points out.
"Which worked out pretty well, all things considered," I counter.
Audrey's smile turns thoughtful. "It did, didn't it? Maybe we needed the pretense to get past the initial awkwardness. A relationship with training wheels."
"And now?" I ask.
"Now we take the training wheels off," she says. "See if we can balance on our own."
The metaphor is apt—there's excitement in moving forward without the safety net of our fake relationship justifying every interaction, but also a new kind of vulnerability.
"Starting now?" I ask.
"Why not?" she challenges. "Though I should warn you, real Audrey is even more of a handful than fake girlfriend Audrey. Less filtered, more chaotic."
"Okay," I tell her, finding I genuinely mean it. "I like real Audrey. What I've seen of her so far is... compelling."
"Compelling," she repeats, testing the word. "That's a new one. I've been called funny, weird, too much, not enough, but never compelling."
"You are," I insist. "Compelling. Intriguing. Magnetic."
"Now you're just showing off your vocabulary," she accuses, but her pleased expression belies the complaint.
"Is it working?" I ask, only half-joking.
"Embarrassingly well," she admits. "Turns out I'm a sucker for articulate hockey players with good hair and a tendency toward genuine compliments. Who knew?"
I can't help but smile at her admission, finding her honesty as refreshing as everything else about her. The restaurant has quieted around us, the pianist switching to slower, more intimate melodies that seem to match the shift in our conversation. The soft lighting casts Audrey's face in a warm glow that makes her eyes look even more remarkable—that changeable blue-green that can't quite decide what color it wants to be.
I find myself leaning closer, studying the details I haven't allowed myself to fully appreciate until now. The constellation of freckles across her nose, barely visible but charming. The way her eyes crinkle slightly at the corners when she smiles. The small scar near her right eyebrow that I want to ask about but don't want to interrupt this moment to do so.
My gaze drifts to her lips, soft and slightly parted, a hint of lip gloss still visible despite dinner. She notices the direction of my attention, and I hear her slight inhale, see the almost imperceptible widening of her pupils.
"Audrey," I say, my voice coming out lower than intended.
"Yes?" she responds, equally quiet, as if we're sharing secrets even though we're alone at the table.
"What would happen if I asked to kiss you right now?"
The directness of my question surprises even me, but something about Audrey inspires honesty rather than the usual careful dance of dating.
She doesn't look away or deflect with humor as I half-expected. Instead, she holds my gaze steadily, a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth.
"I think," she says slowly, deliberately, "that depends on whether you're asking hypothetically or actually asking."
"Actually asking," I clarify, my heart beating faster than it does before playoff games.
She pretends to consider this seriously, though the flush creeping up her neck gives away her affected casualness. "Well, in that case, I would probably point out that we're in a public restaurant where your parents were sitting approximately ten minutes ago, which isn't exactly the most romantic setting for a first kiss."
My heart sinks slightly until she continues.
"And then," she adds, her voice dropping to nearly a whisper, "I would say yes anyway, because I've been thinking about it since you brushed my hair back earlier, and I'm not particularly good at delayed gratification."
The admission sends heat coursing through me. I reach out, my hand cupping her cheek gently. Her skin is soft beneath my palm, warm with her blush. Her eyes flutter closed briefly at the touch, another small inhale escaping her.
