Page 32 of Lessons in Faking
I swear my eyes lit up, and I didn’t know exactly why or how. I just knew not beingthe other onefelt great. And secretly, I think that’s why he had said it. Not that he’d ever admit it. “Behind you,” he added.
I didn’t understand at first, but it clicked when someone hammered against the door. McCarthy locked it in one swift motion, leaving the part of me he’d previously touched cold and empty.
“Athalia!” Henry sounded angry, and I flinched at the hiss in his voice, pressing myself against the door harder just to make sure he couldn’t get in. My eyes were still fixed on McCarthy’s, now merely inches from mine, and I blinked slowly, unsure what to do.
“Quick thinking,” I admitted, voice thin, trying to relax into the situation. Unfortunately, my body wasn’t ready to calm down—he was too close. Looking down at me, his hot breath tickling my nose.
“And the rest is up to his imagination, I guess,” McCarthy said.
I’d rather not have my brother imagining any of that, but that was the point, right? Henry didn’t know we were just standing still, locked in place. Or that this was the closest we’d ever been to each other.
“Can you believe this shit?” Henry’s voice came from outside, the complaint challenged by someone whose calmer response wasn’t as easy to hear. Henry scoffed. “No, Reuben, I can’t just—” He cut himself off with an exaggerated groan.
Couldn’t care lessmy ass.
“Athalia!” It echoed again.
When I looked up, the lack of distance between McCarthy and me forced a sharp intake of breath. Had he always been this close or was I just losing my mind?
The smirk on his lips. The knowing snicker he let out... I sighed. “Shut up.”
“What?” He laughed low, defensively. His hands shot up to display his innocence, and it brought a bit of distancebetween us. “That’s all you, Princess. It’s not my fault you get nervous.”
“I’m not.” My answer came too quickly, though. Felt too forced. “I don’t. You don’t affect me at all, McCarthy.” But I was laying it on way too thick.Great.
I wish I could blame it on the alcohol, but a cup of cheap wine didn’t make me blush and stutter, and it certainly didn’t make me look so stupid.
“I don’t?” he pouted, and I jerked slightly when his finger trailed up my arm playfully, proving the opposite of everything I’d just said to him. “What’s all this, then?” Goose bumps trailed his touch. God, someone take me out of my misery.Please.
It’s just that I wasn’t quite sure I’d want to be anywhere else.
“You have to get used to being this close to me, Pressley.” His gaze shifted to follow the trace of his finger, all the way to my collarbones. Heat climbed into my cheeks.
I swear I didn’t want my head to turn. Granting him more access wasn’t a conscious decision. When he spoke, a shiver ran up my spine. “You can’t get nervous with every little touch.”
Again, I meant to deny the accusation. “I don’t—” But I cut myself off when he gently hooked his finger under my chin, tilting it upward to connect our eyes. Our lips almost did too. I couldn’t ignore how close they were.
“Relax,” he said, his voice dark and rough like I’d never heard it before. He sounded... strangled, focused, intent on catching every reaction on my face. So there wasabsolutely no way he hadn’t seen me look at his lips. “I’m yourboyfriend, remember? If you want this to be convincing, you have to seem used to this.” His mouth moved right to my ear before he whispered, “To my hands all over you. My lips on your skin.”
It sounded like a promise. One he seemed desperate to keep when his breath stuttered and his mouth moved—
“Athalia!”
Fuck.
Henry’s shouting brought me back to this reality. Pretty sure I’d temporarily entered one where I wouldn’t have minded McCarthy to go on with whatever he’d been about to do. I almost wanted to curse Henry more than I wanted to get back there.Almost.
My head fell against the wooden door in defeat.
“I know what you’re doing, Athalia!”
That caught my attention. My eyes widened—no, I’m pretty sure they doubled in size. McCarthy, of course, seemed as cool, calm, and collected as always. He moved the finger beneath my chin to my lips, silently shushing me. I found myself surprisingly unsurprised that it did.
And he was right. Right? Henry couldn’t possibly know. If he did, he wouldn’t be furiously hammering against the door. He wasn’t good enough at reading people—not good enough at readingme. Right?
“You’re fucking pathetic for this, Athalia. Seriously,” came his voice from the other side of the door. “My expectations for you were low, but holy fuck,McCarthy?”
Oh.
