Page 87 of The Fine Art of Faking It
Davis scraped the grin off his face. “It’s kind of nice seeing you mad on my behalf for a change.”
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, poking a finger into his chest.
“Like what?” he asked innocently.
“Like you want to kiss me.”
He took a step closer to her, and Eden felt her heart climb into her throat. Anticipation twined nicely with the knowledge that she shouldnotwant Davis Gates’s mouth anywhere near her. Eden slapped a hand to his chest.
“Fluke,” she reminded him.
“Sometimes lightning strikes twice,” he countered.
“You’re just trying to get in my pants,” Eden said, annoyed that her voice was so breathless.
“They’re very nice pants.”
“Davis,” she gave a half-laugh. “We have a big problem. The entire town is counting on us organizing the best Helping Hands Festival ev—” The realization hit her like an ice cream truck on a sticky summer day. “Oh, my God! That’s it!”
“What’s it?” Davis asked, bringing her hand to his mouth so he could brush kisses over her knuckles.
“We’re going to get into a huge fight at HeHa and break up!” It was so poetically perfect. “Think about it. This all started for us when you stood me up for the dance. The B.C. is counting on us spending this time together and falling deeply in love. Butwe,” she poked him in the shoulder, “are going to make sure history repeats itself.”
Davis was looking slightly less lusty and a little more nauseated. “Run this by me again?”
“We’re going to stage the most spectacular breakup in the history of Blue Moon during HeHa. They’ll be talking about it for years to come! This is perfect!” In celebration, she launched herself at Davis and kissed him square on the mouth.
“Is it weird that I get turned on by how turned on you are by revenge?” he mumbled under her lips’ advances.
“Not weird. Revenge is hot. Keep kissing,” she ordered.
“Wait.” He gripped her by the shoulders and held her back a step. “Does this mean we’re still dating?”
“Fake dating,” she reminded him.
“Good enough,” Davis said, drawing her back in. His mouth quickly devoured hers. Eden felt her knees go weak.
“I think we’re going to fluke again,” she whispered into his mouth.
“Thank God.”
“My parents left for their Thanksgiving trip,” Eden said, sliding her hands under Davis’s jacket. “Their house is a block from here.”
* * *
Only Nedand Lilly Ann would forget to lock their front door before leaving for a week-long trip. Eden pushed open the front door and picked up the stack of catalogues under the mail slot. “Welcome to Casa de Moody,” she said, flipping the switch for the overhead disco ball her parents used to light the small living room.
It was a cramped space made even smaller by the two full-sized couches and throne-like wingback chair in pink velvet her mother insisted they needed “for company.” The last time her parents entertained had been Eden’s fourteenth birthday.
There were bookshelves crammed full of books, trinkets, and family photos behind every oversized piece of furniture. One shelf partially blocked the large bay window. The carpet was orange shag. The table lamps were draped with pink gauze for mood lighting.
“Wow,” Davis said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I’m surprised I didn’t burst into flames walking in the door.”
“They must have deactivated the Gates deterrent system,” Eden teased. She took his hand and slid his coat off of his shoulders. “Now, where were we?”
“I believe I had my tongue down your throat like a teenager,” Davis recalled.
“You’re a funny guy, Gates.”
