Page 12 of Fake Dating the Dragon
Asher hums to himself, smiling, “A medium French Vanilla latte with oat milk and extra whipped cream.”
“What are you insinuating, plain with two sugars?” I toss back.
He slams his palm into his chest, feigning a direct hit. “Nothing.” He lifts his cup, “I guess it feels like something I should commit to memory. Since I’m your boyfriend and all.”
Oh.
I’m suddenly grateful for the weather and the ability to hide the blush on my cheeks. There it is. Hearing Asher refer to himself as my boyfriend is different from reading it in a text. This is really happening.
“You’re right.” I stumble over my words, lifting the cup to my lips and finishing the dregs of my latte while trying not to let my feet follow suit. “That is something you would know as my boyfriend.”
Asher shakes his cup, signaling its empty, then holds out his hand, taking mine. “Are you finished?”
I nod and hand him mine.
It’s a marvel to see him jog up the dirt path, tossing our drinks into the trash before returning to me and holding out an open palm.
“Here.” He mutters, barely audible, squeezing his hand. “I figured we’d practice.”
“Are you asking to hold my hand?” I tease, trying to keep my heart from beating clean out of my chest.
“Unless you don’t feel comfortable.” Asher begins to pull his hand back.
“No, I want to.”
I clasp it, his skin warm against my palm. There’s the furnace again. He moves to my side, threading our fingers together and giving my hand a squeeze. I’m not sure if the gesture is for my benefit or if it’s some signal I’m not picking up on, but I give him one in response, which earns me a smile.
“Holding hands in public. Check. What about other forms of PDA?”
The question makes me blush. “I think gentle consensual touches are alright.” I lower my voice a little, “I’m also okay with kissing in front of the family. Not a full-on makeout session, but you know, PG or PG-13 kisses.”
Asher flexes his hand, “Kissing is fine with me too.” He lets our hands swing between us. “Okay, we have boundaries. What is our backstory?”
“Right. Boyfriend,” I repeat mostly to myself. “How far do your tabletop backstories usually go?”
Asher’s attention snags on something off in the distance and he quirks his brow, “How much time do you have?”
“My schedule is pretty much clear for the day, why?”
“I would say ice skating in Harrington Park would be pretty solid for a first date.” He smiles, nodding towards the large seasonal installation.
SEVEN
Asher
It’s beenyears since I’ve stood in line for ice skate rentals. I spent a good chunk of weekends from middle school all the way through high school practicing at the Madison Events Center, secretly hoping there would be a scout in the bleachers and I’d get picked to play professionally for some college team. Turns out there was a scout in the audience for a few of those games, but I sucked big time.
Even with my dream dashed, I’m getting a pang of nostalgia being in proximity to the rink. With the sound of the dull blades clacking against the ice, the odd, almost chemical smell from the Zamboni, and the way the temperature drops as soon as you walk through the gate. Skating always felt a lot like flying, and something I can do without the risk of exposure.
It’s why when I noticed the ice skating rink was finally open for the season, I jumped at the chance to take her.
We’ve been texting each other back and forth since the agreement, sometimes spending most of the night sending each other videos, which I’ve learned is something she loves to do.Which is why I’ve started looking for specific ones to send her to get a positive response.
My social media algorithm has morphed into an amalgam of cute animals, wholesome videos and illustrations, which feature even more cute animals saying clever phrases. I knew I was a goner the moment I nearly sent her a photo of two cats cuddling with the text caption “us.” Nearly. It’s good to know I still have some wits about me.
Don’t get me wrong, I would send her a thousand cat photos, but I need to remind myself this is a fake relationship. I need to keep myself from getting too invested. We are playing a part. Soulmate or not.
“Which ones do we need?” She asks, pressing close to my side to get a good look at the rental skates.
