Fake Skating(72)

“And the rest is history?” she asked.

“Pretty much,” I said, because it’d almost felt that simple.

She had a million questions about hockey, which I fucking loved, and I was laughing my ass off when she pulled out her phone and proceeded to take notes—crease is half circle in front of goal—so she could “keep it all straight.”

“Have I told you that you have nice legs, Collins?” I asked as we walked out of the restaurant, because, according to Dani, we still had some book shopping to do.

“I don’t think you have,” she said, biting down on that gorgeous fucking lower lip like she was trying not to smile.

“Am I allowed?” I asked as I reached for her hand.

She had a little crinkle in her forehead when I asked that, which served as the perfect reminder.

“You know,” I said with a shrug. “Public space and all. A lot of people from school hang out here.”

“Okay, yeah,” she said, her smile relaxed as she looked at me out of the corner of her eye.

And suddenly, I felt daring. Hungry.

“Then let me just say you have amazing legs.”

Her eyebrow lifted. Had I crossed a line?

Could I help it anymore?

But I was saved by a group of girls from my calc class who stepped off the escalator that very second. Yes. I nodded in their direction so Dani could see them.

“Showtime,” I said, lowering my voice and yanking her a little closer. “Am I also allowed to say you have a great ass?”

“No,” she said, but a shy smile curved her lips and her cheeks went pink.

God, what is happening to me? I needed to take a step back.

“Fine, fine,” I said, holding up my free hand in a gesture of innocence. “I won’t tell you that you have an amazing ass that I steal peeks at all the fucking time.”

“Stop,” she said, still smiling, and suddenly it didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter that we were pretending, because the honest-to-God truth was that I was on the best date I’d ever had in my entire life.

I was so screwed.





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE Dani




“I’m picking out a book for you this time, Collins.”

“Okay,” I agreed, because I was curious to see what he’d choose.

“But don’t even look toward romance,” he said, pulling me further into the store. “We’re going to history.”

“You’re not going to make me read nonfiction, are you?” I asked, thinking for the hundredth time since I’d shown up at the Rainforest Cafe that he looked insanely handsome.

Those glasses, that shirt—he was almost too pretty to look at.

“You’re going to Harvard next year—you can handle it.”

I kind of wished he hadn’t brought that up. I was still working my ass off because I refused to give up, but the not knowing weighed on me. I’d wanted to go there for so long that it felt like if I didn’t get in, I wouldn’t even know who I was anymore.

Which was weird, especially when I didn’t even know specificallywhat I wanted to study, but I’d made it my entire identity, so failure wasn’t an option.

“I didn’t say I can’t handle it,” I said. “I just like escapism.”

“But books about history are interesting enough that they often feel like fiction,” he said. “Come on.”

“Says you.”

“That’s right says me,” he said, tugging on my arm a little.

God.

When he used that teasing voice and literally pulled me around, it messed with my head.

Because most of the time, Alec was Zeus, the cocky smart-ass who spoke in sarcasm and kept me at a distance. He was the guy who’d ghosted me, the guy I tolerated for the sake of our mutually beneficial ruse.

But sometimes his hockey-god mask slipped a little, and I got a glimpse of someone who reminded me a lot of the boy I used to know.

And it gave me whiplash.

Who had I kissed? Was it Zeus the Untrustable, or Alec?

He led me over to the history section and proceeded to behave like a professor, familiar with nearly every topic on the shelves. He walked around, pulling out hardcovers and paperbacks like he spent every weekend shopping at Barnes & Noble, and it was a little tooattractive.

A hockey player with glasses and a big fat brain?

A girl could faint from that shit.

“I’m impressed, Barczewski,” I said, because I sowas.

“And you thought I was a stupid jock who can’t read,” he said.

“Yeah, now I just think you’re a stupid jock,” I teased.

“You do not, don’t lie, Collins,” he said with a wink.

A wink that did things to my stomach.

Knock it off!

“Do you know how badly I wanted to punch you in the face when you winked at me during my first speech class?”

“What?” He coughed out a surprised laugh. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” I said, still a little outraged as I remembered. “After pretending you didn’t know me the day before and then walking around school like an obnoxious jerk, you had the gall to look down at me and wink. You’re lucky you didn’t get your face scratched off.”