His nose presses into the side of my jaw and I can feel his eyelashes brush against my skin as his eyes close. He holds the camera up in front of us, and my terrified expression is mirrored back at me. Eyes wide. I’m a deer in the headlights. But Nathan looks so natural, so like a man enjoying the feel of a woman—not his best friend. I hear him breathe in deep, and the hint of a smile touches the corner of his mouth. He’s a good actor. Before I realize it, my head is tilting into his, my eyes are closing, and my lips are curving up on their own.
He smells good.
So damn good.
I want to fill a pool with his scent so I can swim around in it all day long while sipping a margarita.
Sitting on his lap, I feel tiny. Like he could wrap his arms around me and shield me from a hurricane. So many sensations flit through my body as Nathan’s breath fans against my skin and his arm tightens around my waist. His lips don’t make any attempts at contact. He’s just hovering here in this nearness we’ve never had before, forehead and nose pressing into me like an affectionate nuzzle.
My skin is singed, and before I have time to worry that I’m letting myself enjoy his touch too much, the SUV crawls to a stop. Nathan pulls his face away from mine and cold air rushes over me. Acting complete.
“I think we got a few good ones. What do you think?” he asks with almost no emotion in his tone. Zero hints that he was feeling anything close to what I was feeling.
Still perched on his lap like this is my new throne, I take his phone and look closely at the photos. I can’t form any words because I almost can’t believe what I’m looking at. That’s not me and Nathan in this picture. This is a couple who’s head over heels for each other.
I know why I see that blissful look on my face, but why is it on his too?
I clear my throat. “Yeah. This works.”
I slide off his lap and tug at the bottom hem of my shirt, trying to put myself back in order before we leave the SUV.
The driver comes around to open our door, and just as Nathan is sliding out, my phone pings with an alert. It’s a new tagged photo notification from Instagram. Opening it, I see that Nathan already posted the photo along with a caption that reads: The only woman I want.
Nathan hops out first and holds his hand out for me to take. I look up into his eyes, trying desperately to not read too much into all of this, but already I feel my heart try to take liberties I swore I’d never allow it.
“Still with me, Bree Cheese?”
I don’t know…am I?
Nathan is holding my hand.
He’s. Holding. My. Hand.
Fingers intertwined, carry-my-backpack-on-the-way-to-science-level hand-holding. I feel a giggle bubbling in my stomach as my feet try to match his long strides into the sound stage where we are filming the commercial. It’s ridiculous. His skin is so calloused and hot. Is this what every football feels when Nathan holds it? Wonderful, now I’ll compare future men and their less-than-adequate hands to Nathan and his big primal mitts.
It’s time to get a grip on reality. That was a disorienting drive with Nathan’s face smooshed up next to mine, so naturally I’m a little off-kilter. But it’s time to center myself and prepare to be Nathan’s fake girlfriend. Emphasis on the fake, Bree. I can do this. I can hold his hand all day and not let it go to my head. Plus, I’ll probably hate being in the spotlight with him today. I’ll let the experience serve as a perfect example of why we will never be a real couple.
“You okay?” Nathan asks, feeling my spiral telepathically.
“Soooo okay.”
He smirks. He knows I’m full of crap. He turns to face me. “It might be overwhelming in there. There will be a lot of directions to follow and people who will want your attention. Just remember that they are all here for you.”