Faker - Sarah Smith Page 0,70
kid. I hate it when people try to pull me out of my comfort zone. I’d rather quietly work things out on my own.”
“I can respect that. There’s something more though. I can feel it.”
He sighs. “It’s made dating and relationships difficult. I’m not an easy guy to be with. It took me a while to figure out why.”
“My money’s on your introvert personality.”
His half smile reappears. “Bingo. The women I’ve dated hate that I don’t open up about everything right away, that I’m so reserved. I’ve tried forcing myself to be open, but it’s always ended in disaster. It always felt so rushed, unnatural. It led to arguments, resentment, strain. Eventually, we’d break up because they couldn’t handle my personality long term.”
He reaches for my hand and laces his fingers with mine.
“With you it’s different. Comfortable. You set me at ease.” He points between us, then pauses to swallow. “I don’t want to mess up by jumping into things too fast. I’ve made that mistake too many times before. I don’t want to lose you too.”
There’s a tiny fireworks show happening in the middle of my chest, like a rainbow with every color in the world surging through my body. Tate is the champion of making me feel things I’ve never felt before.
“What if I said that tonight was a date?”
I bite back a smile. “Then I would say it too.”
“And what if I said I wanted to date you, but still take things slow? Would you be up for that?”
I’ve done the normal jumping-in-too-fast routine with exes, and it’s always failed. This time with Tate, I want to do things differently.
“I can do slow,” I say.
Relief seems to be the undercurrent of the lips-only smile he flashes me.
A single doubt lingers in my head. “The stakes are pretty high though, don’t you think? Even if we’re careful and do everything perfectly, there’s still a chance it won’t work out. If that happens, we’ll have to work together in the aftermath. Hurt feelings, failed expectations. It won’t be pretty. It might even be worse than it was before. Doesn’t that worry you?”
No frown or grimace like I expect. Instead, he flashes the easiest, most relaxed smile. “You’re worth the risk.”
With my eyes still on him, I feel for the door handle. I need to steady myself after praise of that caliber. He grabs me for one more kiss. It mimics the filthy kisses we shared in this car just minutes ago, but this time it’s slower, charged with more emotion.
“I don’t plan on failing,” he says through a grunt. “Do you?”
I run my hand against his stubbly cheek. “No way.”
I step out of his car on wobbly legs. He waits until I’m inside before he pulls out of the driveway. Sleep will be impossible tonight, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that Tate Rasmussen and I are dating. I couldn’t be happier.
* * *
• • •
RAINBOW SPRINKLES ARE the only thing I see. They dot my kitchen counter, the bowl of cream cheese frosting, the floor. Bits are even nestled in my hair. Tonight I’m baking Funfetti cupcakes to surprise Tate after his Wednesday evening rock climbing session. A dating-appropriate activity, if I’ve ever known one.
It’s been a handful of days since our first date. Almost three weeks since our very first kiss. A few flirty words, cheesy grins, and prolonged stares are exchanged at work, but that’s it. I’m still recovering from surgery and the car contortion session, and we shouldn’t tempt ourselves. Sugar temptation, though? Totally acceptable if, due to health reasons, you’re trying to avoid sex with your broody coworker-turned-dating-interest.
While I frost the last cupcake, I wonder how Tate’s cake looked on the day of his favorite birthday, and if these cupcakes are anywhere close to satisfactory. Would this beautiful, health-conscious man even allow himself the indulgence?
With my index finger, I swipe a lump of the frosting from the bowl. Under the sunlight filtering through the nearby window, it glistens. Just like Tate. I pop it in my mouth, taking my time licking it off. My cheeks heat. It’s perverse what I’m doing, allowing his childhood memory to fuel this naughty moment.
I load them into a plastic container, zip to my car, and drive to the rock climbing gym. When I spot his trademark gray sedan, I park a few spots away, walk over, and try the doors. They’re all locked. I sigh. Of course. I set the container on the roof of his car