You only fake-smiled twice last night. New record. -R
He was counting. During dinner last night with my entire family, while talking to my dad about hockey and charming my mom and pretending to be my boyfriend, he was counting how many times I faked a smile.
I should throw it away. It’s just Rodriguez being Rodriguez, observant in that way that makes me slightly uncomfortable because I’m not used to being seen like that. Not really.
“You almost ready to go?” Rodriguez calls through the bathroom door. “Bus leaves in like fifteen.”
“Almost.”
The blue scarf is still sitting on the counter where I left it this morning. I told myself I wasn’t going to wear it. That accepting giftsfrom him is crossing some invisible line I’d drawn to keep this whole thing manageable.
But it’s February in Toronto and the scarf goes with my coat and I’m being practical.
Which is the excuse I give myself as I wrap it around my neck.
Rodriguez is waiting by the door in one of the shirts he bought this morning. His eyes go straight to the scarf and he grins down at me.
“Looks great,” he says.
“It’s cold.”
“Yep. Cold.” He’s smiling like he knows exactly why I’m wearing it and it has nothing to do with the temperature. “Very practical choice.”
“I can take it off if you want to keep making a big deal about it. Is that what you want?”
“Absolutely not.”
The bus isa medium sized charter with seats that face each other in some rows. My parents are already sitting in the front. Olivia and Owen are right behind them, and three rows back, Garrett and Melissa.
She’s in a white puffer coat that probably has a designer label hidden somewhere, blonde hair perfect even though I’m completely windblown. She looks up when we board and gives me a tight smile before immediately leaning toward Garrett and whispering something in his ear.
Rodriguez’s hand settles on my lower back as we move down the aisle. The kind of casual touch that a boyfriend would do without even thinking about it.
We slide into seats near the middle. Rodriguez takes the window, pulling me in next to him. His arm goes across the back of my seatimmediately, his fingers finding the ends of my hair where it falls over my shoulder.
“Cozy bus,” he says, loud enough for nearby rows to hear.
Then quieter, just to me, “Garrett’s been watching since we got on.”
“I know.”
“Want me to turn it up?”
I should say no. Should tell him to keep it subtle, keep it believable. Instead I hear myself say, “Do what you need to do.”
He leans in and presses a kiss to my temple. Brief but deliberate, and when he pulls back slightly, he doesn’t move far. His nose stays pressed into my hair and I can feel his breath there.
The spot where he kissed stays warm even after his lips leave. That weird pleasant sensation that makes me want to tilt my head closer even though I absolutely should not.
“Too much?” he murmurs against my hair.
“No. That’s fine.” Goosebumps rise along my arms even though I’m bundled in a sweater, scarf, and winter coat.
His arm settles heavier around my shoulders, and his fingers go back to playing with the ends of my hair. Just small movements, twirling strands between his fingers, barely noticeable to anyone watching. But I can feel every single one.
“Good. Because he’s still watching and I want to make sure he knows you’re very taken.”
The bus lurches forward and conversations overlap around us. My dad’s voice carries from the front, something about the Leafs’ defense. My mom is showing photos to Owen’s mom. Olivia keeps turning around to check on everyone, making sure we’re all entertained.
