Page 96 of Pretender

“Like what?” he asks, licking the corner of his mouth and I follow the movement wondering if I’ll ever look at his mouth again without getting this throbbing between my legs. The memory of his lips at the engagement party, and that incredibly vivid fever dream, stay with me.

“Hmm, let’s do rapid-fire questions,” I suggest to distract myself. “Just for fun. Preparation for the wedding.” I shrug.

He puts down his baguette, and brushes crumbs off his hands over the plate before he turns to me.

“Fire away.”

“Favourite sport?”

“That’s your first question?”

“Just play along,” I say, nudging his leg with my foot, and he laughs, flashing me that smile that brightens his entire face.

“Alright. Football.”

“Cats or dogs?”

“Trees.”

“Nice one. Sunset or sunrise?”

“Sunrise.”

“Favourite drink?”

“Aperol Spritz.”

I grin because I knew that.

“Will’s in particular,” he adds and I nod in agreement.

“Best dinner?”

“Mum’s beef ravioli.”

“Best friend?”

“Mark.”

“Um, first fuck?” My ears burn hard under my hair.

“Mark.”

“Wha—”

He laughs hard, his eyes crinkling, and I gape at him.

“No, her name is Fiona. I was eighteen and crushing hard.”

Huh, older than I would’ve guessed.

“Okay, lost momentum there a bit. I’ll do two quick ones to get back into it.”

He nods, smirking at me.

“Best fruit?”

“Orange.”