Page 79 of Faking the Goal

"Oh, excuse me, Mr. Brooding-Seinen-Elitist. Some of us enjoy a good love story. I may not look like it, but I'm a hopeless romantic." She lifts the manga again. "I eat this shit up."

That, I wouldn't have guessed.

Taylor Lewis—the woman who treats flirting like a competitive sport, and has never struck me as particularly sentimental about anything—is apparently sitting across from me getting heart eyes over a romance manga.

Somehow, it fits her more than I would've expected.

"What?" she asks, catching me looking.

"Nothing."

She gives me a suspicious squint before disappearing behind her book again.

We eventually go back to our books, and for a while the lounge settles into silence again, except Taylor apparently isn't capable of reading quietly when she's enjoying something this much. Every few minutes, I hear another muffled giggle from across the table, and when I glance over, she's either grinning down at the page or kicking her sock-covered feet against the sofa like she physically can't contain whatever the hell is happening in that book.

It's cute.

Adorable, even.

And for some reason, I find myself fascinated by it. Then again, lately I seem to find almost everything she does fascinating, even the things that mildly annoy the shit out of me.

Damn it.

I can't be attracted to her.

No. That's fucking impossible.

I probably just find her existence more tolerable now. Yeah. That's it.

Then Taylor bites her lower lip.

My eyes fix on it before I can stop them, watching her teeth sink lightly into the soft flesh as she tries to hold back another smile. She releases it a second later, leaving it slightly pink where she'd bitten down, and something about the sight makes my mouth go dry.

Fuck, it looks tempting.

Soft enough that I can almost imagine what it would feel like beneath mine, and the longer I stare, the worse it gets. I start wondering what she'd taste like. What sound she'd make if I kissed her. How long it would take before one kiss wasn't fucking enough.

Suddenly, wanting to kiss her doesn't feel like some passing thought. It feels like hunger, sharp and restless, settling somewhere deep inside me and demanding to be fed.

Fuck.

Heat gathers low in my body before I can shut any of it down, and I shift in my seat, shaking my head as I force my attention back onto the manga.

Absolutely fucking not.

I am not getting turned on because Taylor Lewis bit her fucking lip.

Get a grip, Kentaro.

I stare harder at the page, but the words might as well be written backward because my brain has apparently abandoned reading in favor of imagining what would happen if I crossed the space between us and kissed her.

And not some quick, harmless kiss either.

No, apparently my traitorous imagination wants to kiss her until I forget why I ever thought it was a bad idea. Until I've had my fill of that mouth and then gone back for more because somehow it still isn't enough.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Think about something else.