Page 27 of Crushes to WHAT

Not what I was going for, but… goodness, she looks so excited.

Chapter Fourteen

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She really is cute when she’s excited.

Almond

Emerson freezes just long enough for me to second guess myself, then, conspiratorily, he grins. “Do you want to fake date me, Almond?”

“Are you kidding?” I squawk, trying to keep my voice down. “I’ve always wanted to fake date someone! This is so fun. So intrigue!” I gasp, duck my head an inch closer, and whisper, “Why do you need a fake girlfriend? What’s the inciting incident for this?”

He tilts his head, and his forehead bumps mine. “I don’t need a fake girlfriend,” he replies.

My excitement dissipates. “You… don’t?” That doesn’t make any sense. If he doesn’t need a fake girlfriend, then why would he tell his sister we’re dating?

He shakes his head, and a tendril of hair escapes from his topknot to swish against my temple. “I don’t need one,” he repeats slowly, swirls of chestnut dancing around his pupils. The dancing stops, and he says decidedly, “I want a fake girlfriend, and I want her to be you.”

“Ah,” I breathe, clarity returning. This makes sense to me. Even with my mildly debilitating crush on him, I’m still the most likely candidate in town to go along with a fake dating scheme. Well, Poem probably would have if she weren’t engaged… and possibly Leora, but I have doubts about that, since she was so weird about a little bit of kidnapping. Regardless, of the three who would probably jump aboard the Scheme Express, I’m the only one available, and Emerson blessedly doesn’t mind putting up with my lack of social grace regarding him.

“Are you okay with this?” he asks, slowly disengaging from our huddle to assess my face as I answer. “You mind being known as Emerson Wright’s girl?”

One hundred percent, and not even a little.

“I could be known as Emerson Wright’s girl,” I wheeze, so chill, as I return to my side of the booth. In my excitement, I’d forgotten who I was talking to.

I’m certainly reminded now.

His deep brown eyes bore into mine, intense and soft and focused and seriously freaking hot. His eyelids lower in response to my words, and his breathing shallows. One could surmise that he likes my acquiescence to being called his girl.

To calm the puttering of my heart, I focus on the mechanics of our schemy scheme instead of who I’m schemy scheming with—and how scrumptious he looks when he’s got his I’m going to devour you and you’re going to like it face on.

Dating Emerson, fake or not, is sure to send my head spinning and keep it in a loop. I can’t think straight in his presence when he isn’t right there telling everyone we’re together. When he is is going to be a test of my endurance as a girlie pop tackling life’s hardest trial: staying cool when your crush is right there telling everyone you’re together. “What are your expectations for me?”

He shrugs, a lazy shift of his shoulder. “Be yourself.”

My nose scrunches. How inspirational poster. “I don’t think that plan is the best plan.”

He disagrees. “I’ll handle anything that needs handled. You just be you, cute and enamored, and it’ll all work out. You can follow my lead.”

It goes without saying, I’d follow him anywhere. It also goes without saying that I will be ignoring him calling me enamored or any implications that has regarding him being aware that I am often in such a state.

“I can follow your lead,” I say slowly. “And I can definitely be cute, but…can you tell me what the goal is? Or is that another thing you want to watch me figure out?” I’m not complaining either way. It might actually be more fun if I have to put the pieces together all by myself. I’ve enjoyed our game thus far.

The chance to see the inner workings of Emerson’s brain, however, tempts me. I get why he’d choose me, but why does he want to choose anyone in the first place? What’s going on in his life that he believes the best solution is to resort to fake dating? I’m loath to admit it, but he could just as easily get a real girlfriend. I’m glad he didn’t, because I don’t relish the thought of the downward spiral that would send me into, but I can’t ignore the fact that the option is right there for him.

Emerson picks at a fry thoughtfully. “The goal is to be happy,” he says finally. “And I feel happy with you.”

My spirit disconnects from my body, zips around the bar, and ascends to the heavens. I go on without her—barely. “I make you happy?”

“Exceedingly,” he replies without hesitation. “And I’d like for that to continue. It’s all a ruse, you see—the renovation, the dating. The real and the fake. All so that I can be closer to you, who makes me happy.”

I frown despite the pleasant avalanche his words set off in my stomach. “Has someone been making you feel unhappy?” Besides the people treating him like a monster because he dares to be the size that he is and exist in their proximity, I mean. Someone who would be affected by him getting a girlfriend, prodding this mysterious foe to leave him alone about it. He mentioned his mother wants grandchildren. Is that it?

I glance at his sister and catch her skeptical glare. Would Eris have been bothering him about his relationship status? She’s never seemed like the type to care, and it’s not like she’s got a partner either, but she’s been acting weird lately, so maybe?

Emerson sighs. He runs a hand over his beard, and the heat in his eyes dissipates as a line forms between his eyebrows.