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I nod let's go, close my eyes, and listen to the two performances.
The first is technically capable, but it lacks a certain flow.
The second misses a note or two, but it just feels right. It's personal and honest the way the first isn't.
"The second," I say.
He smiles. "So you like my performance?"
Did I really hit all those notes? And fail to bring the emotion? "You picked mine."
"That's a draw," he says. "So I'll agree, but you have to honor my conditions."
Conditions. So he's going to say yes. "Anything." I admit it. I'm desperate.
"Really? What if I say we have to fuck like a couple?"
"You wouldn't." It doesn't sound that bad at the moment, to be honest. It sounds really hot, actually. There's something about seeing him lost in the music that releases all my defenses and sends blood racing south.
"No. I wouldn't." His voice gets serious. "I want to clear it with Daphne."
"Sure. Of course."
"She needs to know this is fake," he says. "I don't want her thinking I took advantage of her best friend."
"I don't want her thinking I fucked her brother."
"Perfect. Then we have a deal." He offers his hand.
I shake. "Can we start now?"
"I'm ready when you are."
"We need to kiss." If we're fake dating, we need to kiss. "We need to practice that. To make sure we're convincing."
"Sure, Cass. But it's not a real kiss. It's all fake. We both need to remember that."
"I can. Can you?"
Chapter Six
Cassie
I'm going to kiss Damon Webb.
Again.
Only it's different this time. This time, I know he isn't a soulful poet. This time, I know there's no heart of gold under his wounded facade.
This time, I know better.
Our kiss doesn't mean anything to him.
I repeat the words to myself again and again, but they sound less true every time. My body hums with nervous energy. My stomach flutters. My heart races.
How the hell am I supposed to survive kissing Damon Webb?
I shift my weight between my feet. Then, I force myself to stand firm. I need to project confidence. After all, I'm the one selling him on the idea. I'm the one determined to make this work.
He can walk.
I can't.
I need this job. Possible heartbreak, be damned.
With an easy smile and all the courage I have, I look into Damon's beautiful blue eyes. "How do you want to do this?"
He doesn't need to fake any courage. He's not moved. He shrugs, as if he can't believe I'm asking such a silly question, and he takes another step toward me. "It's a kiss, not a ballad. It's not complicated."
No. He has that backward. A ballad is easy. A basic chord progression, a clear emotional aim, a simple recording. I can write a ballad in my sleep. But a kiss?
A kiss involves another person. Putting trust in another person.
That's a million times harder than writing a slow love song. "You're a master kisser?"
He looks at me funny, like he doesn't understand the question. "I've seen you with plenty of people, Cass. You've done a lot of kissing. More than I have."
Probably. A lot of casual hookups lack in the lip-to-lip action. Or so I hear. Casual isn't my thing. I tried after my first big breakup and I hated it. I fall for everyone I touch.
Which is another reason this is a bad idea. But, hey, I already decided not to worry about the possible heartbreak. I'm doing this. I'm kissing Damon Webb. Apparently, I'm teaching him lessons on how to kiss. Since he doesn't understand this kind of intimacy.
I'm the expert in making out. "What kind of kiss is this supposed to be?" I ask.
His brow knits in confusion. His gaze fixes on the window. He doesn't understand the question. "What kinds are there?" His voice is all curiosity.
Does he really not know? There are a million kinds of kisses, from a quick hello between friends to a passionate I need to consume you lip-locked, tongue swirling make-out session.
There's soft, slow, hard, fast, loving, hating, sexy, sexless.
Anything.
Everything.
I open my mouth to tease him, but for some reason, I can't find a joke. Damon is annoying, yes, and his inability to connect via mouth-to-mouth action is completely in character, but it's not funny. It's sad.
Does he even remember the last woman he fucked? Did he feel anything?
"Cass?" he asks. "Is it a complicated question?"
"Yes." I nod. "There are all sorts of kisses. They can mean anything, from I love you, to I hate you, to I'm going to take you right now, in front of everyone."
"There's no one here." He says it without any defense, but I hear the hesitation anyway.
He is afraid of this. Of real intimacy. Even if it is real fake intimacy.
"We could start with a peck," I say. "Something fast, without heat."
Damon's eyes flit to my mouth. He speaks with calm, even words, but his posture stays stiff. "Is that where we are, as a couple?"
