Page 7 of Faking It with her Crush

“Oh,” Darius says when the door swings wide, gaze flicking over me. “Oh dear.”

I burst into tears.

Darius curses, crowds me into the apartment, and shuts the door. And I hate that he’s seeing me like this—red-face and snotty, with a stubbed toe and ruined makeup—but a calming voice whispers in my head that this isn’t arealdate. This doesn’treallymatter.

I had no chance with Darius Amin in the first place, so I haven’t lost anything with this shit show—just embarrassed myself. Fine. That’s what friends are for, right?

“Is it broken?” The composer shepherds me to the sofa, nudging me to sit down. “Luce, your toe. Does it feel broken?”

How can you tell? Gritting my teeth, I give my toes an experimental wiggle—and though the pain throbs, it doesn’t feel any worse.

“N-no.” I sniff, transferring the tissue from my eye to my nose. “I don’t think so. It just hurts.” Darius sees the mess of mascara, but like a champ, he doesn’t comment. He’s too busy rubbing my shoulders, stroking my arms, soothing me as he looms above the sofa, dressed like a movie star on a red carpet.

Life is cruel.

Here I am: a complete mess, barely keeping it together, already tortured with nerves. And thereheis, looking like the front page of a glossy magazine.

His dark hair is styled, his jaw freshly shaved. That eggplant colored suit hugs Darius’s sculpted body, and the crisp white shirt glows next to his smooth, bronze skin.

And he smellsgood. Woodsy and expensive.

Whatever his cologne is, I want to spray it on my pillow.

“So.” My tear-stained face twists as Darius kneels on my rug, taking my foot in careful hands. He inspects my toes carefully, his touch so warm and gentle, and my voice quavers. “How am I doing on this practice date so far? Any notes?”

“No notes.” Darius’s smile is faint, his attention fixed on my toes. “It’s the perfect amount of hysteria. You nailed it.”

“Thank you. I tried.”

And with his calming presence, the nerves are fading fast. My heartbeat slows, my tears dry up, and even the ache in my foot starts to ease. Darius is magic like that.

The snort comes out of nowhere. I press my lips together, fighting hard, but the giggles can’t be stopped. They spill out of me, my shoulders shaking and my cheeks hot. Darius quirks a smile, still kneeling on my rug, and places my foot carefully down.

“You have an odd sense of humor.”

“Yeah, well.” My cheeks ache from fighting this grin. “It’s either laugh or cry, right? And I already tried crying.”

“True.”

When Darius pushes to his feet, my breath catches, the giggles stalling in my throat. He tugs on his suit jacket and eyes my dress, my hair, my blotchy cheeks. The whole damn mess of me, sprawled on my sofa for his consideration.

Feeling those brown eyes on me… my body perks to life, even though I’ve surely never been less sexy.

The composer tilts his head. “Do you still want to go to the party?”

Doesn’the? Oh god, will I embarrass him too much?

“Um. Well. Do you?”

“Yes,” Darius says immediately. “But only if you want to.”

Whew. Okay.

“I do. But I need five minutes to redo my makeup and change my contacts, and I need to find a different dress—”

“Keep the dress.” Taking my hand, Darius pulls me gently to my feet. Not even a whisper of pain now. “You’ll break my heart if you change. Other than that, take as long as you need.”

My head spins, both from his compliment and his hand on mine. “Shouldn’t I be quick, though? Like on a real date?”

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