Faking It with My Bossy Ex (Sweet Christmas Kisses)

8. Dylan

Chapter 8

Dylan

“You've got to be kidding me.” My hand freezes on the doorknob.

The room beyond isn't just romantic—it's like Cupid's entire arsenal detonated in here.

A queen-size bed sits in the middle of a decently sized room, made up of white blankets scattered with red rose petals. Little electric lamps made to look like fake flames cast shadows over the whole scene, which is complete with little silver chocolates on the pillows.

The sight hits me like a punch. I’ve dreamed of moments like this with Amy. We would've laughed at how over the top it all is and kissed like we’d never want to stop.

Now there's just this wall between us. Every apology I think of dies before it reaches my mouth. I broke what we had. And maybe I lost the right to try fixing it.

But we're here now.

“Well, would you look at that five-star romance scene!” I force a laugh, taking her hand before I can overthink it. “And look up,” I add, my voice softening as I lean closer.

Her eyes follow mine to the ceiling, and her cheeks burn so red they might burst into flames. A little sprig of mistletoe hangs from a red ribbon right in the arch above us.

“Tradition says we’re supposed to kiss.” I murmur, a small smile playing on my lips. It's a joke, mostly, but part of me can't help wondering …

She yanks her hand out of mine and plants both palms on my chest, giving me a sturdy shove, separating us by a couple of feet.

“Not a chance.” She stalks into the room and starts gathering up the rose petals, shoving them into a little trash can nearby with too much vigor for my taste. “Are you going to help me with this?”

“I thought they were pretty nice. They really set the mood.” I lean against the entryway, stuffing my cold hands into my pockets. This moment transports me back to when we were together. I’d planned stays like this for our honeymoon, when I finally would get my gumption up enough to ask her. Man, we had so many plans and now …

She finishes with the rest of the petals and turns toward me, pulling me from my thoughts. Is all of that too late? Is there a way we could find ourselves back where we left off?

“This could be fun, you know, pretending to be a couple for the next week.”

Her features are hard to read. She stops right in front of me and crosses her arms over her chest. The way her lips part and her eyes linger on mine for a moment too long … Maybe she’s not as opposed to the idea as she thinks she is. My attention goes back to her pouting lips. So kissable.

“Fun? This is only out of necessity. If I don’t find a place to stay tomorrow, and that’s a big if, I might consider it, but there are going to be some ground rules.”

“Ground rules?” This just got interesting. I didn’t really expect her to go along with fake dating for much longer.

“Yes, ground rules. Like, for one, no touching, hugging, kissing, or any other couple’s stuff.” She doesn’t budge.

“We won’t make a very convincing couple if we don’t do any couple stuff.” I shrug. “It’s going to have to happen at some point.” I’m looking forward to that. I miss the feel of her up close to me, the smell of her hair, the feel of her lips against mine …

“Okay, fine. None of that stuff unless it is absolutely necessary to make someone think we’re dating, assuming it’s even necessary for us to keep this up past tomorrow.” She draws in a quick breath. “Second, remember that this is all fake just so we can have a place to stay.”

“Fine, sounds fair.” I’m still stuck on that first rule and already cooking up scenarios where potentially bending the rules could be an option.

The more I’m around Amy, the more I crave it. The more I can’t let go of her. Could she ever want the same thing? She’s back from Europe, she’s followed her dreams, so is there a possibility that there could still be a future for us?

I haven't earned that right yet.

I’ll settle for a fake relationship for the moment if it means I get to be close to her again. Maybe it’s exactly what I need to set things right.

“Third rule, I get to add more rules if I feel like it’s necessary.”

“Can I add any?”

“Like what?” She narrows her eyes.

“For example, one practice kiss. Just to be … prepared.” I step closer, just enough to see her pulse flicker at her neck.

She inhales sharply. Her eyes drop to my lips, then snap back up. The heat radiating between us. That familiar blush spreads up her neck, that same one that used to drive me crazy.

“Absolutely not,” her voice wavers ever so slightly.

I lean in slowly, giving her the chance to back off. Lavender hits me first. Her shampoo hasn't changed. My thumb brushes her cheek. She shivers under my touch, but she holds my gaze, not backing down.

“Keep dreaming,” she murmurs, but her voice is softer, almost daring me.

“You sure about that?” I tilt my head, fighting back a grin.

Her lips part just slightly, and everything in me goes tense—until a loud knock sends us crashing back to reality.

“You can have the first shower while I see who is at the door.” Amy steps past me, her shoulder bumping into mine as she goes. The mistletoe still hangs in the archway, looking a bit dejected at not having worked.

“I agree, buddy,” I lament sadly as I head to the bathroom. Considering the day I’ve had, a shower sounds great.

I head to the bathroom, half listening as Amy greets someone at the door. Something about extra blankets and pillows. She’s planning on bunkering down on the couch?

I don’t think so.

***

I step out of the bathroom and stop dead.

There's Amy, queen of the bed apparently, lounging against a pillow with a book in her lap like this is totally normal. The fireplace she somehow got going bathes her face in this soft glow, and any other time I might appreciate how pretty she looks.

But right now I'm too busy staring at what can only be described as The Great Wall of Pillows—a defensive wall of every spare blanket and cushion, lined up beside her like she's preparing for a pillow apocalypse.

“There you are.” She looks up, an innocent expression on her face.

“What’s all this?” I ask, motioning to the bedding mound, taking up a third of the bed.

“Oh, that’s called a boundary.” She stands up and grabs her things. “A useful little thing to keep flirty invaders on their own side of the bed.”

“I don’t mind flirty invaders.” I beam.

“I wasn’t talking about you.” She fidgets.

“I can sleep on the floor if it makes you more comfortable.” I tap the hardwood floor with my foot. “Though you should know, my doctor told me I have a bad back, so I’m guessing it would be painful.”

“We both know you’re not a floor type of person. Besides, you paid for the room. We’re both adults; we can share the bed, but the wall stays.” She’s determined to keep the wall, and who am I to protest?

“Fine!” I lift my hands in resignation. “That’s great by me. The wall is a great idea.” I go to my side of the bed and flop down. “What happens if one of us accidentally rolls into it and a couple of pillows fall? Is it a punishable offense?”

“You don’t want to find out,” she says as she disappears into the bathroom, rolling her eyes. The wall is ridiculous. But sharing a bed with Amy? Now that's an idea I can get behind. Maybe I can negotiate a pillow treaty later.

When she comes out of the shower, she’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt with little red Christmas ornaments sprinkled across it and blue sweatpants. Her hair hangs in soft curls down her back. She flips off the lights and climbs into her side of the bed.

The only light in the room is the soft glow from the fireplace.

“Remember that Christmas when our families rented a vacation house together?” I ask, hoping for an answer from the other side of the wall. She must have fallen asleep because there’s only silence.

Then a reluctant little, “Yes. Then we got snowed in and it was a disaster.” She laughs, a sound that sends a jolt of nostalgia through me. I didn’t realize just how much I missed her laugh.

“Everyone else might have been at each other’s throats, but we were up in the attic with that old chessboard, feeling like our own little world couldn't be touched.”

I’d trade anything to relive those days. To have one more minute just staring into her eyes, back when she used to look at me like I hung the moon. Back before I broke us both.

She deserves better. I tore us apart, and now I’m regretting it, but that doesn’t mean that she’s regretting it.

“In a way, it was the best Christmas ever.” The way she says it makes my heart skip a beat. She’s so right. I don’t think I’ve had a Christmas half as memorable as the ones that I spent with her.

“Maybe this Christmas could be even better,” I say, the words barely more than a whisper. It's a long shot, but seeing her here, feeling her this close, these eight years without her suddenly felt like nothing but empty space.

She’s the part of the past I can’t let go of. Can I pull myself back into her orbit?

“That would be a hard one to beat.” Her voice is thoughtful and sleepy. A few minutes later, her breaths grow long and deep, and I know she’s asleep.

Unfortunately, sleep doesn’t come as easily to me. Not when I can’t get the girl on the other side of these pillows out of my mind.