Page 246 of Faking the Goal

Because he's right.

None of those things help sell our relationship. There's no audience here. No one watching us closely enough to care whether Kentaro kisses my forehead before leaving for practice or whether I reach for his hand while we're watching television. No one we need to convince when I crawl into his arms at night or when he pulls me closer in his sleep.

We just... do them.

Somewhere along the way, affection stopped being something we switched on whenever someone was watching and became something neither of us bothers switching off.

"I know this would be taking things further," he says quietly. "I'm not pretending it wouldn't. But I'm not suggesting this because we're fake dating, Trouble." His voice softens. "If that's all this was to me, I wouldn't even be bringing it up."

My heart gives one hard, uneven beat.

I hold his gaze, suddenly far too aware of everything he isn't saying.

"I'm bringing it up because you've barely slept in weeks. Because almost every night, I wake up and you're sitting exactly where you are now, trying to convince yourself you're fine." He lets out a quiet breath. "And because I hate feeling like there's nothing I can do to help."

There it is again.

That stupid, relentless way he cares.

God, would somebody please shake some sense into me?

Here I am, attempting to make one responsible decision while every hormone in my body has apparently packed its bags, quit its job, and left common sense to fend for itself.

Because the rational part of me keeps insisting this is complicated. That we need to think about boundaries. About consequences. About what happens after.

Meanwhile, every other part of me is screaming, Are you kidding me? Just say yes, you idiot.

This is Kentaro.

The same Kentaro I've spent the last two weeks secretly ogling every chance I get.

The same Kentaro whose stupidly attractive face has become the first thing I see every morning and the last thing I see every night.

The same Kentaro I've caught myself shamelessly drooling over during his workouts more times than I'd ever admit out loud.

And now he's sitting beside me, looking at me with nothing but patience and concern, offering me exactly what I've been missing.

Any other version of me would've said yes five minutes ago.

Which is exactly why I can't.

He has absolutely no idea what he's offering me.

Because if this is just about sex, there isn't even a decision to make. Sex has never scared me. I've never attached my heart to it.

Him...

God, him.

He terrifies me.

Because if I let the one man who has somehow become my safest place take care of me in a way no one else ever has, there isn't a chance in hell I'll be able to keep pretending this relationship is still fake.

I'll stop seeing my fake boyfriend.

I'll only see the man I'm hopelessly, irreversibly falling in love with.

And once my heart crosses that line...