Page 301 of Faking the Goal

"...Like a date?"

For a split second, he looks almost... shy.

It is, without question, the cutest thing I have ever witnessed.

A faint flush creeps onto the bridge of his nose as he scratches the back of his neck.

"...Yeah." His eyes never leave mine. "Like a date."

Butterflies erupt so violently inside my stomach I'm fairly certain they're attempting a coordinated jailbreak.

I don't ask where we're going.

I don't ask what we'll do.

I don't need to.

I already know.

This won't just be a date.

It'll be our first date.

A real one.

No pretending.

No fake relationship.

No excuses.

Just him.

Just me.

Finally.

A smile spreads across my face before I can stop it, softer than any I've ever given him.

"I'll be here waiting."

Something shifts in his expression.

Like he'd been hoping for that answer.

Like he hadn't realized how badly he needed to hear it until now.

His hand slides gently to the back of my neck, and before I can tease him about looking so relieved, he closes the distance between us.

His lips find mine with a tenderness that steals every coherent thought from my head.

I melt into the kiss immediately.

The world around us seems to fade—the chatter of the team loading the bus, the hiss of the automatic doors, even the morning breeze disappears beneath the quiet certainty of him.

He kisses me slowly, unhurriedly, as though he's trying to memorize the feeling before leaving for the weekend.

I answer without hesitation, my fingers curling into the front of his quarter-zip as I rise onto my toes to meet him.