Written in the Stars(37)

Don’t think.

If she were lucky, the kiss would be terrible and she’d never want to do it again. The unsettling burning in her chest would fizzle out and all would be restored to normal, the world righted, back on its axis.

Leaning in, she brushed her lips against Elle’s and it was like striking a match, that spark she’d refused to acknowledge catching flame with the slightest friction of lips on lips.

It was mutual, it had to be, because Elle gasped, lips parting and turning what was supposed to be a fucking stage kiss into a frenetic exploration, wild and charged. Suddenly Elle’s fingers, those fingers that had touched the spines of all of Darcy’s books and left smudge marks on her coffee table, were buried in Darcy’s hair, pulling her closer and keeping her there.

Darcy stumbled, vertigo making her head spin, and backed Elle into the wall beside the building’s door. Had it not been for Elle’s hands in her hair and the snug press of their bodies, Darcy might’ve crumbled at the hot, wet drag of Elle’s tongue against the edge of her bottom lip. Still, a shiver skittered down Darcy’s spine, her knees weakening.

Darcy tilted her hips into Elle, triggering an intense pulse inside her. Something snapped, want overriding everything else. She pressed Elle firmly against the wall and tasted the blunt edges of Elle’s teeth, dipped her tongue deeper, traced the roof of Elle’s mouth and dropped her hands, palming Elle’s hips when Elle shivered and melted. Sweet, Elle’s lips tasted like strawberries and her tongue like peppermint. Darcy wanted more, was suddenly greedy for a taste of—

Reality crashed down on her in the form of someone laying on a car horn. Elle rolled her lips together, eyes flitting away. Darcy turned, glaring at the car where her brother was hanging out the window, grinning stupidly.

“Get a room.” He winked. Tried to wink.

Brendon was getting fucking socks for Christmas. Boring, black, argyle ones.

Darcy turned back to Elle who was chewing on the corner of her lip. Darcy’s stomach flipped, not because the world had righted itself and the sudden adjustment was jarring. No, everything had gone pear-shaped, worse than before because now that she’d had a taste of Elle, she wanted another.





Chapter Nine


Darcy wasn’t good at this, gift-giving. Not under normal circumstances and this was anything but normal.

What were you supposed to give someone you were fake dating, someone you weren’t supposed to like, but were finding yourself increasingly—and worryingly—fond of? Someone you couldn’t get out of your head no matter how hard you threw yourself into work, someone whose laugh you couldn’t quit hearing inside your head, whose lips you could swear you could still taste, even days later? Darcy was pretty sure Cosmo didn’t offer a gift guide for the niche category of fake girlfriends. Go figure.

Whatever it was, the gift needed to say congratulations without being over the top, and it needed to be something Elle would actually appreciate. An interesting challenge because as a general rule, Darcy usually refused to gift anything that she, herself, didn’t like. But Elle’s taste was so . . . distinct that Darcy needed to think outside the box.

Which was why she was standing in the middle of Northwest Beer and Spirits staring not at the prized Napa cabernets, but at the—she repressed a shiver—boxed wines.

A five-liter box of Franzia sunset blush cost eighteen dollars and twenty-eight cents. The box proclaimed there were thirty-four glasses inside, making each five-ounce glass approximately fifty-four cents. Fifty-four cents. Less than a dollar for a glass of wine.

Darcy frowned at the box. Her wallet liked those numbers, but something about paying that little for wine felt . . . unreal. Like someone was going to pop out from the other side of the shelf and shove a camera in her face and tell her she’d been punked before slapping her with a fifty-dollar bill.

Darcy depressed the handle and lifted, cardboard cutting into her fingers. Maybe it was cheaper than dirt, but it was heavy as lead. Couldn’t they at least try to make the design a bit more ergonomic? She’d have paid five more dollars for better packaging alone.

Inside her coat, her phone buzzed. If that wasn’t an excuse to set the box down, she didn’t know what was.

Annie.

Darcy swiped and lifted the phone to her ear. “Hey, Annie.”

A horn honked in the background, followed by muffled cursing. “Darce! How are things?”

She nudged the box of wine with her toe. Where to start? She hadn’t spoken to Annie since talking her ear off about the mess she’d gotten herself into, lying to Brendon. “Things are . . . complicated.”

“Complicated. Hmm,” Annie said. “That wouldn’t have something to do with a certain cute blonde? Tiny thing with huge eyes that she has just for you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Another horn honked, meshing with the sound of Annie’s laughter. “Brendon posted pics from your date the other night. Elle is all googly-eyed over you in them and you’re just as bad. When you’re looking at her, she’s looking away. And vice versa. It’s cute.”

Darcy’s stomach lurched, pulse pirouetting. “It’s fake.”

“Sure.” Annie was probably rolling her eyes. “When’s the next time you’re going to see her?”

Darcy glanced at the box by her feet. “Seeing as I’m currently buying her a box of wine, I’d say soon.”