The Kiss
T he weekend arrived with an invitation Harper couldn’t politely refuse: Melissa’s birthday party. Apparently, even exes could extend olive branches—or, more likely, sharpened knives disguised as olive branches.
Ethan had waved the invite in the air with that maddening grin. “Perfect opportunity to sell our story.”
Harper had nearly fainted. “We are not going to her party.”
“Correction—we are. Otherwise, she’ll think we’re hiding. Which screams fake.”
So that was how Harper found herself in a crowded apartment two blocks away, clutching a cup of soda like it was holy water, Ethan’s hand warm at the small of her back.
He leaned down, lips brushing her ear. “Relax. Just smile and nod. Pretend you like me.”
Her pulse went haywire. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Maybe.” His grin was infuriating.
Melissa appeared in a shimmer of sequins, Daniel trailing behind her. “Ethan! Harper!” Her eyes flicked between them, sharp as ever. “So nice of you to come.”
Ethan slipped his arm around Harper’s waist, pulling her close. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Melissa’s smile tightened. “You two seem... cozy.”
Harper forced a bright laugh. “Well, we live together. Proximity helps.”
Melissa’s gaze narrowed, like she could peel back the truth with her eyes alone. “Funny. Ethan used to hate roommates.”
Ethan’s grip tightened around Harper. “Guess I changed.”
The conversation fizzled into small talk, but Harper felt every ounce of Melissa’s scrutiny. When they finally escaped to the balcony, Harper exhaled hard. “This is exhausting.”
“You’re doing great,” Ethan murmured, his thumb brushing circles against her hip like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Her breath caught. “Stop that.”
“Stop what?” His tone was all innocence.
“Being... convincing.”
Their eyes locked, the noise of the party fading to a dull buzz. Harper’s chest rose and fell, her heartbeat drumming in her ears. She opened her mouth to tell him to cut it out, to remind him of rule three—absolutely no kissing—but Ethan leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper.
“She’s watching.”
And then his lips were on hers.
The kiss was supposed to be a show, quick and staged. Instead, it stole the air from her lungs. Warm, sure, impossibly tender. His hand cupped her jaw, anchoring her, while her body betrayed her by leaning in, answering him.
For a suspended moment, nothing else existed. Not Melissa. Not the party. Just the dizzying, terrifying truth that she wanted this.
When they finally pulled apart, Harper’s lips tingled, her head spinning. Ethan’s eyes searched hers, something raw flickering in them before he masked it with a smirk.
“Convincing enough?” he asked, voice rougher than usual.
Harper shoved at his chest, though her hands lingered longer than they should have. “You broke the rules.”
“Worth it,” he murmured.
Her heart was a mess of panic and longing, the line between fake and real blurring in ways she couldn’t ignore. And as Melissa’s sharp eyes glimmered from across the room, Harper realized one terrifying fact: the kiss hadn’t just convinced the audience. It had convinced her.