“Can you zip me up?”

He holds my stare for a moment that’s long enough for my body to erupt in tiny bumps. I hate that he has this effect on me—that all he has to do is look at me and I’m gone. I’m not a person. I’m a hormonal reaction.

Pull it together, Liv.

He’s a step too close. I can feel the heat from his body radiating against my back, and I have to bite back the urge to shiver when I feel his thumb brush against my skin. Through the mirror, his eyes stay locked on mine. And for some reason, this feels more intimate than fooling around on his couch did.

“All set,” he whispers but makes no move to put distance between us.

“Do I look okay?”

“You look beautiful.”

I feel a heat creep up my neck again and I break our stare as the blush reaches my cheeks. “We promised Chloe a picture.”

“I believe that request was only for you.”

“I’m sure she wants to see how handsome her uncle looks in his suit.”

“I highly doubt that,” he says. “She’s going to give me a Queer Eye critique before telling me to change.”

“She has a lot of opinions for a six-year-old,” I say. “But that’s not a bad thing.”

“She’s definitely her mothers’ daughter.”

I grab my phone and aim the camera at the mirror. “Smile.”

“I’d rather not.”

I elbow him. “Smile.”

* * *

When we get to the museum, Asher helps me out of my coat.

“I’ll make sure they don’t call animal control on this,” he says.

“That’s mean,” I say. “Do you hear me criticizing your shoes?”

“My shoes are Saint Laurent and cost fifteen hundred dollars. Your jacket looks like a poodle got the electric chair.”

“But it only cost seven dollars at a thrift store.”

“Which was seven dollars too much.”

“Remember forty minutes ago when you said I looked beautiful?”

“You do look beautiful,” he says. “You also look like an electrocuted poodle.”

I scoff. “You really know how to make your fake ex-girlfriend feel special.”

He pauses for a moment, his face falling in the slightest way. He recovers quickly but not fast enough for me not to notice.

Fake ex-girlfriend.

I don’t know why I said it, but what other way was there to describe it? If the feelings weren’t fake, what does that make us? Coworkers who casually kissed? And spooned? And put their mouth on the other’s boobs? I’m not sure there’s a proper way to classify that sort of relationship.

“I’ll meet you inside,” Asher says before walking over to the coat check.

I sigh.

Good going, Liv.

You ruined what little progress you made.