Page 10 of Fake Dating My Best Friend

I swung the door open, a joke about her 'architectural memory' on the tip of my tongue, but the words died in my throat.

It wasn't Sloane. It was Tyler.

He looked like a man who had spent the last week in a tailspin. His hair was a mess, his shirt was wrinkled, and his eyes were rimmed with a frantic, desperate red. Before I could even protest, he shoved his way past the threshold, stumbling into the center of the room.

"Tyler? What the hell are you doing here?" I snapped, my hand still on the doorknob. "You need to leave. Right now."

"Chloe, please," he croaked, his voice cracking. He looked like he was about to collapse. "I didn't know where else to go. My dad... he had a massive stroke this morning. He's in the ICU back home."

I froze. My hand dropped from the knob. Despite everything—the manifestos, the ego, the manipulation—that old, ingrained empathetic reflex flared up. I’d known Tyler’s dad; the man had been a fixture at every homecoming game.

"Oh my god," I breathed, my anger momentarily replaced by a cold splash of pity. "Tyler, I'm... I'm so sorry."

"I'm losing it, Chloe," he sobbed, burying his face in his hands. He took a staggering step toward me. "Everyone else at the frat house just wants to do shots and talk about the Gala. You're the only one who actually knows me. The only one who cares."

"Tyler, you can't be here," I said, my voice softening but firm. "Sloane will be back any second. I can't—"

"Just five minutes," he pleaded, reaching out and grabbing my forearms. His grip was surprisingly tight, his body heat radiating off him in a way that suddenly felt less like grief and more like something else. "I just need to feel something that isn't... this. Please."

I tried to pull back, a flicker of unease finally piercing through my sympathy. "Tyler, sit down. I'll call your brother, or your mom—"

"I don't want them," he growled, and in an instant, the 'grieving son' mask shattered.

His eyes turned sharp, predatory. Before I could scream, his arms wrapped around my waist like iron bands, yanking my svelte frame hard against his chest. He was a foot taller and twice my weight, pinning me against the wall near the door.

"Tyler what are you doing?" I shoved at his shoulders, my silk robe slipping dangerously as I struggled.

"Just stay still for a moment," he hissed into my ear, his breath smelling of desperation. "I need you, Chloe, Please, come back to me.”

“I don’t want to,” I said, trying to push at his thick arms. “I have a girlfriend now, and I want to be with her.”

“You don’t mean that. This thing with Sloane? It's a phase. It's a game. You belong with me. You know you do."

I turned my head away. “Let me go, Tyler. I’m sorry about your dad, but I’m not the person you need right now.”

“You’re exactly the person I need.” I felt the rough stubble of his jaw against my skin as he lunged, his mouth crashing onto mine in a violent, one-sided kiss.

“Stop!” I bit down on his lip, struggling with everything I had, my hands clawing at his chest to create space.

That's when I heard it.

The sound of the door clicking shut. The sound of something hitting the floor.

I tore my face away, gasping for air, and looked toward the entryway.

Sloane was standing there. The Gala tickets and our printed photos were scattered at her feet like confetti from a funeral. She was as still as a statue, her face a mask of absolute, soul-crushing devastation.

"Sloane," I choked out, my voice a broken whisper.

Tyler didn't let go. He just pulled back slightly, a slow, triumphant smirk spreading across his face as he looked at her.

"I told you," he said, his voice loud enough to fill the silence. "Some habits are just too hard to break."

I shoved Tyler with every ounce of strength I had, my palm catching the underside of his jaw. He stumbled back, startled by the violence of my rejection, and I scrambled toward Sloane, my hands trembling so hard I could barely keep my robe closed.

"Sloane, please," I gasped, my voice thin and frantic. "He forced his way in. He lied—he told me his dad was in the hospital, and then he just—"

"Lied?" Tyler sneered, recovering his footing. He didn't look like a grieving son anymore; he looked like a man who had successfully set a fire and was enjoying the warmth. He looked at Sloane with a condescending pity that made my skin crawl. "Come on, Sloane. You know how Chloe is. She’s always had a soft spot for me. She couldn’t even keep me out of the room for five minutes before she was in my arms."