Page 11 of Fake Dating My Best Friend

"That’s a lie!" I screamed, turning on him. "I was trying to help you! You’re a sociopath!"

Sloane didn't move. She looked between us, her dark eyes darting back and forth like she was watching a horror movie play out in real life. The confidence she’d carried all week—the glow of being loved—had vanished, replaced by the guarded, haunted expression of the girl who used to hide in closets.

"Sloane, look at me," I pleaded, stepping into her line of sight. "You know me. You know I wouldn't do this. Tell me you know I wasn't really kissing him."

Her bottom lip trembled. "I want to," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the ringing in my ears. "But I saw you, Chloe. I saw his hands on you. And you... you didn't look like you were fighting."

"I was! I was trying to get away!"

Tyler stepped up beside me, placing a hand on the doorframe as if he already lived there. "Give it a rest, Chloe. The game is over. You had your little fun with the 'best friend' experiment, but we both know who you’re taking to the Gala tonight. A girl like you doesn't end up with an architecture nerd in a hoodie. You end up with me."

Sloane flinched at his words, shrinking back toward the hallway. The tickets on the floor were stepped on, the gloss of our happy photos now marred by a dusty footprint.

"Sloane, no, wait—" I reached for her, my fingers inches from her arm.

"Don't," she said, and the coldness in her tone was sharper than any scream. She looked at my hand, then up at my face, her eyes brimming with a hurt so profound it felt like a physical blow to my chest. "I need some space, Chloe.” When she looks at me, her eyes are glassy, mirroring a sense of disappointment and betrayal. I told myself every day this week that it was too good to be true. I was just the safe harbor, wasn't I? The one you used to clear your head before going back to the 'real thing.'"

"No! Sloane, you are the real thing!"

"I have to go," she whispered. She didn't grab her bag. She didn't grab a coat. She just turned and ran, her footsteps echoing down the corridor in a frantic, desperate rhythm.

"SLOANE!" I bolted after her, but Tyler grabbed my arm, pulling me back into the room.

"Let her go, Chloe. She’s doing you a favor," he said, his voice oily and triumphant.

I turned on him, my vision blurring with tears of pure, unadulterated rage. I didn't think; I just acted. I swung my hand and slapped him across the face with enough force to make my palm sting.

"Get. Out." I hissed, the words vibrating with a violence that finally made his smirk falter. "If I ever see you again, Tyler, I will make sure everyone on this campus knows exactly what kind of predatory piece of trash you are. Get out of my room!"

He muttered something about me being "crazy," but he backed away, finally leaving.

I slammed the door and locked it, leaning my back against the wood. The silence of the room was agonizing. The scent of her sandalwood was still here. Her sketches were still on the desk. But she was gone. I sank to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest, clutching the silk of my robe as if I could hold onto the life I’d had ten minutes ago.

I was alone. Not just without a boyfriend, but truly alone. Because my best friend, the only person who mattered in this world, had left me.

CHAPTER 5

Sloane

The emerald silk of my dress felt like batter armor, heavy and cool against my frame, as I stepped into the spring ball. I had spent the last hour in a state of anxiety, the image of Tyler’s mouth on Chloe’s looping in my brain like a faulty film reel. My first instinct—the one honed over ten years of protective silence—had been to bolt. To hide in the quiet safety of my solitude and pretend the heart I’d finally handed over hadn't been bruised.

The week with Chloe had been the most amazing time of my life. Getting to kiss her, to touch her whenever I wanted, knowing she liked me too, was the kind of dream my mind had been nourishing for years. But under the dream lay a fear—what happens when it all comes crashing down?

But as I stood in the lobby of the ballroom, the muffled thump of the bass vibrating through the floor, my fear seemed so small in comparison to my love for Chloe. I had seen Tyler leave the apartment ten minutes after I fled. He hadn’t looked like a man who had won; he looked like a man who had been scorched.

Chloe’s face flashed in my mind—not the "perfect" mask she wore for the world, but the shattered, desperate expression she’d worn as I ran. I realized then that my flight wasn't about her betrayal. It was about my own cowardice. I was so terrified of the "other shoe" dropping that the moment I heard a sound, I’d assumed the floor was falling out. Chloe had been everything I wanted in life, and I still couldn’t believe that I could have her. If I wanted this, I needed to stop running away, needed to start trusting my best friend.

To keep Chloe, I had to be more than her anchor. I had to be courageous. I had to take a risk with my heart, even if the future didn’t go the way I wanted.

The Spring Ball was a kaleidoscope of glitter and show; the grand ballroom of the campus center draped in white lilies and fairy lights. Hundreds of seniors moved in a sea of tuxedos and gowns, coming together one final time before graduation, but I didn't see any of them. I only saw her.

Chloe was standing near the edge of the dance floor, looking like a classic Hollywood star in a sleek black velvet gown that hugged her svelte curves. She’d bought it at a thrift store a week ago, and I was supposed to help her get into it. Her blonde waves were perfect, but as I got closer, I saw the truth. Her eyes were sunken and rimmed with red, her gaze fixed on the floor as if she were waiting for the world to end.

Then, she looked up.

Our eyes met across the crowded room, and the air seemed to leave the ballroom. Her lips parted in a soft, silent gasp of surprise. I didn't wait for her to come to me. I walked toward her, my heels clicking a steady rhythm on the polished wood, my heart hammering against my ribs.

We met at the very center of the floor, a small island in the middle of a swirling ocean of people.