Page 5 of Fake Dating My Best Friend

“This isn’t going to last.” He sputtered. “You always get bored and break up within a month, Chloe. None of them are ever good enough for you. You’ll get bored of her and come back to me.”

He turned on his heel as I shouted, “In your dreams, Tyler.”

He disappeared into the crowd, his eyes watching us as if something had just clicked in his mind.

We stood there after he walked away, knowing he was still watching me.

“Is he watching?” Sloane asked.

“Yeah. I think we need to do something.” I moved her around, pushing her back against the bookcase. She looked up at me, her brown eyes wide with anticipation. “I’m going to pretend to make out, okay?”

Her low breath was my only cue. I put my arms around her waist, holding her, loving how she fit into my arms. Her body pressed against mine as I backed her, eliminating the space between us. Then, I leaned my head into the crook of Sloane’s neck, my nose brushing against the soft skin behind her ear. She moaned when my lips brushed against her neck, and suddenly everything began to swim, even though I hadn’t taken a single sip of my drink. She smelled like sandalwood and old books—a scent that had meant 'home' for fifteen years. But now, it meant something else. It meant danger. It meant attraction. It meant confusion. I couldn’t stop myself. My mouth moved over her clean skin, brushing against the tiny hairs on the side of her neck, my skin burning up.

Sloane’s hand rest tentatively on my waist, squeezing as she turned her head, giving me more space. My lips drifted up and down the column of her neck, and when I gently pecked the base, she shuddered.

“I’m sensitive there,” she said, her voice husky, making desire pool low in my belly. “Sorry.”

“No problem.” I wanted to know where else she was sensitive. I wanted to put my mouth on more than her neck. My hands on her waist, I kept my face buried in the crook of her neck. The crowd, the music, the lights—they all faded away. There was only the heat of her body against mine and the terrifying realization that I was no longer acting. I wanted Sloane.

CHAPTER 3

Sloane

The phantom sensation of Chloe’s lips against the pulse-point of my neck hadn’t faded in fourteen days. I could feel it even now, sitting in the coffee shop with her, working on my project while she worked on hers. We’d been together all day, putting on a show for the audience. Only, it didn’t feel like a show to me.

In the quiet hours of the night, when the only sound in our room was the rhythmic hum of her breathing, I could still feel the ghost of her lips, her warm kisses lighting my blood on fire. That night at the frat house shouldn't have happened. It was supposed to be a "launch," a strategic maneuver in the war against Tyler’s ego. But when she had backed me against that bookshelf, pinning my petite frame with the weight of her body, the world hadn’t just tilted—it had shattered.

Her mouth had been a fever on my skin. When she groaned against my neck, a low, vibration that I felt in my very marrow, I’d realized I was well and truly ruined. Because I wanted more of that. I wanted her lips in places I couldn’t name. For a decade, I’d tried to convince myself that my love for her was a quiet, manageable ache. But that night, the ache had turned into a roar. A fierce inferno that demanded to be let out of the cage of my heart.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Chloe whispered. She was sitting so close that our thighs were touching beneath the table. I’d gone back to my all-black wardrobe, and Chloe was dressed in a pink dress, her wavy blonde hair gleaming and smooth. She reached out, threading her long, elegant fingers through mine.

My heart did that familiar, jagged hop. To anyone watching—and everyone was watching—it was a sweet, domestic gesture. Something a girlfriend would do. But to me, it was a slow-acting poison. Her skin was so soft, her grip so possessive, that it made me want to confess everything.

“What thing?” I asked, my voice coming out slightly huskier than I intended. I tried to focus on my work, but everything was blurry except the feel of her warm fingers against mine.

“The ‘Sloane’ stare. You’re overthinking something.” She squeezed my hand, her blue eyes scanning my face with a disconcerting intensity. “The plan is working, you know. Tyler hasn't sent a single message in ten days. He actually crossed the street when he saw us walking to the library yesterday. We won.”

“Yeah,” I said, looking down at our joined hands. “We won.”

If winning felt this much like losing, I didn't want to know what a defeat looked like. Every time she touched me, every time she leaned in to "perform" for a crowd, a little more of my resolve crumbled. This was everything I’d wanted, but it was all fake. Chloe was becoming more comfortable with touching me—brushing my hair back, resting her chin on my shoulder, letting her hand linger on my waist long after the ‘audience’ had turned away—and it was torture. I wanted it so bad, but I also wanted to push her away. At this rate, she would steal my heart before I had a chance to protect it.

Chloe tilted her head, watching me. “I was thinking about something. At the party.”

I stiffened. Please don't mention the neck thing. Please.

“I realized I’ve never seen you date anyone,” she said, her voice curious, almost probing. “I mean, I know you’re into women, obviously. But you’ve never brought a girl home. You’ve never even talked about a crush. Why?”

I felt a cold sweat break out on my neck. I couldn’t tell her the truth: Because the only person I want is my best friend.

“I’m busy, Chloe. Architecture is a jealous mistress,” I said, trying for a deflection. “Besides, I’m not like you. I’m not the popular girl.”

“Bull,” she countered, her thumb tracing small circles on the back of my hand. “You’re hot, Sloane. Like, really hot. I saw the way that girl in the kitchen was looking at you two weeks ago. You’re more popular than you know. If you want to date someone—”

“I’m just not interested in dating anyone right now.” I cut in, my heart hammering.

Suddenly, a group of rowdy freshman barreled past our table, one of them nearly colliding with my chair. My coffee cup wobbled dangerously.

“Careful!” Chloe reacted instantly. She didn’t just grab the cup; she grabbed me.