Page 52 of Fake Crown

“As you pointed out, we’ve spent a lot of time together.” I do a slow spin in my chair and grab my latte on the way around.

“Weird he didn’t stay this morning,” Nadiya says, and she raises her eyebrows in mock innocence over the lid of the to-go cup.

“The beauty of a temporary, fake relationship is that I don’t have to care why Brent didn’t stay this morning. He gave me part one of the deal, and I’m sure part two will happen later tonight.” A knot forms in my stomach despite my breezy declaration. We might have only known each other a week, but he hasn’t been one to turn down sex. That’s his whole Val issue—he’s incapable of thinking with anything other than his dick. It wasn’t his dick that steered him out the front door instead of into my bed.

“Yeah,” Nadiya says with a rueful smile. “You don’t seem bothered at all.” She raises her latte and draws my door shut.

The house Deacon shares with the other basketball players is one of the biggest off-campus rentals I’ve ever seen. It’s owned by a basketball alumnus who went pro. To live here players have to be stars on the court and maintain a stellar GPA. The entire main floor is wide open apart from a master bedroom suite and a powder room. The furniture could be rearranged to create more distinct spaces, but the one time I mentioned it to Deacon, he just laughed at me.

Not every guy is opposed to having their furniture rearranged.

Near the front door, I’m deep in conversation with Natalie. It’s the first time we’ve run into each other since the wedding, and I’ve been filling her in on Val’s antics while Sebastian socializes with some of the other elite athletes from Northern’s roster. Brent will fit right in whenever he finally arrives.

Destiny approaches on my left with a drink for me. “A Bellerive Blue,” she says, passing me the mixed drink. “Chet mixed it for you and asked me to deliver it.”

“Is it safe to drink?” I sniff it and narrow my eyes.

“If it’s not, Deacon and Chet will be having words.” Destiny plucks it from my hand and takes a mouthful.

“He’d roofie your drink?” Nat asks.

“Doubtful,” I admit. “But Chet and I had an arrangement for a while, and he proved to be slippery. Not in a good way.” I take my drink back from Destiny.

“‘Slimy’ is a better word. I’m glad he got booted from the house,” Destiny says.

“Math and honesty—two things he’s not good at,” I say.

“I cannot follow this conversation.” Nat laughs and shakes her head. “Were you dating him?”

“Posey doesn’t date,” Destiny says. “Or maybe you do now?” She raises her eyebrows. “Fuckable Faulkner has been making regular appearances.”

“Fake dating,” I say, “is not the same as real dating.”

“And yet it bears an incredible resemblance to the real thing.”

“It has to,” Nat says, “in order to be credible as real.”

“Thank you,” I say, and I offer her a fist bump. From the outside, fake and real can look similar, but Brent and I know the difference. I take a sip of the drink Chet mixed me and wince. Much like Chet, the balance isn’t quite right. Too much alcohol and not enough fruit juice.

For a while last semester, Chet and I were sleeping together. I’m very open with my sexual positions and my alcoholic beverage choices. Much like the alcohol content in a drink, I like to understand what I’m getting myself into when I sleep with a guy more than once. For safety’s sake, I insist on knowing any other ongoing sexual partners. I don’t care about exclusive, but I do care about risk assessment. Chet told me there weren’t any others, and that was a bold lie.

Sebastian calls Nat’s name from the kitchen, and she excuses herself to get the rum swizzle he mixed her. Once she’s gone, Destiny eyes me. “You’ve been tense since we arrived. You waiting for your boyfriend to turn up? What time does his practice end?”

An hour ago. Not that I checked our synced schedules five times or anything. I take a long gulp of the shitty drink Chet mixed. “Nope. He just needs to be here in time to take me home.”

“Incoming,” Destiny says behind her hand.

I half turn to see Chet swaggering toward us. As the point guard for the Northern Ravens, he’s not the tallest guy on the team, but he’s still got an impressive build. I’ve seen better. He has his own Bellerive Blue dangling from his fingers, and I can’t help wondering if it tastes as terrible as mine.

“Chet.” I raise my glass. “Still shit at mixing drinks, I see. You any better in bed yet?”

There are a few snickers around us, and I hide my smile behind the rim of my glass.

“I think that’s my cue to leave,” Destiny says. “You’ve clearly got this covered.” She pats Chet’s chest on the way past him to see Deacon. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”

“Luck is for people who don’t have skill,” he says, and he winks at me.

Gross. I give him a saccharine smile. “What are your skills exactly? None are jumping out at me.” Juggling women, perhaps.