Page 55 of Fake Crown

The next morning, I expect a text or phone message from Posey, but there’s nothing. Sundays start with dryland training, and the whole time I’m there, all I can think about is Posey. Though drunk me decided last night that ending this fake relationship was the right course of action—Val isn’t a legitimate temptation—sober me is struggling to hold the line. Ever since I woke up, thoughts of Posey circle and swirl.

Either way, I have to see her after practice to deliver her latte. Then I need to man up and tell her I am no longer in need of her services as a fake girlfriend. No matter what Val dangles in front of me, I don’t want to be with her, and I’m even more sure of that after this week. Other than her deep aversion to anything resembling real feelings or commitment, Posey has been incredibly easy to be around. Despite what Posey believes and what I let myself buy into with Val, relationships might be better when there’s more than desire between two people. Other than good sex, Val and I had very little in common. And I’m not sure Posey and I have more in common, but we’re more compatible.

Coach Brown appears at my shoulder when I screw up another set of reps. “You feeling okay today, Faulkner? I’ve never seen you have so much trouble counting to twenty before.”

I do another two biceps curls because I have, in fact, lost count again. My brain isn’t functioning on a high level. “I was out last night,” I say. “Bit tired today.”

“You went out?” Coach’s eyebrows rise. “Ethan told me you went to Jessica’s for drinks after practice the other night too.”

For a guy who enjoys his rebel image, Ethan is also a fan of being in the coach’s back pocket with team gossip. I wonder if Coach Brown knows Ethan is salivating over Jessica. I glance over to where Ethan is leaned against a machine while Jessica does chest presses. Now that I know about the attraction between them, it’s obvious. Posey’s good-girl and bad-boy spin on their attraction also makes sense now. I really have been living in my own bubble for far too long.

I grab a heavy weight for my triceps extensions.

“You know how I feel. All work and zero play makes for a burned-out Brent. We’ve got six more years for you to hit your goal.”

Although that’s true, I prefer to take the days one at a time. If I constantly dwelled on how long I’ll need to be doing a similar rigorous schedule, I might very well burn out. Instead, if I focus on each day’s practices, I don’t have to contemplate my life a year or two or six from now.

Nothing I want more than crushing Phelps’s records. While Posey and Coach Brown might have a point about giving myself more balance, I won’t allow anything or anyone to distract me from my bigger goal. Some fake relationship with a girl I met a week ago shouldn’t even be registering on my radar.

When I realize I’ve lost count again, I curse under my breath. I start from one, and this time I count every rep with precision.

A sassy, brown-haired, brown-eyed woman will not get the best of me. Deliver her drink, cancel our fake relationship, and be well rested with a renewed focus for evening practice. Maybe then this tightness across my chest won’t bother me so much.

Posey

When Brent shows up on the front door monitor with a tray of lattes an hour after his practice finished, a flurry of butterflies that have been circling all morning flutter frantically in my stomach.

He left the party last night after I gave him my best come hither expression. I’ve never had a guy I’m sleeping with ignore me after that. It’s the sex beacon illuminating the sky. The you’re getting laid as soon as I can get your dick out signal. We were one dark corner away from me serving him my body on a platter. Guys don’t turn down sex. Brent definitely doesn’t reject sex. He leads with his dick.

Not last night.

Maybe I was too harsh with him after he shoved Chet around. Typically, I don’t let anyone fight my battles. My one disastrous relationship turned me into a warrior. The girl with the stone heart. The one who doesn’t get attached and never takes anything personally.

Brent leaving without saying a word was very personal. I can’t decide whether it was well played, but the message was received.

I even checked his and Val’s socials. My theory that he didn’t need me because he was getting it somewhere else doesn’t appear to be true. Crickets on her account, and I’m sure if she managed to lure him back, she’d be shouting it from the proverbial rooftops. Naked photos galore.

I hesitate for a moment before hitting the button to let him in. Destiny stayed with Deacon last night, and Nadiya went to have coffee with West to see whether they could sort out their issues. We’ll be alone in the apartment. Those stupid butterflies lose their shit in my stomach again.

There’s a brisk knock on the door, and I jump at the sound. God, why am I like this?

With a deep breath, I open the door. Perched in one hand is the tray of lattes, and the other is shoved in the front pocket of his jeans. I linger over his winter boots and his black winter jacket until I can’t avoid eye contact anymore. When our gazes lock, my heart sinks at the expression on his face.

No doubt I went too far last night. He looks as though he’s the one I kneed in the balls.

“I hurt your feelings,” I say. “I’m sorry.” What I said that caused his sadness, I’m not sure. A hairline crack forms in my heart of stone.

His eyebrows lift, and he shakes his head. “I’m not sur—”

Before he can say what I’m pretty sure he’s going to say, I rise on my toes and kiss him. He doesn’t hesitate to return the embrace, to slant his mouth over mine, deepening it. His free hand splays across my lower back, and he tugs me flush against him. I dig my fingers into his hair, and I can’t get close enough.

He walks me backward, and he kicks the door closed with his foot in an impressive display of balance. Once he slides the lattes onto the island, he cups my ass and lifts me against him, carrying me to my room. He sets me on the floor, and we’re shedding clothes in a blur of kisses and discarded items.

I turn my back to him to snap the lock in place, and Brent’s breath is hot against my ear. A shiver slithers down my spine. One of his hands kneads my breast, pinching the nipple while his other hand finds my clit. He trails openmouthed kisses along my neck and up to my jaw. I lean back into him, and he’s hard against me.

Except yesterday, we’ve been gorging on our desire for each other. He can make me come with very little effort, and any second this flood of sensation is going to drown me. Just before I’m about to go under, Brent withdraws, and I moan.

“No, why?” I turn to find him taking a condom out of my underwear drawer.