Page 6 of Fake Crown

It’s Brent Faulkner. My mouth drops open. He’s not the one who has been obsessively staring at his body. I am.

“Jensen?” He frowns and sits straighter in the booth.

“Brent Faulkner?” I’d recognize those golden-brown eyes, that angular face, and the jet-black hair anywhere.

“Your name is Jensen?”

“Posey. Posey Jensen.” I slide into the booth across from him. “You have a girlfriend.”

“You’re supposed to be a dude.” His lips twist in distaste. “I said no drama. Does this situation seem drama-free to you?”

I cross my arms and slump into the booth. Of course my thirst-trap secret crush would turn out to be Mr. No-Drama-rama judgmental jerk face. It annoys me to no end that I can’t stop scanning his features and comparing them to the hundreds of photos I’ve drooled over.

“Okay, so technically I never told you I was a dude. You assumed, I guess, based on my name.”

“I would have been less shocked if Jensen Ackles showed up here.”

“Yeah, sure. You and Jensen, slaying demons in Bermuda.” I roll my eyes. “Total bros weekend.”

A hint of a smile curls his lips, and he glances away while sweeping a hand over his face. When he meets my gaze again, all trace of humor is gone. “Am I going to regret this, Jensen?”

“Regret inviting me? Probably.” I lean across the table toward him and try to decide whether his attitude is a turnoff or a turn-on in person. The fact that he’s chiseled like a Greek god is definitely softening my rock-hard resolve to make his weekend hell. “To assume all women are filled with drama and trouble is—quite frankly—not a good look.”

“You misled me. You invited the drama.”

“You have a girlfriend. Why are you on a campus chat looking for some rando date to your friend’s wedding? She’s supposed to be going with you.”

His gaze narrows. “How the hell do you know all that?”

My cheeks heat, and I break eye contact. “I follow her.” I follow him, too, but he clearly doesn’t realize that. She has thousands of followers. He has millions. I’ve never liked or commented on any posts. But I have viewed and read them all. So. Many. Times.

“Why would you follow Val? Do you know her? Everything she’s posted since we met is about…” He cocks his head at something in my expression. “Ahh.” He sits back in his seat and drums his hands on the top of the table. “Do I need to call security? Are you some kind of stalker?”

“Stalker?” I gasp.

“You follow my ex-girlfriend on social media. You knew she was coming with me. You responded to my chat in the group.”

“Yes. Your initials of BF along with your stupid Captain America avatar gave your identity away.”

“Captain America is not stupid.”

“Grown men don’t use superhero avatars in a campus-wide chat group.”

“All my friends do.”

I raise my eyebrows and say nothing.

A hint of a smile peeks out of one corner of his lips. “Did you know it was me?”

“Of course I didn’t know I was meeting Brent Faulkner at the airport.”

“Really?” He gestures to my outfit.

“Really.” My cheeks are on fire again. “I dressed like this because you seemed like a misogynistic asshole, and I was prepared to put you in your place all weekend.”

He lets out a startled laugh. “You were prepared to spend a weekend in Bermuda with a misogynistic asshole? Seriously? That’s kinda fucked up.”

“Those with drama need not apply? I applied anyway.” I give him a saccharine smile, and then I realize the waitress is hovering a few feet from our table.