Page 17 of Mac Meyers Needs Me

And the whole time, I keep my arms wrapped around Fee. Real or not, she feels right in my arms. I haven’t dated anyone seriously since high school. I was never into hookups the way Gage is, or the way Chase was at the beginning of his first year, sleeping with a new girl every week until he fell in love with Cammie.

I need an emotional connection with someone before the physical stuff makes sense. Back in high school I really liked a girl named Brianna, but she only wanted to be friends. Which is often the case for me. I end up friend-zoned because it takes longer for the chemistry to kick in.

Ever since I made the agreement with Fee, it’s been building steadily. I’m obsessed with how soft her lips look, and how much I’d like to feel them on mine.

Brody elbows my arm.

I glance at him. “What’s up?”

“Your girlfriend’s asleep.”

I glance down at Fee, curled up in my lap, eyes closed, chest rising and falling in regular intervals. It’s late, and I don’t want to wake her, so I slide my arm under her legs, secure her in my arms, and carry her upstairs to my bedroom. She must have been exhausted because she doesn’t rouse when I lay her in my bed and pull the covers over her.

I fight the desire to kiss her forehead and force myself to step back. “Ah, shit.” I run a hand through my hair and grip the back of my neck.

She looks perfect lying in my bed. And I desperately want to climb in next to her and cuddle her all night.

Which is how I know I’m totally, unequivocally fucked.

CHAPTER 8

FEE

Ibring Mac’s hoodie to my nose and inhale his cologne. All my corresponding body parts tingle with longing, like they believe he’s here and he’ll suddenly wind his strong arm around my waist and kiss a path up the side of my neck. I shove that fantasy back in the that-will-never-happen box with a despondent sigh. “I’ll be back to snuggle with you later,” I whisper to the fabric before I carefully fold it and set it on my bed.

Two mornings ago, I woke up in Mac’s bed. Still fully dressed in my jeans, T-shirt, and his hoodie. I haven’t had a chance to give it back. Not that I’m sad about it, or that I want to. I have a problem, and he’s my fake boyfriend. The fake part being the real problem.

Because Mac didn’t sleep in his bed with me. He didn’t even sleep on the floor.

Instead, he opted for the gross couch in Gage’s bedroom.

The one with biohazard posters tacked above it, and a groove in the shape of Gage’s ass from all his time spent playing video games when he’s not on the ice, boning a random girl who showed interest in him, or in class.

So as nice as it was to wake up in Mac’s bed, ensconced in the smell of his delightful cologne, it sucks that all our couch cuddling doesn’t equal mutual attraction. I’ve spent an extraordinary amount of time over the past forty-eight hours rolling things over in my head, sorting through all the puzzle pieces of who Mac is, what we are to each other, and how it all fits together. My consensus is that I don’t love being his fake anything, but I can’t make him want to snuggle with me for real, so I’ll have to settle for snuggling with his hoodie instead. It’s better than admitting my real feelings and potentially making things awkward or messing up the friend dynamic.

Tally has already left for dance practice by the time I come out of my room and pop a strudel in the toaster. Roman would be mortified by my breakfast choice, but I’m all about making myself feel better with sugar. I even stop at the café on the way to class and order a caramel latte with extra whipped cream. During my art studio class, I paint all my feelings in uninspiring muted shades of blue that imbed themselves under my nails.

My professor stops to take in the piece. “Deviating from your usual palette today, Ophelia?”

Usually, I work in bright colors and reserve my moodier art for my alter ego. “Just trying something different.”

“I like it.”

“Thanks.” She nods and continues to the next student.

I secretly thrill at the compliment but add in a few of my signature classroom bright vibes. After class, I meet up with Cammie at the campus food hall.

We’ve just sat down with our trays—I went for balance and ordered a chicken salad and carrot cake with cream cheese frosting—when Gage and Brody plunk down across from me and Chase slides in next to Cammie.

I smell Mac before I see or hear him, and my body prepares for his impending closeness.

His arm brushes mine as he takes the seat next to me. “Hey.”

I brace for the impact of his pretty smile, but it doesn’t stop the flutters in my stomach or the way my voice pitches up. “Hey.”

“Looking beautiful as always,” he winks.

“You, too.” I wrinkle my nose. “I mean, handsome and smooth, as always.”