Page 38 of Fake Crown

One stupid, thoughtless comment by me, and we’ve dipped into dangerous territory. Except he doesn’t want a girlfriend any more than I want a boyfriend. He shouldn’t push me when he doesn’t want the job.

“I don’t need fixed, you know,” I say when he starts getting his things ready for practice.

“Won’t mention it again.” He shoves a towel in his bag.

“Good, because we’re temporary, and I don’t want you getting the wrong idea.”

“Says the woman who invited me to live in her precious country only a few moments ago.”

I grab the pillow from behind my head and whip it at him. He ducks and laughs.

“What are you doing while I’m at practice?” He hitches the shoulder strap higher.

Contemplate why I agreed to be your fake girlfriend and how I can get out of it. “Booked a pedicure.”

“Are you upset with me? It feels like you’re upset with me.”

“No. No. Why would I be upset with you? This is the advantage of a fake relationship. We don’t get mad at each other. We get to be assholes, and no one cares.”

“Right,” he says, dragging out the word. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

As soon as the door to the hotel room clicks closed, I sigh and throw another pillow at the wall. After Chris, I never cared about having a boyfriend. Casual hookups. People around me all the time. Those things were enough. I didn’t need a specific person; I just needed someone. Brent Faulkner won’t be the one to change that. Developing a crush on more than his hot body is a recipe for disaster.

At the spa, they have me change out of my shorts and T-shirt and into a robe and flip-flops. It’s standard fare for expensive hotels like this, but I’m impressed by the plushness of their robe. I’m wasting time by examining my eyebrows in the mirror when a familiar voice sounds through the locker room from the exit into the treatment area.

Kill me now. I’m so not in the mood for another encounter with the ex-girlfriend from hell. The fact that she had so little respect for me as Brent’s wedding date that she had her hand down his pants last night is more infuriating than I expect. I shouldn’t care where his dick was or where her hands were.

She stops at the entrance to the bathroom area, and her gaze sweeps over me. “He’s training, is he? No such thing as a day off with him.”

Do not engage. Do not engage.

I’ll be early for my treatment, but it’s better to be out there sitting in an armchair waiting to be served than in here with her smugness.

“He eats, he sleeps, he trains, he fucks. Not much to offer a girl like you who’s social all over campus.”

The way she says it makes the implication that I’m a slut clear. Instead of getting mean in return, I draw my perkiness from my toes up into my expression. She doesn’t need to see how much I dislike her.

“You’re right. I am all over campus.” I grin.

“Whatever is going on between you two this weekend, it’ll be over next week. Brent wants a particular type of girl, and I’m able to provide that.”

Does she mean a sex doll? I bite down on my lip to keep from letting my mean girl out. No one wants a catfight in the spa bathroom.

“I guess we’ll see what next week brings,” I say in my perkiest voice. “We already synched our calendars. Maybe he needs more than one woman to provide what he needs.”

“You’re a weekend fling, and I’m the real deal.” Her eyes narrow. “I understand him better than anyone. Brent doesn’t do synched calendars and multiple women. Next week you’ll be in the rearview mirror, and I’ll be back riding shotgun.”

I let out a deep sigh, and my perkiness is expelled with it. “Maybe you think you know him. But if you do, then it means you believe the best you can do is a guy who doesn’t value you. He sees you as a pair of tits and a nice ass. That’s what you want for yourself?”

With that, I push open the spa door and exit into the treatment area. My heart pounds in my chest. I’m not sure whether my little speech will have poked the bear or shot it dead.

As for next week, I’ll gladly put myself in harm’s way if it means Val can’t sink her claws back into Brent. I might not want him to be my boyfriend, but he deserves a hell of a lot better than her.

Brent

Posey’s thighs rest on my shoulders, and she’s perched on the tiny ledge in the shower while I eat her for breakfast. We need to catch our plane back to campus soon. Her fingers are digging into my scalp, and she’s breathing heavily. Fuck the plane. I want to watch her come. After I brought her a rose I picked on my way back from practice, she gave me the road map to this orgasm last night in bed, and now I’m driving the same route to O-Town this morning.

“Oh my god,” she cries and clutches at the wet wall of the shower.