Page 67 of Fake Crown

I laugh. “Not at these sorts of meets. If anyone can change that perception, it’ll be her.”

We chat for another minute, and then I wander to where my teammates are strewn across the pool deck.

“She’s got another one, Faulkner,” Ethan says. “Might be my favorite yet.”

I turn to read her newest sign, and I shake my head at her audacity. Faulkner, you dove in hard and came out wet. Even from a distance, I can see the saucy grin on her face.

“How many of those signs did she make?” Jessica asks.

“If I had to guess?” I turn back to them. “More than I’ll want to see.” Except, like everything she does, I’m finding her enthusiasm amusing and highly endearing. I’ve had girls I’m dating come to swim meets before, but they often admit later to being bored. Posey is holding up a generic Go Ravens sign, and she’s cheering for one of my teammates in her final. Wherever Posey goes, she unpacks the fun, and she doesn’t wait for someone else to deliver it.

“I’m not sure you could have found someone more opposite to Val,” Jessica says.

“Funny how life sometimes provides exactly what you need when you’re not even looking for it.” Saying too much to my teammates, who we’ll likely be going out with after, is a tad dangerous. Any of them could replay my comments to Posey, and they could send her running. It's easy enough to explain them as playing along with our fake dating, but I’m wondering if we’re reaching the point where even Posey realizes there’s more to what’s happening between us. Nothing about us feels fake to me anymore.

As finals wear on, Posey drags out more signs riddled with sexual innuendos. If nothing else, she appears to be amusing everyone on the pool deck. Each time one arrives, a burst of laughter somewhere on the deck signals a new opportunity to marvel at her boldness.

The last event of the night is the freestyle relay, and when I glance toward Posey in the stands, she gives me a fake high five, and her sign reads You really (flip) turn me on. The whistle blows for the first swimmer to take to the blocks. I’m the anchor, so I don’t swim until last. As soon as the beep sounds, I’m focused on the race. By the time I’m on the blocks, we’re behind by about a second. Freestyle is my best event, and when I hit the water, I kick and pull as hard as I can to catch Michigan State in the lane beside us. When I hit the turn, I’ve managed to draw even with their final swimmer, and as I accelerate off the wall, I pass him.

My fingers hit the touchpad, and I check the clock. Not a new team record, but it’s a very respectable time for this point in the season. Posey whistles from the stands, and I wave to her from the water. Instead of mentally replaying my race like normal, I stare at her, and I’m astounded that posting on a campus chat server resulted in her.

Outside the locker rooms, the team gathers to decide on where to go for some food. Posey appears in the hallway after I text her to come down to the lower level from the stands. Her other signs appear to be gone, but she’s holding one in front of her as she approaches.

Your breaststroke may be weak in the pool, but it’s strong in bed.

I grin and loop my arm over her shoulders before tugging her against me and kissing the top of her head. “Nice sign,” I say.

“My favorite was about Brent being too sexy for a sport that requires clothes,” Ethan says. “’Cause it applies to me too.”

“I left them all upstairs by a recycling bin, if you want to retrieve it,” Posey says, and she snuggles against me.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Brent so relaxed and happy at a swim meet,” Jessica says as we stream out of the building into the cold night air. “Normally, he’s just like—” She turns her expression into a glaring glower.

“That’s called being focused,” I say with a laugh. She does have a point, though. At a meet, I’m often in my own head.

“You were still focused enough to win, and you looked like you were having fun. Not sure I’ve ever seen you smile that much.”

When I glance down at Posey, she’s beaming. “My signs were pretty punny.”

“Pun-tastic,” I admit. But I’m having trouble discerning how much I can reveal to my teammates and consequently to Posey before she’ll freak out. The swim meet, an event I’ve been to a thousand times, brimmed with a different energy today. Jessica is right. Having Posey there offered a balance I didn’t realize I wanted. I was focused when I needed to be, but I also enjoyed the atmosphere. In the past, I’ve feared my ability to transition or switch myself into race mode. Whether I’ve been to enough competitions now or whether it never would have been as hard as I believed, today proved I can switch from grinning at Posey’s joke to staring down my lane, ready to kick ass. I can have both. The insight sends a shot of warmth across my chest, and I kiss Posey’s temple.

“Thanks for making the meet so much fun,” I say to her.

“I’m a fun factory.” She squeezes my side.

She is, and my instinct is to press her on why she has been denying herself a relationship for so long. As far as girlfriends go, she’s top shelf. The idea that I might get to stay with her if I can keep my cool is a little daunting. At some point, my growing feelings will be painfully obvious to both of us. I’m already wondering whether the warmth in my chest radiates outward, showing her how I feel if she only cared to look. But if she’s not there with me, there’s no way she’ll stick around.

Fake is all she thinks she can offer, and we’re already far too real. If coming to Chicago freaked her out, then realizing why she wanted to come to Chicago will be one step too far. At least right now. Just keep inching her along until the line she thinks she can’t cross is so far behind us, she’ll forget it even existed.

Posey

The team’s favorite restaurant is an Italian place with all-you-can-eat salad and breadsticks that’s within walking distance of the pool but in the opposite direction from the hotel. They’re buoyed by their relay-team win and numerous personal successes. From what I can gather at the table, Brent and Ethan are on track for their season goals. The coach makes a speech, after everyone is digging into the food, about striving to be their best and other things that are inspiring for even a non-athlete like me.

Across the table, a couple of Brent’s teammates take videos of the food and the plethora of jokes flying around building on the various signs I proudly displayed at the pool today. If no one snaps those up from the recycling, they’re missing out.

My favorite part of the dinner is how attentive Brent is. If I were in the market for a boyfriend, I could do a hell of a lot worse than him. From recommending dishes he thought I’d like, to slinging his arm across the back of my chair, to planting random kisses on my temple, I never have any doubt that I’ve got at least fifty percent of his attention at any given moment.

On the way back to the hotel, he laces our fingers together while he chats to some of his teammates and I talk to some of the girls. Even Jessica, who was reluctant earlier to give me a chance, seems much more open. I haven’t figured out exactly what her initial problem with me was, but if she follows Val on her socials, then me with Brent might have been a surprise. As far as I’ve been able to tell, Val hasn’t acknowledged Brent’s absence from her feeds, and she’s ignored or deleted comments from anyone who dares to ask.