Fake Fiancée

I closed out the tab and clicked my laptop shut.

I’d been absolutely terrified that night, but I ran through the woods until I came to a nearly deserted truck stop on the highway, where I begged some young college kids to give me a ride to Knoxville. They had. Once there, I’d bought a bus ticket to Atlanta with the cash I still had in the back pocket of my denim shorts.

The rest is history. Here I was, living and breathing and not doing bad. If I’d stayed on that mountain—I stopped.

Don’t, Sunny.

Then Max’s face popped in my head.

But he wasn’t good to think about either.

I exhaled and went to the kitchen to make sugar cookies. That’s just what I needed—something sweet to forget all the bad.

Max

TONIGHT WAS OUR LET’S GET to know each other better date. I’d been to her house a couple of evenings to study and we’d touched on personal things, but now I wanted to dig into her, get under her skin. There were resistant layers I’d yet to peel away. She’d told me about being from North Carolina and growing up as a preacher’s kid in a strict household. I knew her father was sick with cancer and their relationship was strained. Her mom had died years ago in a car accident with a man she’d been having an affair with.

I’d been thinking a lot about Sunny lately. Her lips, those long legs, and the way she looked at me when she didn’t think I noticed.

I had a proposition for her—one that had been clawing at me since the moment she’d stood on my front porch. I wanted her in my bed.

“What’s your favorite color?” I asked, gazing at her from across the table inside the Orion Coffee Shoppe—the place we’d supposedly met. A hipster place near campus, it held poetry readings and band night for amateurs. I liked it immediately, mostly because it was low-key and no one paid me any attention.

She sent me a side-eye over a bite of her club sandwich. “Blue. Who cares?”

“I do. I want to know everything about you.”

“Why?” she said with a noncommittal shrug, completely unconcerned that the great Max Kent was interested in her. I liked that about her. She made me work for it.

“Well, in case you were wondering, my favorite color is blue too.”

“Nice,” she said. “If a reporter asks me, I’ll be sure to let him know. What else you got for me?”

“When’s the last time you had sex?” I took a sip of my latte, playing it cool, acting like I wasn’t dying to know the answer. I did my best to keep my eyes off her assets. I’d been trying for the past hour, ever since she’d waltzed through the door wearing ankle boots, a pair of skinny jeans, and an I Let the Dogs Out shoulder-baring top. Simple. No makeup but lipstick. Hot as fuck.

“It’s none of your business,” she said around chews.

“Tell you what. Answer my question, and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know about the mysterious Max Kent.”

She scrunched her nose up. “You’re no mystery. You’re practically an open book. All I have to do is visit your Facebook or Instagram page.”

“Not true. People see what they want. There’s more to me than just a talented, intelligent, charming, easy to talk to guy—”

“Okay, fine,” she said, cutting me off. An elegant finger swirled around her soda glass. “I haven’t had sex since Bart—so since last spring.” Smoky gray eyes peeked at me through dark lashes. “He was my first.”

I hid my surprise by plucking a piece of bread off her plate and popping it in my mouth. Holy mother of all things. She was so damn innocent. My cock ached.

Why did it make me want her even more?

“You were a virgin?”

“I didn’t stutter.”

“Don’t be defensive.”

“I’m not,” she snapped.

I laughed. “God, I think I love you.”

She coughed and the drink she’d had in her mouth flew everywhere.

“Good grief. Don’t take everything I say so seriously. And dude, it hurts a little that you looked so terrified.” I gave her a wad of napkins from the dispenser. “Here, let’s clean this up.” Before I realized what I was doing, I inadvertently patted her chest, my hand lingering on the curve of her breast.

She inhaled sharply at the contact, and I immediately pulled back. The best quarterback in the country, and I couldn’t even hand a girl a few napkins without fumbling all over myself.

What was wrong with me?

“I have a proposition for you,” I said, clearing my throat. “There’s obviously some heat between us.”

Her eyebrow quirked. “Yeah?”

“What if we had sex—without getting involved, of course?”

Her mouth opened.

I held a hand up. “I mean, it would be a shame to spend all this time together and not enjoy each other . . .” my voice stopped, listening to how the words came out.

It had sounded better in my head on the drive over here.

“I guarantee we’d detonate like a bomb if you’d give us a shot,” I added, my voice husky.

“Bombs have been known to implode—and I’d be the one getting hurt. In fact, you’ve already warned me. Remember? You don’t do relationships anymore, and I don’t do random sex.”

“Someday I want something serious again—just not while I’m in college, ya know?”

“I get it.” Her voice was soft. “It’s all about the timing.”

A few ticks of silence went by.

I was deeply disappointed in her answer—yet part of me was glad she’d said no. Sunny didn’t deserve to just be a fuck buddy. She was a girl who only deserved the best. Once again, I resolved to keep it platonic.

Yeah. How long will that last?

“You have any questions for me?”

She mulled it over, her finger tapping on her chin. “Actually, I do have several questions. Let’s start with . . . have you ever cheated on a girl?”

“No.”

“Have you ever asked for directions?”

I scoffed. “Please.”

She grunted.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I said.

“That you’re too proud to admit when you’re wrong.”

“I’m never wrong, Cookie.”

She set her sandwich down, a small smile on her face. “That’s the best nickname you could come up with? Why Cookie?”

I leaned back in the metal chair that was entirely too small for my frame. “Because you’re sweet enough to eat.” The words fell softly between us.

Time to move on, Max. She isn’t interested in sex with you.

“Next question?” I asked.

She nodded, thinking. “Hmmm, if I had to pick qualities in a fake boyfriend, I’d want him to be a great spider killer. Are you?”

“They don’t scare me.”

“Even the big hairy ones? There’s one currently residing in my bedroom somewhere.”

I grinned. “Let me come over and I’ll hunt him down.”

“Right,” she smirked. “Here’s a good one for you: Would you buy me feminine products?”

“I might come home with baby diapers—but yeah, I’d try my damnedest.”

She bit back a grin, but a giggle erupted.

I smiled. “Are you trying to make me uncomfortable, Cookie?”

“Maybe . . . anyway . . . how many times a day do you masturbate?”