Page 2 of Fake Shot

Before I can agree, Colt’s next to us, one hand on my shoulder and one hand on the neck of Brock’s button down as he pulls him away and tells him to mind his fucking manners with “Flynn’s baby sister.”

Of course he has to go and make me feel and sound like a goddamn child—I don’t know why I’m just now realizing that this is how he views me. I’m so pissed off I could cry, but I have years of experience hiding my anger and frustrationand so instead, I stand taller and square my shoulders as I turn to face him.

“I can make my own decisions about whose company I keep.”

“I told Jameson I’d be responsible for you tonight,” he says, looking down at me, “and I’m headed to my room. So I’ll take you to yours on my way.”

“I’m fine here for now. I can find my way back to my own room,” I tell him. In the dim light of the casino, it’s impossible to tell what time it is. It could be ten at night or three in the morning, I have no idea. But I do know that I’m not tired, and I want to stay out longer. Mostly, though, I want him to stop treating me like a child.

Colt reaches out, gripping my elbow in a way that’s not painful, but is definitely meant to show me he’s not playing. “Let’s go.”

“I’m fine here,Dad.” I spit the word at him, hating how much I sound like a little brat. But who the hell does he think he is?

He leans in close, and I force myself not to notice the way he smells tangy and spicy, or the way his hard chest feels pressed up against my arm and shoulder as he says, “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Either way, I’m seeing you back to your room like I promised your brother I would. Should I throw you over my shoulder, or can you walk out of here like a good girl?”

I grind my teeth together in frustration. Of all the times I’ve imagined words of affirmation like that coming from his mouth, it was never in a situation like this.

“I’ll see myself up to my own room,” I say, turning to walk away without even saying goodbye to Brock. I don’t wanthim to notice the anger creeping up my skin, leaving my chest, neck, and face flushed, or my eyes watering from the embarrassment.

Colt’s on my heels as I speed through the lobby of the hotel and approach the elevator. After hitting the button, I turn to tell him he doesn’t need to follow me, and I’m completely blindsided by the puck bunny in the pink dress standing there under his arm.

There’s no way Colt doesn’t know I’ve had a crush on him for years. And the fact that he’s standing here with another woman, taking her up to his room—not an ounce of subtlety or shame, not even having her follow a few minutes later to spare my feelings in this situation—tells me what I’ve suspected all night.

He doesn’t give a shit about me, except as his best friend’s baby sister. And given how I feel about him, that’s utterly heartbreaking.

We ride the elevator in silence, my eyes on the floor the whole time. I don’t want to see how he’s looking at her or what he’s doing that’s making her giggle. When we hit the sixteenth floor and the doors open, I zoom out of the elevator like I’m turbo charged.

I’m sliding the key card into my door and pushing it open—hoping I can make it inside before he sees the tears that have started falling—when he passes behind me on the way to his room a few doors down. “’Night, Tink.”

I slip into the dark room almost silently, determined not to wake Audrey up, and slide my back down the door as I crumple to the floor, completely and totally crushed.

And that’s when my phone lights up with a text. When I tap on it, there’s a photo of Brock, his lips wrapped aroundthe straw sticking out of a whiskey sour, one of his light brown eyebrows raised as his hair falls across his forehead. He’s stupidly attractive. Whereas Colt’s all muscle with fair skin and a chiseled square jaw, Brock’s thinner with darker skin and a more refined bone structure that showcases his cheekbones and his slightly pointed chin.

Brock

This whiskey sour isn’t going to drink itself.

I’m about to respond and ask him how he got my number when I remember that he put contact info in my phone when he first started flirting with me, saying, “in case you ever need it.” I glance up at the top of the screen, and what I didn’t realize at the time was that he also sent himself a text from my phone that says, simply:Jules Flynn.

I press my lips together to hold back the smile, not that there’s anyone to see it. Audrey’s consistent breathing is a sure sign she’s dead asleep in her bed on the other side of the bathroom wall.

I should go put my pajamas on and climb into my bed and let myself have a good cry through the heartbreak that was inevitable. There was never a world where Colt was going to feel the same way about me. I knew it, and I held on anyway.

Or ... I could go into the bathroom, wipe these tears away, and go out and have fun.

And as the image of that woman wrapped around Colt filters back into my mind, I don’t feel sad. I feel angry.

I deserve to move on, with someone whoisinterested in me. Colt doesn’t deserve the love I’ve been saving for him. Neither does Brock, but I can go back down there with noexpectations that there will be any feelings involved—we’re just having fun. And isn’t that what a nineteen-year-old college freshman should be doing?

Slipping into the bathroom, I shut the door as quietly as possible, wetting a washcloth, and wiping away the evidence of how hard this night has been on my heart.

Jules

I’ll be back down in ten minutes.

Brock

I was hoping you’d say that.

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