Page 25 of The #FakeBoyfriend Bet

"That's not how I see you."

"'He's like a puppy,'" he quotes back to me. "Your exact words."

"I was putting on a show for Tori!" My voice rises in frustration. "She was concerned I was getting too invested in something that's supposed to be temporary. I was protecting myself."

"From what?"

"From this!" I gesture between us. "From whatever this is that makes me think about you when we're not together. That makes me miss your stupid jokes and the way you roll your eyes when I'm being too perfectionist about photos. That makes me feel like maybe—just maybe—there's something real developing despite the fake premise."

The words hang between us, more honest than I intended. Max stares at me, his expression unreadable.

"You said it was supposed to mean nothing," he says finally, his voice lower. "A business arrangement."

"I know what I said." I take a step closer. "But things change. People change."

"Do they?" He doesn't back away as I move toward him. "Or are they just better at the performance?"

"There's one way to find out." My heart hammers in my chest as I close the distance between us. "No cameras. No audience. No reason to pretend."

His eyes drop to my lips, then back to my eyes. "Lena?—"

"Just us," I whisper. "Real or not real. Your call."

For a heartbeat, I think he'll back away. Then his hand comes up to cup my face, his thumb brushing across my cheek with a gentleness that makes my breath catch.

"This is a bad idea," he murmurs, even as he leans closer.

"Probably." I tilt my face up to his. "I don't care."

His lips meet mine with none of the careful restraint of our staged kisses. This is hungry, urgent, months of tension finally breaking. His hands tangle in my damp hair as mine grip the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. He tastes like tea and rain and something essentially Max—real and uncomplicated in a way nothing in my life has been lately.

We stumble backward until my spine meets the exposed brick wall. The impact should hurt, but I barely notice, too consumed by the heat of his mouth on mine, his hands tracing paths of fire along my sides.

"This doesn't change anything," he breathes against my neck as his lips trail down to my collarbone. "Still temporary. Still an arrangement."

"Shut up," I gasp, tugging his hair to bring his mouth back to mine. "Just shut up and kiss me."

He complies, lifting me effortlessly so my legs can wrap around his waist, supporting me against the wall. The strength in his arms, the solid warmth of his body pressed against mine—it's overwhelming, intoxicating.

"Bedroom," I manage between kisses.

He carries me down the hall without breaking contact, my fingers working at the buttons of his henley, desperate to feel skin against skin. We tumble onto his bed in a tangle of limbs and half-removed clothes, his weight a delicious pressure above me.

"Are you sure?" he asks, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes. Even now, with desire darkening his gaze, he's checking, making sure.

"Yes." I pull him back down to me. "I want this. I want you."

His borrowed t-shirt is the first casualty, pulled over my head and tossed aside. His eyes darken as they take in my bare skin, his hands following his gaze with reverent exploration. My own hands aren't idle, pushing his shirt up and over his shoulders, revealing the toned chest and arms I've felt but never seen.

"You're beautiful," he murmurs, and the simple honesty in his voice melts something frozen inside me.

There's no performance now, no calculated moves or camera-ready angles. Just the raw, honest need between two people who've been denying their attraction for too long. He kisses his way down my body with an attention to detail that makes me arch against him, my fingers clutching the sheets as his mouth and hands find places that make me gasp his name.

When he finally enters me, the sensation is overwhelming—not just physically, but emotionally. His forehead presses against mine, our breaths mingling as we find a rhythm together. His eyes never leave mine, a connection more intimate than the physical one joining us.

"Max," I whisper, not sure what I'm asking for.

He seems to understand anyway, his movements becoming more urgent, his hands cradling my face as if I'm something precious. When release claims me, it's with his name on my lips, the sound swallowed by his kiss as he follows me over the edge.

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