Page 3 of Foul & Fake
Those amber eyes flick to mine as he types in the number and calls his phone, his jaw ticking slightly as he accepts that this didn’t exactly go his way. “You know you’re the one benefiting from this deal, right? Our sex music doesn’t even match. Who the fuck jacks off toFall Out Boy?”
“Ugh.” Snatching my phone back, I turn off the music and flip him off. “You could just agree to be a decent guy and delete the video and leave my room alone instead of blackmailing me into something neither of us wants.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I could, but if I didn’t participate, they’d take that shit out on meandthe both of you, so this is the decent option whether you see it from my perspective or not. And you’re wrong. I do want this. Even without that video, I’ll never get that picture out of my head, Riley. You’ll cave one day.”
The butterflies hit me so hard, I put my hand over my stomach. “Oh will I?”
The side of his mouth curves up, his gaze flicking over me again before he walks toward the door. “Definitely.”
I shake my head even as my brain and my pussy team up against me. He is definitely, absolutely too hot. “Keep dreaming, Eli.”
“I plan on it, cupcake. I plan on dreaming about it tonight, actually.”
Rolling my eyes, I beg myself not to picture him going back to his dorm and using that video as his own little fantasy. I try, I really plead with myself over it, yet I do it anyway.
I wonder how his veiny, strong hands look wrapped around his co?—
“Mmhm,” he hums, ruining the little fantasyIabsolutely shouldn’t have been having, and again, I want to slap him when Ifind him staring at me intensely. Almost like he’s waiting for me. “I’ll text you about the date and let you get back to your purple friend.”
He tosses me a wink and disappears out the door, leaving me speechless, confused, and hornier than I should be.
If this is how all of our interactions will go… I’m in trouble.
Big trouble.
Chapter 2
Don’t Tug It Too Hard
ELIAS
Goddammit, she’s hot.
In all honesty, I don’t think she even knows how hot she really is, which only makes her even more attractive. I don’t get it. Even now as I walk across campus toward my apartment, I can’t get her adorable frown out of my head. And those glasses… I don’t even see the people I’m walking past, because all I want to do is go right back to her dorm and keep arguing with her.
I have issues.
The challenge was simple. Pull your target’s name out of the ball bag our captain Mads passed around, and prank the shit out of them until they cave… or untilyoucave, because the girls are more ruthless than they used to be when this dumb tradition started. When I was a freshman, I remember being so excited to take part in this, but now that I’m a senior I couldn’t care less. It’s all fun and games, sure, but I’d rather not have my apartment filled with tampons or whatever crazy bullshit the juniors are planning to do back to us. The challenge was simple, yet it’s never felt more complicated.
I was bluffing when I made it seem like this arrangement benefited Riley more than me. Now I can focus on my last year ofcollege without trying to think of new pranks that out prank the old pranks and — fuck that. If I never hear the word again, it’ll be too soon.
But to opt out of this tradition, I have to convince my team I have a girlfriend.
Couples join in every so often, but for the most part, they’re the only ones who have the option to step aside because no one wants their significant other playing games and flirting with other people. At least all these meatheads can agree on something.
The problem with me getting a girlfriend is that I made a promise to my dad that I wouldn’t — especially during the season. He started dating my mom when they were in college and knocked her up their sophomore year. She quit, he continued — even went pro like he always dreamed of — but after becoming a father, he believes he became distracted. He never made the starting lineup, and by the time I was ten and my sister was eight, mom decided that motherhood wasn’t for her. She left him with two kids and a dying soccer career, so every single time I talk to him, he reminds me to stay focused.
The thing is… soccer isn’t my passion. I love it, and the game will always be a part of me, but photography is where my heart is. Too bad I don’t know how to tell him. He already shit a brick when he found out that’s what I was majoring in.
Northgate is a beautiful campus with breathtaking mountains in the background, making it an optimal location for gorgeous photos that I’ve already made money off of online. Usually my camera is my only distraction, but something tells me that’s about to change, because when I arrive at my apartment and step inside, I realize something. I didn’t look at those mountains once the entire walk home. I didn’t even notice it started raining on me.
All I see are Riley’s spread legs and that shiny, hairless pussy I only got a flash of. Fuck, I hope that video got a better view. It’s doubtful with how quickly she covered herself up, but a guy can hope.
My best friend/roommate/Vipers starting forward is sprawled out on the chaise part of our gray couch with an ice pack on his shoulder, and I get the feeling his prank didn’t go as well as he thought it would either. The infallible Emory DeVito got an injury, I got a boner. What a pair we make.
Chuckling, I take a seat closer to the door and take in the state of him, noting just how fucked his dark brown, shoulder-length hair is and all the red paint over his clothes. It’s usually in an immaculate man bun, so he’s definitely having a day. “What’s up, Vito? Did your target strike first?”
“You could say that. She saw me coming right at midnight and launched herself at me. The paint bucket spilled and I hit the ground. What happened with yours? I’ve heard Samira is a demon.”
