Page 32 of Play Fake
“True.” Waylon grins before he sips his beer.
“Way, let’s go upstairs, yeah? I’m bored.” The blonde tucks her fingers in his pocket and smiles up at him, swaying back and forth like an impatient child.
“Hey! Ben. Waylon. Come help me move some furniture?” Easton calls from the living room.
“Be right there!” Ben shouts back, and the two of them move to take off.
I frown at the loss of Ben and tip my beer back again. The chances he doesn’t get scooped up by some girl in the next five minutes are about zero. Not like I had a real chance anyway, but whatever was going on, I was enjoying it while it lasted. Especially since my fake boyfriend decided he was going to have an affair with a blonde.
Speaking of, I look up and her eyes are focused on me, so I jolt one eyebrow up in question, wondering what the hell I could have done to be getting a death glare.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but neither of them is going to hook up with someone like you. Ben doesn’t like brunettes, and Waylon is mine.”
I sputter, trying not to spray beer on myself when I do.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“You heard me. You’re not gonna play them off each other. They think you’re a joke. It’s funny to them that you think either of them would ever hookup with someone of your… size.” Her eyes slide over my body and then her lips curl up in a little sneering pout before she laughs at me.
This again? Really? I’m not even that big. Not that it matters, but the extent of her fat phobia is wild. Incredibly uncharitable thoughts cross my mind, some of which I almost say but then think better of. There’s no need to sink to her level. No need to point out where my anatomy is superior to hers. Not when I have a better idea in mind.
“Waylon is yours, huh?”
“Yes, so quit embarrassing yourself. It's cringe, honestly. I’m trying to help you.”
“Help me? Interesting.”
“Yes. Just giving you helpful advice. Guys like them don’t want to be smothered under your weight. Try one of the linebackers. Corey has a thing for thick chicks.”
“Smothered?”
Is this woman serious? I wasn’t the one clinging to him at every available moment, like he might forget I exist otherwise.
I slam the bottle down on the counter and stand up abruptly, making a beeline to the living room. I can hear her following me, asking me what the hell I’m doing, but I ignore her. Instead, I’m searching for Waylon in the crowd. When I spot him, finishing up moving the things Easton needed help with, I go straight for him, sliding past the crowd of bodies between us.
“Hey,” I tug his shirt, and he turns around with a questioning look on his face.
I stand up on my tiptoes so he can hear me when I whisper.
“I need your help, fake boyfriend. I know I’ll owe you big time, but play along, okay?”
I pull back, looking into his eyes, and he nods his bewildered agreement.
I wink at him, and then press my hands into his chest, back him down into the chair he’s just moved out of the way. Then I climb into his lap, straddling him with a knee on either side of his hips. To his credit, his arms come around me immediately, like it’s second nature for us to be like this, one of his hands cupping my ass and the other on my thigh. He sells our fake relationship like a pro. To my discredit, I realize as the warmth of his body envelops me; I was going to enjoy it all.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble just before I press my lips against his in hard, punishing strokes.
I’m so pissed at women being like this to other women. I’m frustrated men like Ezra and Waylon enable them, and I’m sick of feeling less than. I hope she’s watching every second of this. In fact, I hope she tries to pull my hair out because at this point I’m drunk enough I might be ready to fight. Not that I have any idea how since it’s never crossed my mind before, but I could learn.
But all that fades to the background when Waylon kisses me back. The feel of his lips on mine, the way his tongue dips into my mouth, the way his hand slides up my neck and threads through my hair. My body lights up under his touch, desire pooling low, and I forget who we are and where we are for a second. I spread my legs further, grinding down on his lap. His hand digs into the flesh of my hip, pulling me closer, and I can feel him go hard beneath me. It only makes me want more, pulling me down with an undercurrent of need I seem to feel every time I’m around him lately. I pull back, getting a breath of air and trying to resurface from whatever this is.
“Don’t ever fucking apologize for that,” he whispers.
My eyes collide with his, and I try to make sense of the look he’s giving me.
A little gasped growl from behind me snaps me out of it, though, and I turn around to see the blonde standing over me, mouth agape. I grin brightly and stand to face her.
“I’m sorry. What was that again about smothering?” I taunt her.
