Page 77 of Play Fake
“I’m jealous of you. Of him touching you. Of anyone fucking touching you. But just especially not one of my best friends. The idea of him knowing what you feel like, what you taste like, the way you sound when you come. I want that for myself. Can you just let me have that? Even if it’s just tonight. You can keep the shirt, and we can call it my birthday gift.” I feel like I’m going to crack open. Like I might get on my knees and beg her if I thought it would help.
Her eyes are searching mine. Confusion and analysis swirling together in the depths of the pale green rimmed with copper there.
“Okay. This once, okay. But don’t do it again. You don’t hear me asking you not to fuck other women.”
“You don’t see me trying to fuck Olivia, either.”
“That’s probably because you don’t have a death wish.” A laugh escapes her, and it lightens the mood enough I feel like I can breathe again.
“Fair point.” I shrug, laughing a little myself.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think about it being your best friend. All this… like you… where everyone fucks whoever whenever. It’s new to me. I’m a relationship kind of girl and this is uncharted waters for me to be in. I’m trying not to fuck it up.” She confesses.
“I don’t fuck whoever, whenever.” I say quietly, staring at the rug on the floor.
“Waylon. I’m not slut shaming you. Seriously. You’re hot as hell and famous on campus, and lots of really beautiful women want you. Literally no one, least of all me, would blame you or them. Fuck, if I looked like London, I’d climb you like a tree too.”
I laugh at the visual of Mac acting anything remotely like London.
“I know you’re not, but I’m saying there hasn’t been anyone else.”
I’ll probably hate myself later for confessing this to her.
“In the last week? Woo. Is that a record for you? I’m impressed. I see now why you might need to be double teamed.” Her words cut a little, but I can tell by the tone she’s just trying to tease me.
“Ha,” I say, and hesitate before I follow it with the truth. “No, in the last couple of months. Since the night I followed you upstairs to that little library of yours.”
“What? You followed me?” Confusion leeches into her tone.
I ignore the question because I hadn’t meant to admit that much.
“You are the only person I’ve slept with since then. What’s the opposite of cockblocked? Pussyblocked? Where yours is the only one I can think about.” I let out a self-deprecating laugh.
I’m going to be pissed in the morning when I’m not drunk anymore, and I wish I hadn’t said any of this.
“Be serious, Waylon,” she chides. And the tone and the words grate on my heart, which is already raw.
“I’m so fucking serious, Mac. I know I’m a joke to you. I know you can’t stand me, and it’s real fucking inconvenient for you that your body disagrees with you on that one.” I glance up to see her blush and then stare back down at the sliver of counter between us. “But I like you, Mac. I’ve wanted you since the day I saw you, but then I don’t know. It changed over time from just wanting to fuck you. Getting to be friends, pretending to be together… you’re in my fucking head all the time.”
Her hands lift and cup my face. “You are not a joke to me, Waylon. Anyone who knows you even a little bit knows you’re the fucking heart of this team. You’re kind and funny and fucking wonderful to everyone you love. You got under my skin sometimes, yeah. And I got under yours. And if I’m honest, I’ve always been attracted to you. I just would never have admitted it because we’re so different. It didn’t, doesn’t, make sense.”
“So then fucking be honest—you’re really fine with leaving here, knowing I’ll have a threesome waiting for me?”
“I mean, I’m going to be jealous. I’m going to hate it a little. But I’m not trying to ruin your fun.”
TWENTY-THREE
Mackenzie
I’m doingmy best to hold it together because while Waylon is obviously very drunk on who knows how many shots, I’ve only had a few beers and won’t have the excuse of insobriety to see me out of anything I say. Plus, he’s high on a win, on his birthday, and I’m fairly certain things are just tumbling out of his mouth he doesn’t mean because he’s just flush with adrenaline and tequila. The sad part is, I want to believe them, and it terrifies me.
“I don’t think you’re really thinking this through,” he leans forward, looking me over, and I feel his fingers creep up my inner thighs again.
He’s massaging the skin so softly I don’t even think he realizes he’s doing it, but it feels like heaven, and it’s setting off tiny little sparks of need in me. It feels like he might be the only one who’s ever had this kind of hold on me.
Me needing Waylon Prescott is a dangerous thing though. I can’t dwell on that or all the consequences, so instead I dwell on how hot he looks right now. Hunched over, brow furrowed, traps looking like they might pop. Waylon is by far the hottest guy I’ve ever laid eyes on. And a jealous Waylon is one of the hottest versions yet.
“Thinking what through?” I whisper, emerging from my thoughts to realize he’s observing me, and his fingers are working their way upward. Whatever the case was before, he’s very aware of what he’s doing now.
