Page 30 of Lessons in Faking
I took the opportunity to duck under his arm, escaping to clear my thoughts of... him. I didn’t want to notice the outline of his toned arms, the short sleeves showing them off. My eyes really justgrazedthem. Anyone’s would have.
“Oh, McCarthy.” I hummed playfully, overcoming the single flutter in my belly. Because I was nervous. About the party. “I’m flattered. But you can’t have me. Remember that contract?”
He tilted his head, huffed in amusement. “And what a shame that is, right?”
What a shame.I ignored his words.Nothing to read into here.Leaning against the counter beside him, I looked anywhere but his way. To distract from everything about McCarthy that clouded my judgment. For starters, his presence. Followed by the scent of his earthy aftershave, the sound of his snicker, and the way I could feel his eyes boring into the side of my face.
“This isn’t really a soda household. Sorry. Didn’t take you for a sweet tooth,” I admitted.
“That’s fine. Many things you wouldn’t take me for,” he retorted, then pushed off the counter to stand in front of me. “Ready?” His eyes flew down my frame when he asked, as if to approve the way I looked before he turned up on frat row with me on his arm.
“Don’t know,” I admitted. My honesty kind of surprised me.
It seemed he mirrored the sentiment. Gave me a tentative look before another once-over. “Seriously?” he asked.
In answer, I headed for the full-length mirror in my room. Since Wren was busy, I’d gotten ready by myself for the first time in a long time, and I wondered whether the lack of a second opinion had affected my outfit decisions. You could never go wrong with a black dress, but...
“It’s a bit basic,” I concluded loud enough for him to hear my words in the kitchen, a single wall between us. Or maybe it was too much? I thought back to my last frat party, trying to remember whether people wore dresses to them. Distractedly, I twisted and turned in front of the mirror beside my bed to see all angles.
It was decided. I hated it.
In defeat, I dropped my hands with a groan. McCarthy showed the next second, and our eyes locked in the mirror. He leaned against the doorframe, filling it.
“You’re not seriously thinking about changing, are you?” His eyes fell down my body again. Maybe even lingered on my backside.Who knows?I certainly wasn’t keeping track.
“I am.” I puffed out a breath. “It’s too much. Or too little. Maybe too—” Annoyed, I tried to fix what, in my head, had become unfixable.
Riding the hem of the dress farther up my thigh, I turned from side to side. I cupped my boobs, pushing them up, wondering if maybe I should’ve gone with the push-up bra instead of the no-bra option that left me lookingrelatively flat. In a matter of seconds, this had become a fashion emergency, and I’d forgotten all about McCarthy’s presence in order to fix it.
Until a strangled groan that wasn’t mine reminded me. Two large hands turned me, and I stared right at McCarthy, my green eyes big with surprise and hands awkwardly falling from my breasts. He held my shoulders as he took a deep breath, trying to lessen his clear annoyance at how long I was taking.
At least that’s what I thought it was, until his gaze dropped lower for a fraction of a second.
“It’s perfect,” McCarthy snapped, dark eyes back on mine. “Heads will turn, Pressley. No doubt about it.” The sarcastic undertone I was used to made an appearance again, and somehow it calmed my suspiciously fast-beating heart. “But if I still want to get the chance to show you off, we’ll have to leave this apartment eventually.”
I still ended up changing. Just my choice of shoes, though. And I regretted the knee-high boots for one reason only: their plateau heel. Neither of us wanted to be designated driver, but walking over to frat row had been one of his worst ideas. Not even halfway through the twenty-minute walk, I forced him into an Uber. Necessary, if I wanted to survive the night. And five minutes later, we thanked the driver and jumped out of the car.
Our destination was as obvious as the nose on my face. Loud music, neon lights, laughing people. You could smell a frat party from a mile away, especially if it was a birthday bash for the captain of the soccer team. Which was howMcCarthy knew Henry would be here, and which was why, inevitably, I was here too.
Not daring a glance in McCarthy’s direction, I slipped my hand into his. Big and warm and solid, closing around mine without a second of hesitation.
This was our first official outing as a couple. This wasdifferent. It had to look real to everyone, from every angle, all the time. Not just to Henry. Not just when he was around or looking. Always.
For the next few hours, I had to make sure every fleeting glance, every look, every touch would make our relationship look real. Somehow, that didn’t seem quite as challenging as it would’ve been a few weeks ago.
Chapter 16
We made a beeline for the drinks. We knew we needed alcohol’s help if we wanted to pull this off and look casual while doing so.
Leftover slices of pizza were scattered across the kitchen counter, some still in the box, some... not. It was crowded back there—everywhere.
The couches that had been pushed to the walls of the living room were at full capacity, and so was the makeshift dance floor they made room for. Sweaty, drunk, happy bodies that were no more than a blur moved across it, hands either in the air or on someone else.
Smaller groups were sitting and standing on the stairs. Someone had also just fallen down the stairs, so technically, they were lying on them too. To say this was the busiest party I’d been to would be an understatement.
My eyes returned to my company for the night. Apparently no longer interested in something sweet, McCarthy opted for a beer. Canned and probably warm. Taking asip, he squinted in displeasure—to the surprise of no one. The cheap wine in my plastic cup didn’t taste much better, though.
“D!” The friendly shout caught my attention.
