Page 49 of Lessons in Faking
McCarthy snorted, rolling his eyes. “Not making it any better.”
This was dangerous.
Every fiber of my being pleaded with me to give in. The level of desperation was so unlike me that I was beginning to think Wren’s entrance was divine intervention. Sleeping with him wasn’t a good idea. We’d known that well before we even kissed.
There was a whole clause dedicated to it in that neatly written up contract of his:
#3 NO SEX.
Short and sweet. I should stick to it—weshould.
Chapter 23
McCarthy didn’t make following rule #3 any easier once he got into the habit of showing up at my apartment unannounced.
But I couldn’t be too mad when I knew his presence would keep me from diving headfirst into finals revision. “What are you doing here?” I asked.
McCarthy squeezed past me. I kind of liked how familiar it felt. “I’m offended. Truly. Can’t a fake boyfriend just visit his fake girlfriend, without any ulterior motive?”
“No.” I snorted. “Not when you’re supposed to beoh so busyon Friday nights.” If he thought I’d forgotten about the mysterious plans he had every Friday—which had kept us from scheduling our weekly date on said day—he was dead wrong. “You don’t usually have time for me today. Remember?” I teased.
McCarthy shrugged. “I made time.”
As if it was no big deal,making time for me.
He followed when I headed for my bedroom. Wren andI still hadn’t spoken a word since our fight, and McCarthy’s presence wouldn’t necessarily make thingsbetterbetween us, so I didn’t want to risk it.
“So.” I paused by my bedroom door to let him step past me. “You must have an ulterior motive, then. If youmade time.” I closed the door, threw myself into my chair, and spun around.
He took in the desk cluttered with flashcards and notebooks. Against the opposite wall stood my bed, matching sheets courtesy of McCarthy, who’d changed them when I was sick. A pale pink throw hung over its foot. He’d been in here before though, so his gaze didn’t linger.
“You got me.” His hands raised in mock guilt when he looked back at me. “My ulterior motive is to be the best fake boyfriend you’ve ever had.”
“Seeing as you’re my first and only—”
“Do tell me more about being your first and only, Pressley. I’m all ears.” I caught a flash of dimple, and the way he refused to break eye contact was dizzying. “The kid I usually teach piano to is sick,” he amended, too casually for my liking. “That’s why I’m here.”
Like the thought of him with children, patiently teaching them how to play an instrument, wouldn’t make even the strongest woman weak in the knees.
“I also thought you might need some distraction. Judging by the state of your desk and the state of you.”
“Thanks,” I said, head tilting in amused annoyance. If I looked like I hadn’t showered in three days and hadn’tleft my apartment for anything other than lectures for just as long, it was simply because I hadn’t.
“My intervention is very much needed. That’s not an insult, Athalia. As always, you look perfect. Just exhausted.”
“I wouldn’t call unshowered and messyperfect, but to each their own, I guess.”
“I’m not having this debate with you.” And apparently that was that, because a second later he asked, “Have you eaten?”
“Haven’t had time.” I hadn’t even had time to think about food. “Feel like ordering something?” My tone was hopeful.
“Nope.” He pushed himself off the door. “Let’s cook.”
Before I could let him know that we couldn’t possibly cook anything with air and water—which were probably the only two things we had in our home—he was heading for the kitchen.
So much for keeping out of Wren’s way.
I didn’t rush to follow him. He’d catch on to the missing ingredients soon enough. It was only when a joyful “Perfect!” came from him, that I started to worry.
