Page 50 of The Fake Dating War

I blink.

He clears his throat. “If it was real, you wouldn’t be in that outfit—without—without me breaking and touching you.”

I’m not sure, but I think I hear a very low, whisperedFuckafter that admission.

Actually, Coleman has gone back to looking at the wall, but his hands are scrubbing at his face. When he notices me watching him, his arms drop to his sides, but his hands are still agitated. They clench and unclench. “I’m leaving.”

“No.That was—good thinking,” I say, my throat dry enough to make the words come out raspy. “You should make it look like we got handsy.”

A muscle in his face jerks.

Seeing how he isn’t moving, I step towards him.

With that, his gaze grows predatory. Whatever he is thinking makes my pussy clench. When he moves closer, I freeze.Dammit. If he touches me, I can’t pretend it doesn’t matter. I might moan. The word, “Don’t,” is pulled out of me as his arm lifts.

He wrenches it back. “Fuck. Right. Sorry.”

“Do my hair. Muss it up a bit. That should be enough.”

I hold my breath as his hand ghosts over the side of my head before finally touching me.

“So soft,” he whispers, as if the knowledge isn’t worth knowing. As if he wished he had no idea.

A few pins near my forehead are carefully plucked out. He doesn’t have to do much. My hair immediately springs out with excitement. He runs his fingers through it.

It’s not supposed to matter, but the small gesture is an anvil. It disturbs what is supposed to be safe and familiar antagonism between us. My heart isn’t pumping properly. It’s too fast but also feels as if key beats are being skipped.

Any longer, and I’ll be in trouble.

This is.. We should…

“Excuse me!” yells the shop-owner. “We can’t have couples in the fitting room together!”

We’ve been caught.

“Better get out of here,” I cry out, absurdly relieved.

He drops his hand and is about to leave, but a glance down makes him curse. His cock is thick and outlined.

“Do you need this?” he asks, pointing to my sweater.

“I guess not. I have the shirt I wore underneath it.”

He grabs my sweater and holds it in front of his pants. Then he ducks out.

Outside, I hear the shop owner lecturing him. As fast as I can, I get myself out of the lingerie and pull on my baggy shirt and leggings again.

As soon as I’m dressed and step out, the owner pushes past me to inspect the fitting room, as if scouring for body fluids. Coleman has left, and looking around, so has the rest of the group. The store is empty. Guess we’ve been kicked out.

Rushing out the doors, I find them waiting for me on the sidewalk. They’re laughing. More accurately, he is making everyone laugh. At the sight before me, I find myself confused but smiling?

It takes me a few moments to catch myself. Because what am I doing?

Why should I care that he can make my sister and her friends laugh? I mean, yes, that’s a part of his job as my fake-boyfriend, but the amount of joy I feel at the sight is fucking disproportionate.

Seeing my mussed up hair, Jyoti whistles and my sister grins. She’s so happy.

Coleman holds up my sweater when I go to them. I let him put it on me, ignoring the fawning reactions of the others. So chivalrous. Sweet.Fake.

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