Page 81 of Fake Game

I want to help him out as his fake girlfriend because it is something a good person would do, not because of a crusty old crush that was supposed to have died months ago.

Oh Gods…what if my crush never died? What if it was just in hibernation? What if everything I’ve been doing has woken it back up?

This is very, very, very, very bad.

Jackson pulls into the parking lot, and I drag my arm back into the car so I can point to where my car is. It’s a bit moot since my convertible is the only vehicle left in the lot other than a pickup truck—and it doesn’t take a genius to guess which of the two is probably mine.

“I swear, you and Parker are so similar.”

“Says the guy with an Army green Jeep.”

“It came that way. I didn’t pay extra for it.”

“What makes you think I paid extra? How do you know mine didn’t come that way?”

“It’s bright fucking pink.”

“So judgy.”

Although, I did pay extra for it. Not to get it painted pink but because it was a limited edition and only a few were made. Definitely one of my more questionable purchases, but it wasn’t like I couldn’t afford it. Plus, despite his jab, I am nowhere near as bad as Parker and his obsessive blue sports car collection.

“Well, this was fun. I’ll see you later.” I pop the door open and go to hop out when Jackson’s hand shoots out to curl around my shoulder to stop me. “What?”

He frowns, staring at his own hand before releasing me. “Nothing. I’ll see you back at the apartment.” He turns away and begins fiddling with his navigation system.

“Okay. Bye.” I slip into my car and shut the door harder than I should.

Here I am doing something nice for him, and yet he still has this layer of ice around his heart. How freaking hard is it to melt that damn thing? I just want him to like me, dammit.

A bone deep awareness sinks in.

Fuck.

Fuckity fuck fuck.

My old crush is definitely out of hibernation.

I groan, leaning my head against the steering wheel. This is going to be a very long drive back to the apartment. A whole hour to stew in my thoughts—just lovely.

I start up the engine and blast my music loudly in an attempt to drown out my brain from straying to thoughts of Jackson. Anything to distract myself right now would be welcome.

As if the Gods hear my prayer, my music pauses to welcome an incoming call from Lee.

I hit answer and keep my voice light. “Hey, hey.”

“Hey, I see you’re headed back. How’d it go?”

I swear, Lee keeps track of my location like a mom whose teenager just left for college.

“Good, I think. They seem convinced for now.”

“Nice, knew you’d pull it off.”

“Obvi.”

“Think you’ll make it back in time for the party?”

I groan.

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