Page 14 of The Best You've Ever Had

“Well, it makes sense. He did have a crush on you for the longest time, Layla. Everyone just assumed you wanted nothing to do with him though. Glad you proved us wrong after all.” Brandy winks at me, as Mom comes up from behind and rests a hand on her shoulder. They both look at each other and squeal like two girls in a puppy store.

Ben grows stiff again at his mother’s confession. When I look up at him, he doesn’t make eye contact, and a pink dusting rises on his face.

I can’t let this slide. This ammunition is too good. “Oh, you had a crush on me, huh? This is news to me. Very big news.”

“I told my mom you were cuteoncewhen she caught me staring. I was probably thirteen. I liked all girls at that age.”

Brandy interjects, “I’ve always seen the way you look at her. Like you want to kill her…with love.”

“Aw. Kill me with love. Isn’t that sweet, Benny?”

His fingers bunch the fabric of my dress as he pinches my waist. I yelp, as he leans to whisper in my ear, “Don’t call me that.”

“Or what?” I blink up at him, emoting a face of pure innocence.

Grabbing my hip hard, he crushes me against his body. “You don’t want to find out.”

It sounds like an ominous warning. One I want to challenge as I always do. But there’s an undertone to the threat that seems to fall on an unknown side of him. One that has the potential to shatter our current dynamic.

Mom and Brandy can’t stop beaming over at me squished into his side. I can’t hear exactly what they’re whispering about, but I hear bits and pieces ofthey can barely keep their hands off each other.Andoh, to be young, and in love.

If only they knew, he was purposely smothering me for revenge, and I was digging my fingernails into the muscles of his abdomen. We can barely keep our hands off each other because we’re in the middle of an all-out war. One in which we would enjoy nothing more than to see the other’s downfall.

Throughout the night, we stay close together. Now that our seemingly together relationship status has been announced, it would seem out-of-place to be on separate sides of the house all night and not speak.

I hadn’t thought this far ahead, that I’d actually have to spend time with him. We are teamed up for the holiday themed trivia, and seated next to each other at dessert.

My idea of hell has been reconstructed to be an exact replica of this specific evening—pretending to be in love with my childhood rival, while being forced to participate in meaningless holiday activities.

Nothing, and I repeat nothing, could be worse.

What have I fucking gotten myself into?

Chapter Six

Ben

Last night was a complete disaster.I feel like the worst son and grandson for deceiving my family. Yet, even stronger than that guilt is the urgency I feel to ease Mick’s worries before he passes. When he looked into my eyes and said his greatest sadness was that he wouldn’t get to meet my future wife or hold his great-grandchildren, it cut me to the very marrow of my bones.

The other disaster of the night was a pint-sized, fiery, auburn-haired woman. I was shocked when she finally agreed to my proposition. If someone had told me eleven years ago, when I last saw Layla, that she would return and become my fake girlfriend, I would have called them absolutely insane. Now here we are, knee-deep in lies, with a strange, giddy feeling that makes me want to keep pretending with her.

I’ve always known she isn’t just beautiful—she’s breathtaking. If I ever told her that though, she’d throat-punch me in two seconds flat. Pushing her buttons got me off in some fucked up way. And touching her was different than I had ever expected—I liked it. And I want to do it again.

Being around her feels different than it did when we were kids. There’s still that familiarity between us, the same as it hasalways been. But now, our energy has transformed into a new kind of voltage. It’s no longer just antagonistic; it’s charged with something more.

Bright and early the next morning, a loud knock jolts me awake. I groan and roll over, trying to ignore it, but the pounding doesn’t stop. Each bang grows more insistent than the last.

For a groggy moment, I contemplate calling the cops, thinking it might be a break-in. Deep down, I already know who it is. The shout from the other side of the door only confirms my suspicion.

“Wake up and open the damn door!” Layla yells through the solid wood.

I groan and roll out of bed, not even bothering to throw on more clothes. Because who is psycho enough to knock repeatedly at 6:30 a.m. on the weekend?

Layla Reed. That’s fucking who.

Opening the door, I find her with an impatient hip popped out, exasperation flaming in her expression. She’s dressed in running clothes, and I attempt to keep my eyes level with hers and not fixed on the most perfect ass I’ve ever seen in leggings.

“Did you run here? At 6:00 a.m.?”

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