Page 7 of Faking the Rules

This was a mistake. A massive, catastrophic mistake.

But Mia had insisted, her eyes gleaming with mischief when I told her everything earlier, including Declan’s plans for us tonight.

"Oh yeah, the Sigma Phi party," she'd said. "You have to go. Everyone is.” I’d immediately regretted in confiding in her, especially since she seemed to think the whole thing was incredibly amusing, instead of what it really was – a complete disaster waiting to implode in my face.

"I don't do parties," I'd protested.

"You do now," she'd countered. "If you want anyone to believe this fake relationship, you have to act like a normal college girlfriend. That means showing up where he is, even if it's not your scene."

She was right, damn her. If Declan and I were really dating, I'd make at least some effort to participate in his social life. So here I am, wearing borrowed clothes—dark jeans that hug my curves more tightly than I'm comfortable with and a green sweater Mia insisted "brings out your eyes"—watching my fake boyfriend hold court across the room.

Declan is in his element here, surrounded by teammates and admirers, his easy laugh carrying above the music. He hasn't seen me yet. I'd arrived just ten minutes ago, slipping in with Mia and immediately seeking the safety of a wall to lean against.

Now, I watch as he finishes whatever drinking game he's engaged in, raising his arms in victory as the circle around him erupts in cheers. A blonde—the same one from the coffee shop, Chloe—presses against his side, saying something in his ear that makes him laugh.

Something hot and unpleasant curls in my stomach at the sight. Jealousy, I realize with a start. Which is ridiculous. This relationship isn't real. Declan isn't really my boyfriend. I have no claim on him, no right to care who he talks to or who touches him.

And yet.

"You know, glaring at him from across the room isn't exactly selling the devoted girlfriend image," Mia comments, appearing at my side with a fresh drink.

"I'm not glaring," I lie, accepting the cup but not drinking from it. "I'm observing."

"Uh-huh." She follows my gaze to where Amber is now running a hand down Declan's arm. "Though in this case, I'd say a little glaring is justified. That girl has been trying to get into Declan's pants since freshman year."

"Has she succeeded?" The question slips out before I can stop it.

Mia's eyebrows shoot up. "Thought you didn't care about his romantic history."

"I don't," I say too quickly. "Just curious about what kind of reputation I'm associating myself with."

"Right." She doesn't bother hiding her skepticism. "Well, if campus gossip is to be believed, Declan's been through a decent chunk of the female student body. But he's always upfront about keeping things casual, and he's never cheated. So there's that."

Across the room, Declan looks up, scanning the crowd. His eyes find mine with unerring accuracy, as if he could sense my presence. Something shifts in his expression—surprise, followed by genuine pleasure that transforms his features.

He says something to his teammates, then makes his way through the crowd toward me, his focus unwavering despite the hands that reach out to touch him, the voices calling his name. It's like watching water part around a stone, the way people move for him, aware of his presence even with their backs turned.

"You came," he says when he reaches me, his voice carrying a note of wonder. Before I can respond, he slides an arm around my waist and pulls me into a hug that feels far more genuine than our performance in the quad.

"Mia convinced me," I say when he releases me, trying to ignore the warmth his touch leaves behind. "Said I needed to act like a real girlfriend if we want people to believe it."

"Smart friend you've got," he says, nodding to Mia with a smile that makes her blush slightly. "Nice to meet you.” He turns back to me. “I’m glad you're here."

"Could have fooled me," I say, the words slipping out with more edge than intended. "You seemed pretty comfortable with your fan club."

His eyebrows rise at the hint of jealousy in my tone. "Teammates," he corrects.

“Right.”

"Hey," he says softly, stepping closer so we're nearly touching. "I meant what I said at lunch. This only works if we make it convincing." His fingers trace lightly along my arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "People need to believe I'm genuinely into you. That I don't see anyone else when you're in the room."

His eyes, impossibly blue even in the dim party lighting, hold mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch. Is this still part of the act? Or something more? I can't tell anymore, and that's the most dangerous part of this entire charade.

"Declan!" A voice breaks through our moment. Brady approaches, carrying two fresh cups. "Been looking for you, man. Beer pong tournament's starting, and we're defending champions."

"Rain check," Declan says, not looking away from me. "I just found my girlfriend, and I owe her some attention."

The casual way he claims me, the warmth in his voice when he says "girlfriend"—it's all so convincing that for a second, I almost believe it myself.

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