Page 150 of The Fake Date Agreement

Her fingers grip my shirt, halting me. “The thing with Marc. Will you get in trouble from your coach for fighting?”

I shake my head. “I was defending myself. Coach might grumble a bit, but that’s Coach.”

We get up.

I deal with the condom, and we straighten our disheveled clothes.

I smile as I watch her finger comb her hair. “No need to keep fussing with it.” I slide my hand down the length of her bare arm, lace our fingers together, and gently tug her closer. “You look beautiful.”

Her cheeks turn pink. “No, I don’t.”

“You do.” I kiss her again. It’s fast becoming an addiction. “What did I tell you before?”

Her lips twitch. “Something about learning to take a compliment?”

I tug her close, cradling the back of her soft hair as I say against her lips. “Just as well as you take my cock. And Myers?”

Her breathing kicks up. “Yeah?”

“You take it like no one else.” I press a hard kiss on her lips, reluctantly pulling away or we will never leave this room.

After leaving her room, I pause for her to lock the door before we descend the stairs. I had wondered if Marc was still around, but there’s no sign that he’s lurking nearby, waiting for that payback he warned was coming.

She glances down as we cross the lobby. “We’re holding hands.”

I swallow my smile. “Is that not something a boyfriend does?”

She transfers her gaze from our joined hands to my face. “I guess.”

I hold the door open for her and lead the way out. “Your ex might be watching.”

He isn’t.

His back is stiff with anger as he stalks off into the distance.

I want to know what it would feel like if we were really together. For real. Not pretend.

And it feels good.

Really-fucking-amazing.

Her soft hand in mine, and the sweet scent of her skin tempting me to tug her closer, feels better than it should for a girl I’m pretending to date. And when people glance over at us, I want to tuck her under my shoulder, proud and pleased that she’s mine.

“Uh… Caleb?”

Tobie is frowning up at me. “You’ve stopped.”

“Shit.” I loosen my grip in case it’s too tight and resume walking. “Sorry. I was thinking about something.”

More like mooning over you, Myers.

“Let’s go.” I keep walking.

I feel her looking at me as we cross the quad toward fraternity and sorority row. There are six fraternities and sororities at Lamont, and the biggest campus parties happen there almost every night of the week. “What is it?”

“How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

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