Page 32 of Pump Fake

“Can we extend the fake dating thing we did at the bar? Only, not just the one time, but publicly and for a few weeks.”

“Why? You don’t need a fake girlfriend.” We stopped beside my beat-up car. “It’s not like you can’t crook your finger and get a dozen girls to come running.”

A slow grin curved his mouth. It was sexy and seductive, and my body instantly reacted to it. I scowled, not liking how easy it was for him to get a response from me.

“I’m not looking for a real girlfriend. I don’t have time for that.” The grin fell away. “But it would make me look more… stable, centered, to Coach. So, do we have a deal?”

“Not so fast. While this might be advantageous for you, it won’t for me.” That was a bold-faced lie, except for the point I needed to make. “I can’t have my boss finding out, and what about Preston?”

“Preston is aware we know each other from school. If anything about us gets mentioned on one of the blog sites and they find out, we’ll just tell them it’s speculation and we’re friends.”

It could work. I wanted to cross my arms over my chest and play hardball, but really,fake date him? Sign me up.So long as it came with all the benefits at night that I’d been enjoying. Plus, it guaranteed a few weeks more of that. At least I would have a definitive end date, and part of me realized I needed it before feelings got involved—I couldn’t let that happen. If it did, I would be the one with a broken heart.

He opened my door, and I got into the driver’s side, my long, wet hair clinging to the leather seat. I’d never been so grateful that Preston had the presence of mind to use food coloringrather than a permanent dye—something the headmaster had found out in the first interrogation.

“What do you say?” Ares braced his arm on the car’s roof and leaned down so we were at eye level. “Let’s go out Saturday night. We can talk more about it then.”

“Yeah, sure. But we’ll have to lay ground rules.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

BRIELLE

Preston moped at his desk while sorting through a stack of tests for Monday. I needed them back in order after I’d accidentally dropped them on my way back from the printer. Of course, I’d had him take the test before starting the task. He hadn’t been pleased about that either.

When his nana—Mrs. Bellingham—had called and asked if the last day of his out-of-school suspension could be switched to in-school, I’d agreed. She couldn’t take the full week off, and I understood.

I was beyond happy it was Friday, and I had the weekend off with very little homework. Preston was there to help me around the classroom after hours as part of his punishment, though I only stayed an extra hour every now and then if I had tasks to do that couldn’t be done outside the classroom.

He’d glanced out the windows more than once, and I could tell he wished he were on the football field with the rest of the team. It sucked that he’d been benched—for a short time—from the sport as part of his punishment, but maybe that would be what sank in the most. I’d taken a chance and talked with his coach, explaining what I thought was happening. I wantedPreston to have every opportunity to find a squad and exorcise his ghosts when he returned to practice. As he worked quietly, I gathered the nerve to share something deeply personal with him, all in an attempt to reach the troubled kid.

“Hey, Preston.” I came around to the front of my desk and leaned against it while facing him. “I think I understand why you’ve been acting the way you have. It’s really hard to adjust to losing someone.”

“No.”

Mutinous eyes met mine, and I had to suppress a shudder.

“You have no idea, so please spare me your bullshit answers.”

He would be a hard nut to crack, but I had to try. “I’m going to let your response slide, for now.”

“Ya know, save your pity for someone else.” Preston sneered. “You think I haven’t heard all kinds of crap before? From teachers that actually work here, not a wannabe like you. Counselors too. I don’t want to hear it, so please just stop.”

My shoulders slumped, but I couldn’t give into defeat. Not yet. He deserved someone wading into the depths of hell alongside him. And I knew his family did—constantly—but sometimes, it helped to hear a stranger’s experience or perspective, so I ignored the hostility and pushed on. “I get it. I don’t really have a dad. Not anymore. It sucks. And… no one can say anything to make it better.”

“Then maybe you do get it.” He crossed his arms over his chest, the glare lessening only slightly. “There’s no reason to say anything. It doesn’t matter.”

I shrugged. “Sometimes that’s the case. Nothing anyone else says matters, but the thing is… you’re not alone. You’re not on an island of I’ve-lost-my-parents by yourself. Lots of others share the same horrible hand you’ve been dealt. And sometimes, that helps.”

He said nothing, and I took that as permission to forge ahead. My situation was different, but maybe sharing it couldget through to him and help. “Grief is like drowning. It’s a horrible range of conflicting emotions, and right now, you’re stuck in the anger phase.”

“What are you supposed to be, a shrink? I don’t need anything from you. I’m fine. My parents died two years ago. It’s not like it just happened.”

I tilted my head. “That’s the thing, though. If you don’t work through your feelings, they don’t get better.”

“Why do you care?” His lip lifted in a sneer. “It’s not like you would know anything about what it’s like. As you said, your parents aren’t dead.”

“I may not have lost my dad in the traditional sense, but he isn’t in my life anymore. Not daily, anyway. My dad went to jail for corporate fraud. His illegal activities cost our family our home, income, and stability, and essentially tore our existence apart. It was… hard.”

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