Page 30 of Perfectly Faked

Her eyes flick toward mine, and I know she remembers. She used to wear them as loungewear, and technically, it covered everything appropriately. But they still drove me crazy back then. “And one more thing... always wear pants.”

Her mouth drops. “Of course I always wear pants. What kind of person do you think I am?”

“A person who likes to steal men’s shirts,” I say. And wear them without pants on underneath. I remember numerous shirts missing from my closet back in college. “You dirty little thief.”

She scoffs but doesn’t argue because she knows it’s true. “Anything else?” She’s clearly lost whatever hope she had for this arrangement.

If we’re never alone, she’s always fully dressed, and she stays out of my room, then maybe I can keep my head on straight and survive. “I was going to say no touching, but that might be tricky since we have to on the ice.”

“An unfortunate part of our partnership,” she agrees with a mock-serious nod. “But what about if we brush by each other in the hall, or reach for the same glass at the same time? What if we touch by accident asfriends?” She does air quotes with her fingers just to make her point. Her eyes dance, and I know she’s testing me, pushing to see how far she can go, to see if harmless touching really bothers me. Spoiler alert: when it comes to her,it does.

I shove my hands into my pockets. “I think we just use common sense, Victoria.”

“What if I don’t know?” she asks, tilting her head like she’s genuinely pondering it.

“You’ll know,” I reply, wanting this conversation to be over.

“What about hugging?” she presses. “Or, say, if we’re playing Twister and our legs touch?”

“Twister? Seriously? Do you really think we’re going to play Twister together?” Just mentioning it brings up too many visual images I can’t unsee.

“On New Year’s Eve, anything can happen,” she insists.

She has a point. I can already hear the rowdy crowd downstairs gearing up for a wild night. Knowing my teammates, they’d pull out the Twister mat just to torture me.

“Fine,” I say in exasperation. “Anything is okay in public, asfriends.” I mimic her air quotes from earlier.

“And behind closed doors...” She trails off, letting the question hang between us.

“We’re not friends,” I finish, just as I intended.

Her lips press into a line as she turns back to her suitcase.

What I can’t say—and what I so desperately want to—is that behind closed doors, I could neverjustbe her friend. She’s so much more than that.

She pulls out a tank top-and-shorts set, neatly laying it on her bed like she wants me to regret every rule I just made.

One quick look at it and I already do.

“This is all I brought for pajamas,” she says apologetically. “But I won’t wear it outside this room because of therules.”

I flinch at her words. She’s going to kill me with these stupid rules. “Don’t you need something warmer than that? It’s thirty degrees outside.” I rub the back of my neck, trying not to think of how I could heat her up just by wrapping my arms around her.

She shrugs, then gives me that little grin she knows will be my undoing. “I would steal a sweatshirt from your closet, but I’ve already been called adirty little thiefonce today.”

Then she smiles like she knows she’s already won this round.

Unfortunately, she’s not wrong.

TWELVE

victoria

When we head downstairs after our “house rules” conversation, Rourke immediately finds me like he’s got a tracking device specifically tuned in to me.

“Victoria!” He tugs at my elbow, pulling me away from Leo with a grin. “I was looking for you. Join me for another game?”

I glance over my shoulder at Leo, but he’s already been intercepted by Lauren, the Crushers’ PR guru. Guess I’m left to fend off Rourke for myself this time.

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