“What?” he asks.
I tilt my head toward the tiny car. “Which one of you guys drives the Porsche? I’m imagining you trying to fit inside it.”
He smiles. “Ah, that’s Reece’s. He likes his flash.” We stop at the truck door and he opens it for me. “By the way, there’s a party here next Thursday for Eric’s birthday. Be here at seven and plan on PDA. I don’t want people catching on that we’re pretend.”
My eyes flare.
“Is the idea of kissing me again so terrible?”
I feel color rising up my cheeks. “I really don’t like college parties. I’m a total introvert.”
He gives me an arched brow. “I need you on my arm to fight off the piranhas.”
My gaze goes behind him and Reece is watching us from the window, a scowl on his face. Eric is behind him, waving. He’s got another piece of pie in his hand.
Before I can analyze Reece and his odd reaction, Z helps me inside my vehicle carefully. Without brushing against me, almost as if he’s being careful with me, he reaches for my seat belt and leans over me to snap it. He smells all male, and his shirt clings to the taut muscles of his chest. My fingers itch to touch him, recalling how hard his body felt, toned to perfection.
“I can buckle myself,” I say, but I don’t mean it. Even though it’s dangerous to my heart, I like him doing this, like being near him. I hear the click of the metal latch.
“You’re my pretend girlfriend, and I need to practice. Plus, Reece is watching, and it’s probably annoying him. He ticked me off earlier.”
“Why is that?”
He rises up and considers me, his gaze searching my face carefully, as if he’s looking for something. We’re close, so close—
He touches my hair. “Just tell me you’ll come to the party.”
I close my eyes then reopen them.
He tugs at a strand, his voice lowering. “Say you’ll come, or I’ll kiss you right here.”
My eyes flare, going to his lips. I exhale. “Fine, but—”
Before I can move, he’s leaning in and barely touching his lips against mine. “Until next week, Miss Ryan.” He grins.
“You kissed me anyway! That’s one, with seven left,” I say, but his broad shoulders are already striding back inside the house. He tosses a hand up over his shoulder and walks in the door.
Shit.
My hands grip the steering wheel and I sit for a minute, my lips tingling. I briefly reach up and touch them.
It was barely even a kiss.
So why does it feel so good?
What a risky game I’m playing, yet my elation is real. Freaking Zack Morgan just agreed to help me make my dreams come true—and it’s going to be a battle to keep him at arm’s length in this game of pretend.
13
Sugar
Wearing orange skinny jeans and a cream fisherman sweater, Taylor waves his hand as Poppy and I arrive at the booth he’s been saving for us at the Tipsy Moose. A fashion major with medium brown skin, soft topaz eyes, high cheekbones, and wavy longish black hair, he’s the prettiest guy I know.
He air-kisses us both on the cheeks. “Ladies, my loves, it’s about bloody time you got here. I’m dying to hear all about Zack.”
Poppy returns his air kisses and I smile. The three of us have been friends since a tennis class freshman year where Poppy tripped over Taylor’s blinged-out sneakers, broke her foot, and had to wear a boot for three months. That was one of my favorite classes, and I still giggle when I think about Taylor prancing around in his white pleated tennis skort.
Steepling his fingers, he takes us both in and continues talking. “And to prepare us for this rare weeknight out together to celebrate Sugar’s boyfriend bargain, I already ordered two pink raspberry Cosmos, a shot of Patron Silver for Sugar, and a plate of cheese fries with bacon. Sugar, guac and chips are on the way too. It’s all I ate when Craig broke up with me last year, and I know it’s your go-to since you and Bennett are kaput.” He puts a hand over his heart. “Wherever Craig and Bennett are, I hope they’re both miserable, the little cheaters.”
I give his arm a squeeze, recalling how depressed he was last year when his boyfriend dumped him.
“Nice pearls,” he says to Poppy as we get settled. “New?”
“Gram sent them to me for my birthday.” She preens, her chestnut hair shining under the lights of the bar as she toys with the jewelry around her neck.
“Gram’s coming off some of that money, huh?” Taylor says, and she smirks.
I smile at them. They’re both from well-to-do families, like the majority of the students here, but it strikes me sometimes how different we really are. I’ve had to work my ass off to get every stitch of clothing on my back, and their families give them Amex cards and pearls.
I scope the place out, wondering if Z is here. It’s been a few days since our bargain, and I’ve only seen him once walking across campus. He jogged over to me and walked me to my dorm, gave me a kiss on the cheek—right in front of a group of sorority girls—and then left to go to hockey practice.
Our food comes, and Taylor is fascinated by my retelling of Frat Boy and Pixie Girl as we eat. “It’s funnier now that it’s over,” I say with a sigh.
“You shouldn’t go to those parties alone,” he tells me.
“I had Julia with me.”
He and Poppy both frown. “Nothing against your roommate, but she isn’t the best wingman,” he says. “Not when she disappears with someone at a party.”
My face goes beet red. I went off with someone at that same party.
I sigh. “I really don’t want to go to the party at Z’s by myself.”
“I have to work,” Taylor says with regret. “I need that job for an internship credit.”
“I wish I could, but my parents are coming up for a quick visit.” Poppy flicks her hair over her shoulder and considers me. “I’ve never actually met Zack. Is he as hot as everyone says?”
Yes. Hell yes.
“He’s okay.” I let out a heavy breath and push at my hair that’s up in a tight sleek ponytail.
Taylor dips his chin and gives me a look. “Honey, you and I both know he’s hotter than the devil in hell with no A/C, so don’t even play. You can go to this party. I believe in you. Plus, I will work my magic and do your makeup before I go to work.”
I munch on chips, and the more I think about Zack, the more I eat.
He leans in. “So have you heard from Bennett again?”
I grimace. “I’m avoiding all the places we used to hang out at, the coffee shop, and Remi’s Bar.”
He frowns. “I hate the bloody bastard for what he did to you.”
“Keep talking British to me.” I grin.
“Just thank my beautiful mother for marrying an American and moving us here.” He flutters his lashes, which have several coats of mascara on them.
I clink my glass with theirs. “I might not have said it before, but thank you both for being here for me when things went south with Bennett.” I recall the nights they spent with me over the holidays, crashing with me in my tiny room at Mara’s.