Page 31 of Fake Crown

Jealousy hasn’t worked the way she expected, so now she’s turned to bargaining. The order of her manipulation is slightly different, and she’s going to be shocked when the outcome is too. We’re not getting back together.

“This isn’t a healthy relationship,” I say.

“Fuck healthy. We’re young. Who cares? We get what we need from each other.”

“Do we?” I got a lot of sex in all sorts of forms, but I can’t remember the last conversation we had that didn’t revolve around orgasms and algorithms.

“You don’t want a real girlfriend.” She huffs out a breath. “Come on, Brent. You’re too busy. I ask for some photos and a bit of your time. I don’t distract you from your goal. Do you really think someone like Posey Jensen is going to be a good fit for you? She won’t be okay with being ignored. Brushed aside. Dropped at the last minute for a swim meet, an extra practice, a meeting with your coach, an amazing interview opportunity. The excuses for breaking a date with me have been endless.”

Hearing her list all my boyfriend shortfalls isn’t aiding her argument. “Why do you want to be with me if I’m such a shitty boyfriend?”

Val holds up a finger. “You’re good in bed.” She bites her lip. “You’re good for my brand.”

“Which is?”

“Doting girlfriend.”

“Your brand is being my girlfriend? That’s not sustainable. People really buy that shit?”

“I can sell anything I want to my followers. I bet your little wedding date thought we were the perfect couple. Was she shocked we’d broken up?”

“Whatever Posey thought doesn’t matter. You and I know the truth. We’re not well-suited to each other. Great sex doesn’t make for a good relationship.”

Maybe I don’t have time for the right relationship, but I should probably stop making time for the wrong ones too. Romantic relationships like the one I have with Val are the only type I’ve ever experienced—convenient, easy to pick up and discard. Someone who wants a partner who cares about their satisfaction in bed, and other than orgasms, they don’t expect much else.

“Why would you want to give up great sex when so little is asked of you in return?” Val closes the distance between us.

“The little you ask, is a little too much.” If I wanted to be an Instagram model, I could get a hell of a lot more from it than just great sex.

“I said I’d cut back.” She rises on her toes, and her lips graze my ear while her fingers work my zipper.

My body didn’t get the hell no memo, and it’s responding to her like it always does. Her long nails skim over my length, and she lets out a throaty moan.

“You’re already hard for me.” Her breasts are against my chest. “I’ll get us a hotel room, and you can fuck me any way you want.”

“You came with someone else.” I manage to keep my voice firm, but she’s got the other firm part of me in her hand. With a superhuman effort, I step back from her, and I zip up my pants. “No.”

“You want me. Take what I’m offering.”

“No.” I roll my shoulders. While my body might be responding to her proximity and the familiarity of what she promises, the logical parts of me don’t want to go down this path again. It’s madness to keep repeating this pattern and never learning.

“If you don’t want me, I know someone else who does,” she says.

“I hope he enjoys getting naked and having his photo taken. Maybe you can become his doting girlfriend.” I run a frustrated hand through my hair.

“I won’t ever ask for more of your time than you’re prepared to give.” Val grabs her wind-swept hair into her hand again. “Once you’ve had time to think about this, you’ll know I’m right. Sure, maybe we’re not a forever couple, but we’re good for now. We are. We get what we want and what we need from each other. Don’t be a fool.”

I’m tempted to tell her that maybe I’ve decided I want something deeper than our shallow relationship, but I don’t even believe myself. Spending time with Posey has been nice this weekend, but I’m on vacation. My limits and time commitments change as soon as we’re back on campus. Swimming has to come first.

“Enjoy your weekend, Val.”

“Fuck you, Brent. I’ll come see you this week, and we’ll work this out. Once you’re back at home, you’ll realize I’m right.”

I wave to her over my head as I make my way along the terrace. Ahead, leaning against the moon gate, is a figure in teal. Posey. Jesus, I hope she didn’t see or hear any of that.

When I get to her, she passes me a drink. Her rum swizzle is cradled in her other hand.

“What are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be inside in the center of the action?” I ask.