Page 59 of Fake Crown

“Oh,” the owner says. “She’s still playing hard to get. You look very familiar.” His gaze narrows on me. “Posey, did you show me photos of your boyfriend once?”

“Um, possibly.” Pink appears in her cheeks.

It’s not as though I don’t know she was obsessed with staring at my half-naked body, but the sheer number of people who are aware of it is surprising. Or maybe it isn’t. Posey has no problem oversharing as long as the emotion doesn’t hit too close to home. A guy she never thought she’d actually meet is right up her alley.

He shows us to a table near the back, and he gives us menus. Posey sets hers on the edge of the table without opening it.

“How many times have you been here?”

“Drunk or sober?” She takes a sip of the water he placed in front of us. “This is the closest to home I can get in Michigan. I come here whenever I need a taste.”

Given how much she loves Bellerive, I’m going to assume that’s weekly at the very least. The fact the owners let her have a heavy hand in redecorating the place speaks volumes about her connection with them and this place. Whatever happens over the next week or so, I’ll end up here again. Not sure if the food is any good, but the atmosphere is top-notch.

“I’m going to trust you to order for us.” I set my menu on top of hers.

“Really?” She grins. “Whatever I want? Can you give me your level of Brent hungriness on a scale of one to ten?”

I rub my belly and consider her question. “A solid eight.”

When the owner returns, Posey rattles off rice and fish dishes I’ve never heard of. She also orders some sort of apple blossom pastry for dessert. While we wait for dinner, we search for movies and times on our phones.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of food that tastes tropical and European, as though Bellerive has an identity crisis. Not that I’d say that to Posey.

The action film runs long, and when we get back to her apartment, she checks the clock on the dash. “You have practice soon, right?”

I stare at the clock as the number turns over. Technically, I should be at practice in half an hour. If I left now, I’d get there easily. The snow has started to fall, and my car warmed as we drove. There have been a handful of times where diving into a cold pool wasn’t remotely appealing, and tonight the only place I want to dive is back under the covers with Posey.

“Practice was cancelled,” I say. Coach won’t give me shit for missing it since I’ll be there again in the morning. He keeps telling me I need more balance, and the girl sitting beside me is the closest to equilibrium I’ve ever felt. Giving an inch for her doesn’t scare me as much as I thought it would.

“Really?” A wide smile spreads across her face. “You’re coming up?”

I graze her cheek with my thumb, and I slide my hand around to cup her neck before drawing her into a kiss. She meets it, and her tongue dips and dances with mine. When I draw back, I rest my forehead against hers and I question my sanity.

Instead of ditching the girl and the drama, I’m ditching practice. Not something I ever would have thought myself capable of. No one and nothing has ever come before swimming. But tonight, for the first time ever, I’d rather be in her bed than in the pool.

The last thing she’s after is a real relationship, but I’m starting to realize letting her go won’t be as easy as I thought. The unattainable has never been so appealing. With swimming, if I work hard enough, the results come. With women, I’ve learned to set my expectations at a level I can achieve. Brief companionship. A relationship wedged into the cracks of my schedule.

Posey doesn’t feel like something I wedge into anything. What I’m starting to feel for her is on par with my drive to win in the pool. A real relationship might be unreachable, but I’ve always loved a challenge.

When we get out of the car with the snow falling around us, she links her hand with mine and leads me toward her apartment.

In life, timing is everything. Maybe we’ve met too early. We’ll peak too soon. Or never quite get off the ground. But I can’t let this chance with her pass me by.

Posey

The library is my least favorite place on campus, but it’s sometimes a necessary evil. I have a major project due on Tuesday, and I’m behind. I stretch my arms above my head in the private study room I managed to snag. My phone is off, and I’m ignoring all external distractions.

There’s just one tiny internal one that keeps drawing my focus away from my work.

This past week, Brent and I have spent every moment together, when we’re not in class or Brent’s not in the pool or in the gym. I had no idea I could be with someone so often and not get bored or frustrated or stifled by their company. But the more time I spend with Brent, the more I want. It’s the oddest thing.

Val has been nowhere. Her socials have been oddly devoid of boyfriend talk this week, and I’m starting to think she’s given up on getting him back. Neither of us has brought up the fact he probably doesn’t need a fake girlfriend anymore. I’m getting great sex and lattes, so I can’t complain. Although, this weekend, I won’t be getting either. Brent has a swim meet in Chicago. Out of state, but only three hours away.

The next few days are a test run of what my life would be like if I called us out for lingering. We don’t need each other, and this weekend will prove it. Maybe next week I’ll pull the plug on this pseudo-romance. Neither of us needs to risk getting too attached.

Just the thought of telling him we don’t need to see each other anymore makes my stomach dip. While he says he’s not a relationship guy, he clearly thrives on routine. We’ve been hanging out for two weeks, and I don’t even need to consult our synced calendars anymore to know where he is or what he’s likely doing. A creature of habit. I always thought someone predictable would be boring, but I’ve found that certainty and stability oddly comforting. He means what he says, and he says what he means. We might be in a fake relationship, but he’s never once treated me as disposable. Never lied to me or kept something from me. Apart from the one incident at the basketball party, he hasn’t tried to put a leash on me either. Seems to enjoy my strong-willed independence.

There’s a knock on the study room door, and I get up to open it. Since these things are like sealed boxes for sound and distraction, other students don’t always realize when one is occupied. Though the red light above the door should have been a clue.