Page 8 of In the Net (Sin Bin Stories #5)

SEBASTIAN

I ’m walking down the hallway after leaving my Short Fiction class, and I can’t pull my eyes away from the blaze of Harper’s auburn hair a couple paces in front of me.

Why the hell did I say that to Carter the other day? That I’ve always found red hair particularly attractive. I’d never even thought about it before—it just popped out of my mouth as I mulled over the random question.

All class long, I couldn’t stop my eyes from flicking back to the bright sheen of Harper’s hair. It didn’t help that a slant of light shining through the window fell right on it, giving it a ruddy copper glow that was impossible to ignore.

Trust me, I tried.

When I finally manage to look away from the healthy bounce of Harper’s hair as she walks in front of me, the next thing my gaze lands on is even more unwelcome.

Her cousin, Mackenzie.

A scowl scrunches the side of my nose when I see her. Even from a distance, she radiates a sense of unearned superiority, like stink lines drawn on a cartoon pile of garbage.

Back when we went to school together, before I transferred to St. Bart’s, she was the meanest to me out of all the stuck-up rich kids I went to school with.

And now that I’m a Black Bear, whenever she sees me at a party, she always makes a big show of talking all buddy-buddy with me.

Asking if I’m still in touch with so-and-so, trying to make people think that we’re acquaintances, even though my attitude toward her is frosty enough that even she can’t spin it to make anyone believe we were ever friends.

I notice Mackenzie spotting Harper in the crowded hallway.

Then I notice Mackenzie spotting me, walking a distance behind her.

Her brow quirks, and something glimmers in her eyes.

Shit. The last time Mackenzie saw me and Harper together, we were pretending to be on a date. Now she’s seeing us walking down the hallway at a distance, as if we were total strangers.

Even if this doesn’t tip Mackenzie off that we were faking it back at the cocktail bar, she’s sure as shit going to conclude that the date didn’t go anywhere. Something I’m sure she’ll get immense satisfaction taunting Harper over.

And if there’s anything I don’t want Mackenzie to have, it’s satisfaction. Especially when it comes at the expense of someone who’s a better person than her in every way—even if Harper is a pain in my ass.

I close the distance between me and Harper with a couple long strides. When I reach her, I wrap my arm around her shoulders, tucking her against my side.

Her head whips to my direction. When she sees it’s me, she tenses. Deep furrows dig into her forehead, a mixture of surprise and chagrin at the contact. I feel her trying to pull away, but I curl my arm, clasping my hand to her shoulder to keep her close.

“Play along,” I whisper from one side of my mouth while I tilt the other side into a playful looking grin, like I’m naturally sneaking up on a girl I just had a really good date with and surprising her.

Suddenly, I realize how damn good my hand feels gripping the curve of her shoulder.

Too damn good. The sleeves on her t-shirt are short, and my pinky is brushing against her exposed skin.

The soft warmth makes me imagine what it would feel like if the pads of all my fingers were pressing onto her bare shoulder. I quickly chase the thought away.

Harper spots her cousin ahead of us. Recognition lights up in her eyes, and she gives me a shallow, conspiratorial nod.

An inexplicable feeling—I’d almost call it giddiness if the thought wasn’t so ridiculous—buoys inside me.

There’s something about sharing a lie and putting on an act with Harper that I find far too amusing.

Maybe it’s the sheer ridiculousness of the idea that she and I would ever date. We both know how absurd the idea is, so trying to fool someone into thinking it’s the truth is like a kind of inside joke that only the two of us can truly appreciate.

Mackenzie walks in our direction.

“Laugh,” I whisper to Harper. “Pretend I just said something flirty.”

For a split second, a revolted look passes over Harper’s face, like a waiter just set the most disgusting dish of food she’s ever seen in front of her at a restaurant. I have to clench my chest to keep from laughing.

But to her credit, she quickly recovers her composure and does it.

She laughs, a light, playful noise that sounds far too sweet in my ears.

The thought of making her laugh like that for real pops into my mind, and I don’t hate it.

“Well, look at you two.” Mackenzie announces her presence with a prim, showy sweetness more artificial than corn syrup.

I meet her passive-aggressive smile with a broad grin of my own. I pull Harper closer, using the excuse to slide my hand just an inch and a half down her arm. More of my hand is pressing against her skin. I don’t hate that, either.

“Hey there, Mack,” I beam. I’ve never used that nickname with her before, but when a look of distaste hardens her expression, I realize that it’s going to be my regular way of addressing her from now on.

She tries to look pleasant again, her gaze ricocheting between the two of us. “Well, it looks like that date went well.”

I bounce my eyebrow suggestively. “Oh, it went well, alright,” I answer, tossing a salacious look to Harper. “ Very well.”

Harper’s already tight smile becomes so taut I worry her lips will snap. I can only imagine the things she’s holding back from saying to me, and that thought only makes my smile wider and more genuine.

A shade of envy passes over Mackenzie’s face. I can tell that Harper takes a petty satisfaction in it. I don’t blame her.

In fact, I don’t blame her so much, that I decide to give Mackenzie a little more to be envious of.

“And I have a feeling that our date tonight is also going to go,” I dip my head closer to Harper, lowering my voice to a growl, “very, very well.”

Harper gives me a sharp, furtive nudge to the side with her elbow. I bite my inner lip to keep from laughing.

“Well, as you can see, Mackenzie, we have a busy day ahead of us?—”

I interrupt Harper by interjecting with a low rumble, “Very busy.”

Another sharp stab of Harper’s elbow into my side, but the blush that rises to her pale cheeks is more than worth the pain.

“So we’d better get going,” Harper finishes. “See you around.”

She loops her arm around my side and pushes against my back, guiding me down the hall and away from her cousin.

Before we turn the corner, I look over my shoulder to see Mackenzie still looking at us, her face painted green with envy.

Mackenzie is the most status-obsessed person I’ve ever met. I just know that, in her mind, Harper “dating” me is an intolerable injustice to her sense of hierarchy.

Which is why faking it in front of her is so fun.

Harper may be a lot of things, but status-conscious isn’t one of them. If we actually were dating, that aspect of things wouldn’t even occur to her for a second. I’m sure Mackenzie is aware of that, and I’m sure it’s eating her up.

“You can stop touching me now,” Harper says once we’re outside the English building.

I realize I still have my arm slung around her, having made no move to remove it after we’ve escaped her cousin’s eyes.

I’m surprised by the reluctant feeling that makes it just a little difficult to pull my arm away from her. Almost like the slight resistance you feel when tugging a strong magnet off a refrigerator door.

My arm hangs by my side. Even though the air is warm, my palm and fingers that were just pressed against Harper’s shoulder feel cold.

The sensation makes me feel strangely off-balance. I shove my hands in my pockets, hoping that’ll chase it away.

“Admit it,” I say to Harper.

She lifts an eyebrow. “Admit what?”

“You enjoy seeing your cousin jealous of you.”

She blows a raspberry through her lips and rolls her eyes. “That would be so childish and silly.”

“Yeah, it would be,” I answer. “Now admit it.”

Her mouth bunches up on one side. “Fine. I enjoy it a little. If the trade-off was something better than having to pretend that I can tolerate you, maybe I’d enjoy it a lot.”

I huff a laugh. “Maybe you can ask Jamie to do a real fake relationship, then. Mackenzie would be just as jealous, and prolonged exposure to Jamie wouldn’t make you nauseous.”

Harper’s lips twitch. “Yeah, but Jamie’s too sweet. He’d never be able to keep up the lie.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “You’re probably right.”

Am I going crazy, or did Harper and I just have a short conversation where we were actually smiling and laughing, for real?

An eerie feeling slinks up my back, like I’m in a Twilight Zone episode.

Another feeling accompanies it, but for some reason, I feel wary of describing or analyzing it.

“How are you going to tell her we broke up?” I ask.

Harper’s eyebrows lift. “Oh, I have an idea in mind.”

“I’m sure I’ll come out looking fantastic in your made-up scenario,” I say sarcastically.

“You forfeited all rights to not look bad in my made-up stories about our breakup when you invented a bowel condition for me at the cocktail bar.”

Can’t deny there’s a certain fairness in that position.

“Well, I’d better get to practice,” I say. “If Mackenzie asks you, feel free to give lurid details about our fake sex life.”

“If I ever need to make myself throw up, I’ll think about it,” she replies.

I roll my eyes, turning on my heels to head to the hockey facilities. “Catch you around.”

Behind me, I can hear her sigh regretfully, “Seems we always do.”