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Is this really happening? I’ve imagined this moment a million times before, but never like this. God. Pretending to be hers when I’ve wanted the real thing for years will ruin me. None of this will affect her in the slightest.

But for me? It’s going to tear me apart. Limb by fucking limb. I’ll be the one tortured in the end.

I clear my throat. “You think our families would believe us?”

“I think so,” she says, playfully nudging me with her elbow. “But you have to stay near me when your Aunt Barbara shows up.”

Love my aunt, but she’s always asking hard-hitting questions and has been pestering me about marriage ever since Tia got engaged.

“Promise. I’ll be attached to you by the hip.” I tease, patting her thigh.

“So…what do you say?” she asks, tilting her head.

I have a hunch that this is going to be an absolute train wreck for my sanity, at least. The need I have for her is already at an all-time high and adding this into the mix won’t do me any good.

But, fuck it.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?” She sits up straight, surprise filling her eyes.

“Yeah,” I confirm, rubbing the nape of my neck.

“Now we need some ground rules,” she says, morphing into work mode Amelia. “Ready?”

I pull an invisible notepad and pen from my pocket, flipping to a blank page. “Yes, ma’am.”

She holds up a finger. “Rule number one: Tia, Amir, Marcus, and Maya are the only people who’ll know. That way, if we need backup, we’ve got it.”

“Agreed. Rule two?”

Second finger goes up. “Rule number two: We only touch in public. When we’re out, we can hold hands, act cute, be flirty, whatever sells it.”

Touching her. That didn’t even occur in my mind. Of course, we’d have to. It’s part of the act. Why are my palms sweating? The pressure coils in my chest and no amount of deep breaths will help me. Nothing even happened yet…relax.

She nods toward my invisible notebook, laughing. “Write that down.”

I shake my head, continuing my fake scribbling.

“And lastly, rule number three: Let me handle what we post. I know what the fans want.”

“Simple enough.” I lie through my teeth. Nothing about this is simple. Not with her.

She gets up and walks over to the kitchen and when she returns, she plops down beside me with her laptop. Her strawberry scent drifts up, her arm brushing mine, sending goosebumps across my skin. God, I’m pathetic.

“I’ll find some poses we can do,” she murmurs, already typing away. “We’ll hard launch soon on your profile.”

“A what?” The hell is that?

“Hard launch,” she says without looking up. “It’s when no one knows you’re dating someone and then BAM, you post a photo with them. It blows up because no one’s expecting it. Let the people do all the talking.”

I stare.

The more she talks, the more it sounds like a rocket launch experiment, if you ask me.

She catches my expression and chuckles, dragging out the words. “Old man.”

“Old man?”

“Mhm.” She hums.

“I’m only six months older than you.”

“And aging quite fast,” she adds, lips twitching as she sinks deeper into the cushions, grinning behind her laptop. “I’m noticing a few wrinkles.”

I lean in and tilt the screen down with one finger until our eyes lock. “Say that again.”

Her eyes gleam with mischief as she feigns innocence. “Say what again exactly?”

“My apparent new nickname.”

“Old man?” she teases, cocking a brow.

That’s it.

I bite back a grin, without warning I slip my hands under her thighs as I lift her off the couch. She shrieks, giggling uncontrollably as I carry her into the bedroom.

Again. My favorite sound.

I gently lay her down in bed, a soft warmth lingering on her face.

“Definitely not an old man,” I say, pinching her chin before letting go and head toward the door. “Sleep tight. Thanks for helping me.”

“That’s what friends are for,” she says quietly, setting her laptop aside and pulling up the covers.

The way we fall into rhythm so easily, it’s one of my favorite things. It’s effortless, like breathing. When I’m near her, the noise fades, my worries disappear, and I’m just…me.

I watch her shut her eyes and a pang hits my chest. I used to think it was hard watching Amelia date Jared. But “hard” doesn’t even come close to how I feel now. It’s been this quiet hurt simmering under the surface, and now this fake relationship? It’s like the icing on a damn ugly-ass cake.

Freshman Year College

The six of us were chilling at Amir’s parents’ house, after stuffing our faces during Friendsgiving dinner. Now we’re all sprawled out across the floor and couch, controllers in hand, trash-talking each other as we played a zombie game. Per the girls’ request.

Amelia was on a mission to beat my high score in zombie kills. She didn’t.

“NO!” Maya yelled, arms flailing as Amelia missed a zombie by inches. “You almost had that one babe.”

Tia laughed, grabbing her soda off the coffee table, before cuddling back up with Amir.

“No freaking way. Marcus come on, you totally saw that,” Amelia said, sitting beside me on the floor, legs crossed, poking out that adorable bottom lip.“I totally hit it.”

“I plead the fifth.” Marcus chuckled from the couch.

“You were close to hitting that zombie… by hitting the door next to its head.” I laughed, nudging her shoulder.

Then came a few heavy knocks.

Amir slowly untangled himself from my sister and went to answer it. The second it opened, my stomach dropped.

Jared.

Amelia’s whole face lit up, brighter than I’d ever seen. She dropped the controller next to me like it was nothing and sprinted into his arms like she’d done a thousand times before.

He gave her that stupid grin, lifted her up, and peppered her lips with kisses.

The sight made me want to claw my eyes out.

I felt Amir and Marcus’s gaze burning into me. They didn’t say anything, and they didn’t have to. It was a quiet understanding.

Sympathy.

I set my controller down and stood, trying to play it cool as I walked into the kitchen. Even a few feet away it made it easier to breathe, but it was torture all the same.

Every second of it.

I step into the hallway and shut her door gently behind me as her words replay in my head.

That’s what friends are for.

Whoever invented the word friends is on my permanent “fuck you” list. I didn’t know a seven-letter word could make me feel this damn irritated.

She’s my person. I know it.

But it hurts like hell knowing she’ll never feel the same. It’ll never be me.

Still, as long as I get that smile from her, I’ll take what I can get.

Even if it kills me.