Page 4 of Play Fake

“You’d be surprised what they can manage.”

I’d heard plenty about what he can manage because any woman who managed to find out was only too happy to brag about it.

“Excellent point. Who knows where they’ve been tonight.”

“You rather I go see if Ben can pull his out of Kelsey long enough to help you?”

“No, thank you,” I say pertly, glaring at him through the dim light.

“Just let me help you Mac, Christ. You don’t have to pull out the shank every damn time.”

“Fine,” I relent, but only because it’d be more awkward to keep refusing. Like I was afraid of getting too close to him. Like letting him touch me might mean something. Which it definitely would not.

He sets his beer down, and I turn to give him my back. He takes my hair and slides it over my shoulder and out the way, brushing the bare skin of my shoulders, and causing shivers to break out where they shouldn’t be. I can tell he notices too by the way he clears his throat, which only pisses me off.

“Where’s your dude, anyway? I thought you had one. He cool with that? You hitting up football players?” He asks as he deftly pulls the little zipper down the line of my spine, stopping just above my hips. Because of course, he could probably do this in his sleep. He’s had dozens of opportunities to practice. Practice that could be really useful, say, if you wanted to have worthwhile rebound sex.

The second I think it, I’m annoyed I did.

“He’s not here.” I answer tersely. “Don’t you have a sorority girl to go fuck in the back of your pickup truck or something? Maybe a quick blow job in the bushes? Or another round of beer pong? You know, anything that isn’t bothering me.”

He frowns for a millisecond, but it twists into a smile.

“You spend a lot of time thinking about who I’m fucking and where.”

“I spend a lot of time trying to entice you to get out of my space.”

“Do I bother you, Mac?” He raises up off my little couch. Thank God for small mercies. I almost think I can hear it sigh in relief.

I can only see half his face in the dark, lit up on one side by the light coming in from the window. His lip’s curled up in a smirk on one side, drawing my attention to his jawline. He has a good one, a shadow of a blond beard already on it. High cheekbones offset it and gorgeous piercingly pale blue eyes. His long sun-bleached blond hair is tied up in a low messy bun. It’s his signature style, and I wonder why the hell he grows it long if he always has it up. Another thing I hate about him for the list.

“Immensely. You are one of the most irritating people I have ever met in my life.” I reply honestly with zero concern it’ll touch his feelings. Because this man’s ego? It is bulletproof. People love him. Adore him. He’s a fan favorite. A team favorite. And from the rumors I’ve heard—and wish I hadn’t—wildly popular in sorority houses around campus.

“Why do you think that is?”

“Probably because the women in your life don’t tell younoenough, if I had to guess.”

He smiles before he takes another sip of his beer.

“You bother the fuck out of me too.”

I open my mouth to respond, and then shut it again, once, twice, before I can find my words. The nerve of this man to invade my space and then harass and insult me.

“Well, then at least we agree on something.”

He smiles again, a knowing smile, like he’s in on some joke I don’t know about.

“Stop that.”

“What?”

“Smiling.”

“I’m not allowed to smile?”

“Not up here. This is a no smiling zone.”

“A no smiling zone?” A laugh slips out of him, one that’s warm and regretfully sends a little shiver of awareness down my spine. He looks wildly amused with me.