Page 2 of Fake Dating My Best Friend

“He’ll get over it,” I said, a little worried.

“No, this time, he won’t. He isn’t just ‘not getting it,’ Sloane. He’s making it a performance,” Chloe said, stabbing her straw into her iced latte with more force than necessary.

The campus café was buzzing with the hum of espresso machines and the low chatter of seniors mourning their final semester, but Chloe’s frustration created a private storm front at our small corner table. She leaned back, her long, svelte frame looking elegant even in a slouchy oversized cardigan, but her jaw was set in that stubborn line I knew all too well.

“He told the guys at the gym that I’m just ‘having an episode’ and that he’s going to win me back at the Mixer tomorrow night with some big grand gesture,” she groaned, running a hand through her blonde waves. “He treats my feelings like a hurdle he just needs to clear. Like I’m a brand he’s trying to acquire.”

I leaned my chin on my hand, watching her. In the soft light of the café, the blue of her eyes seemed deep enough to drown in. I felt that familiar, sharp ache—the reverence of seeing her for exactly who she was, mixed with the agonizing pain of knowing I was her safe harbor, the place she went to rest before sailing back out to someone else.

“He doesn't know you,” I said softly. It wasn’t a jab; it was a fact. Tyler knew the girl who looked good on his arm at football games. He didn't know the girl who got silent when she was truly hurt or the girl who made me a present on every birthday, even though she was hopeless with DIY.

“None of them do,” she whispered, her gaze dropping to her reflection in the dark surface of the table. “I’m always the ‘perfect girlfriend.’ I play the part, I say the lines, and then I’m exhausted. I’m so tired of being someone’s trophy, Sloane. I just want to be done with it. All of it.”

She looked up at me then, and the light in her eyes changed. It wasn’t the weary look from a moment ago; it was a spark. A dangerous, impulsive, very Chloe-like spark.

“I have an idea,” she said.

My stomach did a slow, apprehensive roll. “Chloe, the last time you said that, we ended up sneak-climbing the library roof and nearly getting suspended.”

“This is better. And safer. Mostly.” She leaned across the table, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Tyler won’t respect my ‘no.’ He only respects other men—or the idea that I’m completely, irrevocably off the market. He needs to think there is zero chance of a comeback.”

“Okay... so you stay single and ignore him?”

“No,” she said, a slow smirk spreading across her face. “He knows I’m bisexual. He’s joked about it before in that annoying, dismissive way guys do. But if I’m with a woman? If I’m with someone everyone knows is closer to me than he ever was? He’ll have to shut up. It’ll crush his ego because he can’t compete with over a decade of history.”

I felt the air leave my lungs. “You want to fake date a girl to get rid of Tyler?”

“Not just a girl,” she said, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. Her touch sent a jolt of heat straight to my core. “I want to fake date you.”

I pulled my hand back as if I’d been burned, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. “Absolutely not. Chloe, that is a disaster waiting to happen. We’re best friends. People will talk, our parents will find out, and—and it’s a lie. A massive, complicated lie.”

“It’s a temporary arrangement!” she argued, her voice rising in her excitement. “Just until the Senior Gala. Once the semester is over, we’ll ‘break up’ amicably. It’s perfect. You’re the only person I trust to actually pull this off. Everyone already jokes that we’re married anyway.”

“Because we’re friends,” I hissed, clutching my coffee cup like a lifeline. “This is too much, Chloe. Even for you.”

She saw me wavering, and I knew I was in trouble. She didn't go for logic; she went for the heart. She leaned in, her expression melting into that small, vulnerable look that always made me feel like I’d do anything to keep her safe.

She held out her pinky finger.

“Pinky swear,” she whispered, calling out our secret promise. I inhaled sharply, wanting to do this, but knowing how it’d destroy me. “Please, Sloane. I can’t deal with another month of Tyler’s ‘gestures.’ I just want peace. I just want to spend my last month of college with my favorite person without some guy trying to claim me. Don’t you want to help me?”

I looked at her finger, then at those wide blue eyes. This was my life's greatest weakness. I had spent fifteen years going along with Chloe’s whims—moving states, choosing colleges, staying up until dawn—just to stay with her. To say no now felt like a betrayal of the very thing that kept me alive.

But saying yes meant pretending to have the one thing I wanted most in the world. It meant holding her hand and kissing her for an audience, all while knowing that to her, it was just a strategic move. A play.

I was going to break my own heart. I could feel it happening already.

But I couldn't say no to her. I never could.

I reached out, my smaller, darker-clothed hand looking tiny against hers, and hooked my pinky around hers.

“One month,” I said, my voice thick with a conflict she couldn’t see. “Just until the Gala.”

Chloe beamed, a radiant, triumphant sun that threatened to blind me. “You’re the best, Sloane! Truly! This is going to be so much fun.”

She gathered her things, energized and humming, while I sat there, frozen. To her, we were just starting a fun new game. To me, I had just signed up to live out my greatest fantasy as a scripted lie.

CHAPTER 2