Page 57 of Fake Crown

He did. He’ll never get me to say that out loud. “I answered your question. Were you jealous of Chet last night?”

“Jealous of a guy who got kneed in the balls?” He chuckles. “Uh, no.”

“Obviously not about earning the sack shot.”

“Forgive me for giving a shit.” He smooths my hair and kisses my forehead. “Next time, I’ll remember to be a dickhead in the opposite direction.”

“Brent.”

“Posey.”

“I’m trying to get to the bottom of this jealous streak, so it doesn’t happen again.”

“Yeah, I got the memo. Jealousy is a big fucking no. I’ve felt jealousy before—a lot—and that wasn’t it.”

“Oh please. What was it then?”

He purses his lips and then sighs. “You’re still going to give me shit for it.”

Jealousy is the only plausible explanation for his behavior last night. He’s stalling. I tip my chin at him and wait.

“When I walked in and saw your drink all over him and him clutching his balls, it was pretty obvious what had gone on. I wasn’t jealous of him, Posey. I was protective of you.”

Warmth floods my chest in a rush so strong and so sudden, I’m momentarily overwhelmed. Since that one lengthy episode with my high school boyfriend, I’ve never needed or wanted anyone else to protect me. The crack that erupted earlier in my stone-cold heart deepens and spiders out. Tears sting my eyes, and I bury my face in the crook of Brent’s neck. When that doesn’t feel close enough, I wrap my arms around him and breathe in the chlorine that clings to his skin. He reminds me of summer, the sun, and warm days lazing around a pool. All the best things.

“Doesn’t feel like you hate what I said.” He rubs my back in circular motions.

I let out a strangled laugh, but I can’t speak around the lump in my throat. He struck a nerve I didn’t even know was buried in me.

“Want to tell me I’m the best you’ve ever had again?” He nuzzles my ear, and his teeth graze against the sensitive skin.

I draw back and frame his face, and I let my kiss be the answer. The desire that normally springs up between us is coated in something more this time, a new intimacy that I’m not sure I’m comfortable with, but I can’t deny its existence. A living, breathing thing between us. He’s giving me an easy out from dissecting whatever is developing between us.

I’ll give him my body, but there’s no way he’ll get my heart. Love makes you give up too much of yourself trying to make someone else happy, and I’ll never do that again.

Brent

Considering I arrived on Posey’s doorstep determined to deliver her a final latte and break off our fake romance, it’s somewhat remarkable I’m still in her bed mid-afternoon. From the minute she apologized and kissed me, there was no way I was leaving. Val and I had a lot of makeup sex, but she never apologized, ever. Her acts of contrition involved a blow job or a hand job or a quick fuck in the shadows of a building. Nothing sincere or real. A means to an end. She emptied my balls but never fed my soul.

Conversations with Posey are a different story. We tiptoe around things, but we’re more real than what I had with Val. Anything too revealing is an emotional tightrope. One false step, and I’m tumbling into ex-fake-boyfriend territory. Last night I thought I was okay with that outcome. Even when I arrived, conflicted, I was sure breaking this off was the best thing to do. The need for a fake girlfriend is gone. With my schedule for the foreseeable future, a real girlfriend who wants my time and attention won’t work. We’ll fizzle and die like every other time I’ve tried to have a normal relationship.

Except, Posey has been proving my theory wrong from the moment I met her.

Maybe what I’ve needed is a fiercely independent woman. If I’m busy, she’s fine because she’s got five hundred other people who’ll gladly take my place.

Before she admitted we are, in fact, exclusive, the reality of exactly how many people she could be busy with ate at me, a rot I hadn’t allowed to get a hold in me until now. Val dripped the poison about Posey, but I sucked it up. Deep down, I didn’t believe Val, but Posey’s evasiveness fed my insecurity.

The incident with Chet last night wasn’t about jealousy, but my questions around who else she was sleeping with definitely were. Unless I want her to run screaming for the hills, I won’t be noting that distinction.

She’s sprawled across my chest, and I’m tracing figure eights on her back while she talks about her childhood in Bellerive. It’s the one subject sure to keep her talking without too many sexual innuendos. Her love for her country is clear. In theory, I should feel the same about America. I represent my country at one of the world’s biggest events, but I’ve got nothing on her passion for a place.

“Right after graduation,” she says, “I’m going back. Tucker and Polidano offered me a junior position in their design office. In a few years, I’ll drop a bug in Alex’s ear about redecorating a few of the rooms at the palace, and I’ll beg him to hire me.”

“Alex is...” My Bellerive family tree is still fuzzy at best. Though Posey showed me a few accounts dedicated to the Bellerive royal brothers and Bellerive in general so I’d understand who and what she was talking about. The only one I’ve been able to remember with any success is Nick because his fractured friendship with her older sister had such an impact on Posey.

“The future king of Bellerive. He’s the oldest brother. The prickliest, too, but he likes my sister, so maybe I’ll get Jules to ask him.”

Listening to her talk about pulling up her Michigan stakes at Northern and returning to her roots in Bellerive shouldn’t bother me, but I can’t imagine being here without her. Fucked up considering I’m not even sure I’ll be able to convince her to stick around beyond next week.