Fake It 'Til You Break It(71)

He slides his hands into my hair, tipping my head so he can whisper to me.

“I was fucked up all day after what happened with Miranda.” He steps closer, letting out a long breath. “I got kicked out of my game tonight.”

“You did?”

He nods. “Couldn’t keep my cool knowing we were fucked up.” His eyes stare into mine. “I don’t wanna be fucked up, D,” he admits.

Me either.

“I went to the roof to breathe a minute,” he tells me. “To think. I found your drink, and knew you came even though you were mad, so I went to find you.”

My chest inflates with a deep inhale, waiting for more.

“You were dancin’, killin’ me with that body I can’t stop thinking about, and I fuckin’ snapped. I had to feel you, kiss you. So I did, and the only thing on my mind when you were against me was how to get closer. There was no show. No plot.” His lips press down at the hollow of my ear, and my eyes squeeze shut. “Me and you,” he rasps. “That’s what that was. If he showed up, if anyone showed up, I had no clue. I kissed you because I had to, Pixie. Wanted to. Plain and fuckin’ simple.”

My muscles tense a moment before a light zing runs down my spine.

I pull back.

His eyes are open and honest and laser focused on mine. “I don’t want your lies. I want your all.”

An airiness takes over my chest, a light pull at something deep within me the longer I stare. I drop my hands from him and a frown creeps over him.

I take a step back, heat spreading up my body as I whisper, “Prove it.”

Confusion etches across his face before that slow, sexy smirk, takes over and all that’s left is determination.

Nico grips my hand, ready to yank me away when suddenly the video is playing again, louder this time.

My moan echoes around us.

“Oh my god.” I cover my face.

Nico whips around. “What the hell, man?”

My eyes pop open as Nico tugs my phone from Trent’s grasp, and the girls, all three huddled around him pull back with drunken giggles.

All three tease by doing awful, drunken slutty dance moves, then drop onto the bench seat.

“You guys are assholes.” I laugh lightly, stepping toward the bench, but Nico pulls my arms, so I turn back.

He eyes me skeptically, his arms gingerly sliding around my waist as he pulls me into him. “We good?”

Can we be more than good?

Can we be real?

I confirmed I was upset because I thought he only kissed me so someone else would see, for the sake of the stupid deal we made that states he’s not really mine nor am I his.

How long before he reads into that for what it is?

How long before he realizes I want to be an us?

“Don’t, D,” he whispers, and my eyes fly back to his. “Don’t think.”

Don’t think.

Don’t think...

Fuck it.

“I don’t want him anymore.” The words fly from me before I can stop them.

Fully and completely, every muscle in his body locks and my stomach begins to stir.

Holy shit, I said it. It’s out.

“What?” His tone is harsh, but I know it’s not coming from anger.

“Alex,” I admit quietly. “I don’t want him. I can’t even remember why I ever did.”

His grip on me tightens, a heavy sense of possession radiating from him to me, warming my body from the inside out. “Don’t play, baby.”

“Tell me I am,” I rasp.

When his brows dip, I continue.

“Your baby.” My eyes hit his. “For reals, not for fakes. For keeps, not for now.”

The heavy thump of his heart beats against my hand, and I flatten my palm there, not wanting to miss the way it’s climbing.

“Pixie.” He leans in, brushing his lips over mine. “You are. You’ve been,” he stresses. “Even when you had no fuckin’ clue... you were my baby.”

He kisses me, and the overbearing weight on my shoulders lifts.

His.

That’s what I am.

He pulls back the slightest bit, whispering into my ear. “And in case there’s room for question, let me clear it up for you. You’re mine, D, and I’m yours. That’s as real as it gets.”

Finally.





Since Friday night, Nico hasn’t stopped touching me when he’s near, and he makes sure he constantly is. It’s like when he teased before about getting to be the possessive boyfriend and keeping me within reach, that’s exactly what he’s doing.

He’ll go from holding my hand to moving my hair, touching my waist or arms, anything.

Today, we’re at Caper Cliffs, rock jumping and barbecuing, so it’s been snapping the strap of my bikini top or running his palms across my arms, but this afternoon’s touches are lingering, slow and far more deliberate.

It could be because we’re basically naked in nothing but swimsuits, so the heat of his body radiates to mine even more than normal or maybe I’m imagining the lasting effect of his fingertips because I want them to drag a little lower and stay there for a while.

“Girl,” Macy whispers in my ear. “You need to stop, take a dip in the water, something.”

My frown finds her.