Faking with Benefits : A Friends to Lovers Romance(90)

April 5th. It’s April 5th. The anniversary of Emily’s death. I’ve never forgotten before.

Every single year since the day she died, I’ve gone to visit her. I’ve brought her flowers and sat with her and talked to her. I know nobody else will do it; all of her other friends have forgotten her, and her mum didn’t even go to her funeral, for God’s sake. The woman started downing a bottle of vodka a day as soon as Em got her diagnosis, and she didn’t stop until it was over. She’s probably at home right now, a couple of bottles in.

I hated her for that. I hated her for choosing to forget her daughter. She should have been there for her, but instead, I was the one skipping class to sit next to Emily’s bed, holding her hair back as she threw up, trying to make her laugh. Soaking in every last second I could spend with her.

A memory blooms in front of my eyes. Emily, lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by beeping machines and plastic tubes. I was sitting next to her, clutching her hand. I knew she wasn’t going to make it through the night. She was already half-gone.

“Don’t leave me,” she murmured. “You’re the only person who cares about me. Don’t leave me alone.” Her eyes were so full of terror I wanted to scream.

The memory used to be as clear as a movie scene, but now it’s watery and blurry. I can’t remember the curve of her cheek, the slant of her eyebrows. I can’t picture the exact shade of her hair. It’s all disappearing. I bunch my hands into fists, breathing hard.

I don’t know how this happened. I promised Em that I wouldn’t forget her, but she’s slowly slipped away from me. It’s only been twelve years, for God’s sake. Twelve years, and I’ve already forgotten the girl I said was the love of my life.

I pull out my phone, checking the time. I’m too late. The graveyard closed an hour ago. I squeeze my eyes shut as a wave of grief rolls over me.

Nobody will have been to see her today. She’s been completely alone for over a year. It only took a decade for everyone to stop noticing that she’s gone.

What am I doing, drinking and dancing and kissing pretty girls on the day she died? What the Hell is wrong with me? I slam my phone down onto the steps and put my head in my hands. Rain starts to fall, soaking into my expensive suit.

I’ve let myself get in way too deep with Layla. It needs to stop.

I can’t do this anymore.





FIFTY-SEVEN





LAYLA





After Zack disappears, I just stand stupidly at the drinks table, staring after him.

I’m not sure what made him react like that. Did something happen? Did I do something wrong? Rob gives me an apologetic look as Amy tugs him away, leaving me standing alone.

I sigh and set my empty glass down on the table, glancing around the room. I should probably find the other guys. I spot Luke in the corner of the hall, still talking to Amy’s aunt. He looks like he’s about to die of boredom, so I start to make my way towards him — but before I’ve taken two steps, a large hand touches my back.

“Hey,” a voice says in my ear.

I smile, turning to look up at Josh. He looks incredible. He’s pulled off his blazer and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. My eyes trace his thick, muscled forearms before flicking back to his flushed face.

“Hey,” I say, reaching up to tug at his tie. “You look great in this.”

“Oh?” His eyes are unusually bright as he looks down at me. “Maybe I should wear it more often.” His deep voice is darker than usual, the clipped accent softening to a low purr. I blink as he wraps a hand around my waist, feeling the soft fabric of my dress. “You look beautiful,” he murmurs, tugging me closer. Heat blooms between my legs, and I’m suddenly hyper-aware of the heavy metal beads filling me up inside. “You always do.” He dips his head, pressing his face into my hair and breathing in deeply. I catch the faint smell of whiskey on his breath and suddenly realise what’s happening.

“You’re drunk,” I murmur, squirming slightly. “Holy shit. I’ve never seen you drunk.” Whenever we hang out, Josh usually sticks to water or soda. I’ve never seen him drink more than one beer at a time.

He hums, pulling me closer until our bodies are flush. My cheeks warm as his hand slides smoothly to the small of my back. “No.”

“You are.”

“I don’t think so.” He tucks his face in the crook of my neck. “You smell like cherries.”

“You’re such a little liar,” I say, fighting the urge to laugh.

He sighs against my skin. “Maybe we opened a bottle of whiskey in Rob’s room,” he admits. “Amy’s dad gave it to him as a gift. It would be rude to say no.”

I run a hand through his thick hair. “When was the last time you drank whiskey?”

“Couple years ago.”

I’m absolutely delighted. “Oh my God. Joshua Tran, nine-foot nightmare, is a total lightweight.”

“I’m really not drunk,” he insists, pulling back to look around. His dark eyes shine as he takes in all of the people smiling and chatting. “I had one shot, about five hours ago. I’m just… happy. Everything turned out perfect.”

“You love this stuff, don’t you?” I realise.