Page 7 of Fake Dating My Best Friend

The clinking of silverware stopped. Chloe didn't move. She didn't even seem to breathe.

"After she broke up with her ex, who was a jerk, I realized I could no longer keep it in," I said, my heart roaring in my ears, watching her like she was the center of my universe. "It wasn't just about him being a douchebag. It was about seeing her hurt. I wanted to be the person who kept her from breaking in the first place. She deserved better than those shallow men who didn’t appreciate her light.” I looked up, my words getting tighter. “I realized that the reason I never dated anyone was because my heart was already occupied by my best friend."

I looked away then, unable to hold her gaze anymore. My face was burning. Every word had been a jagged piece of the truth I’d kept under lock and key for ten years. I wasn't acting for my mother. I wasn't performing for Tyler. I was confessing, even though she didn’t know it.

The silence that followed was heavy, raw, and deafening.

"Oh, Sloane," Chloe’s mom whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She reached across the table and patted my hand. "I love you so much. Ever since Chloe brought you home in third grade, I knew you were someone special to her. I honestly couldn't have picked a better partner for my daughter if I tried.”

I smiled, feeling guilty for lying to Chloe’s mom, but was I lying? We might be fake dating, but my feelings were real.

“Yeah, that’s what happened.” Chloe finally blinked. She looked down at her plate, her wavy blonde hair shielding her face. She wasn’t her usual chirpy self, and I wondered why. When she finally looked up, she gave the table a small, tight smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"See?" Chloe said, her voice a bit thin. "I told you she was the deep one."

“Let’s toast to our daughters getting together.” Dad said, looking for an excuse to pull out a vintage wine, as usual. As the wine was poured and we all toasted, I felt unease settle over me.

Our parents ate and drank, laughing at "remember when" stories from our childhood. They were in heaven, but the tension between Chloe and me was vibrating like a live wire. She became quieter and quieter as the dinner progressed, and when it was over, she became still as a stone. She never looked at me, never held my hand, never said a word about my confession. Of course, it was part of the act, but it seemed to affect her deeply.

As we stood up to clear the plates, our shoulders brushed. Chloe didn't pull away, but she didn't lean in either. There was a new, terrifying gravity between us. I had said too much. I had made the "fake" look too real, and from the way Chloe was avoiding my eyes, I knew we needed to talk about this.

The dinner was a success. Our parents were convinced. But as I caught my reflection in the dark kitchen window, I realized I no longer wanted to fake date Chloe. I wanted to date her for real. But that couldn’t happen, could it?

The drive back to campus had been suffocatingly quiet. Usually, Chloe would be dissecting every detail of the evening, laughing about my dad’s wine toast or her mom’s reaction. Tonight, she just stared out the window, her reflection ghosting against the dark glass.

Now, back in our room, the heavy silence followed us. The air felt thick, charged with the lingering residue of my dinner table confession. I kicked off my shoes and sat on the edge of my bed, my heart thudding a ragged rhythm against my ribs.

Chloe didn't go to her side of the room. She walked over and sank onto the mattress beside me, her svelte frame casting a long shadow in the dim glow of my desk lamp. Without a word, she reached out, her fingers finding mine. We lay back together, shoulder to shoulder, staring up at the ceiling where the shadows of the campus trees danced.

"Well," I said, my voice cracking slightly. I tried to force a light tone. "I’d say the mission was a success. Our parents are officially convinced. Tyler doesn't stand a chance."

Chloe didn't laugh. She didn't even look at the ceiling. She turned her head, her blue eyes searching mine in the dark.

"Sloane," she whispered, her voice low and tight. "Did you mean it? What you said at dinner?"

My blood went cold. Of course, my best friend knew when I had been sincere. She always knew when I was lying, and when I meant something. My heartbeats echoed in my chest, afraid of losing my friend. I couldn’t tell her. I couldn’t lose the most precious person in my life. The truth would change everything while the lie would keep me safe. I chose the safe bet.

"Of course not," I lied, the words tasting like ash. "I was just... playing the part. I’m your fake girlfriend, remember?”

"I never knew you were such a good actress," she said softly, still not buying it.

I didn't answer. I couldn't. But then her grip on my hand tightened, her thumb tracing the bone of my wrist.

"Because the thing is," Chloe continued, her voice dropping into a register I’d never heard before—raw, honest, and stripped of all her social armor. "Your words... they made me realize something. Something I’ve been running from since we were kids."

She turned onto her side, her face inches from mine. I could feel the warmth of her breath, the magnetic pull of her presence, those blue eyes focused on my in a way that took my breath away.

"I date all those men because I’m terrified, Sloane," she confessed, her eyes glistening.

“What?” This had been the first time she’d said that to me. I always suspected she went from one guy to another because she was looking for something but hearing her be vulnerable made my heart vibrate with empathy. I squeezed her hand, encouraging her to go on.

“I dated all those guys to hide from the truth. When I’m the popular, hot girlfriend, I feel seen, Sloane. I’m terrified that if I stop moving, if I stop being the 'perfect blonde girlfriend' for five seconds, I’ll just... disappear.”

“Chloe….” Our breaths echoed in the room.

“I know it’s shallow, but I feel like I only exist when someone is looking at me. That’s why I can’t be single. Being still means confronting the fact that I don't know who I am without an audience."

"Chloe—"