Page 36 of Fake Crown

“You’re worried about me? Baby, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I don’t catch feelings. Once I’m in training mode, the only thing on my mind is swimming.”

“Social media. I’m not posting anything about our fake relationship. We can trick Val, but I draw the line at sucking anyone I might know into this.”

“Suits me. I won’t post anything either.” Basically my mantra now. I only use my socials if some endorsement or FINA ask me to.

“What exactly do you want from me then?” she asks. “Am I your penis guard? Not a full bodyguard. I’m just hanging around to make sure your appendage doesn’t get out of control.”

“Right. Yeah. No wayward dicks allowed.” I let out a grunt. “Sometimes it detaches itself from my body and runs all over the place. No manners. No sense of what sorts of holes it should be hiding in. Completely disrespectful.”

Posey laughs and rolls off me to stare at the ceiling. “Oh my god. The imagery.”

I turn onto my stomach and rest my cheek on my crossed arms. “In all seriousness, I need someone to hang out with me during the little downtime I have. That’s it. Keep me and my wayward dick on the straight and narrow.”

“I’m okay with straight, but I do like a bit of girth.”

“Are you so commitment phobic you can’t even agree to a fake relationship?”

“Bingo,” she says, and she points her finger at me. “I’m breaking out in hives at the thought.” She examines her arm.

“You want me to pinky swear I won’t catch feelings? Cause I’ll do it.”

“You’re that sure it won’t happen?”

“Yes.”

“Well, now I’m kind of offended.”

I let out a huff, and she laughs. She rotates onto her side to face me, and she traces a line along my back with her fingertip.

“I promise it’ll be a fun couple weeks with lots of lattes and orgasms. At the end of it, we’ll shake hands and go our separate ways.” While I might question whether I can keep my promise when we’re lying here next to each other and she’s charming my pants off, once we’re back on campus, real life will resume. My vow to keep any tricky feelings at bay will be easy then.

Posey scans my face, and there’s something brewing behind her brown eyes.

“Have you ever been in love?” she asks.

“No,” I say. “You?” There’s never been time to get to know someone well enough to love them. My cabinet full of swimming medals and trophies is my first and only love.

“No.” She thrusts her pinky finger toward me. “We swear to be heart-of-stone assholes who have great sex and drink a lot of lattes. Heart of stone, Faulkner.”

“I’m offended you think I’m the soft one here.” I grab her pinky finger with mine, and when our gazes connect, warmth spreads across my chest. Her eyes sparkle with mischief, and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a prettier sight than Posey Jensen naked in my bed with her pinky finger linked with mine.

Shit.

She’s right. I am the soft one.

Posey

Since Brent’s practice on Sunday is closer to lunch than breakfast, we sleep in and order room service. While we eat naked in bed, Brent gives me all the Olympic village gossip from his last trip there. It’s amazing to hear how much the athletes talk about each other. Though I suppose almost all of them are famous in the village for one reason or another. Some of them are just more famous for their STDs.

“That’s the village, and you were eighteen the first time you went. Were you running around getting venereal diseases?” I take a sip from my latte.

“Nope,” he says. “I wanted to prove I belonged there in the pool, not in some chick’s bed.”

“You made it. That doesn’t prove it?”

“I was still clinging to the sting of disappointment from when I was fourteen. To be so close and to not make it. Then I trained, and I grew, and I got a lot faster. Close races were mine to win, not lose. That first Olympic appearance wasn’t much fun. The pressure to perform was crushing.”

“Pressure you put on yourself?” I slop a piece of toast through the egg yolk.