Page 251 of Faking the Goal

They look right together.

Emma Lennox with her polished clothes, perfect grades, wealthy family, and effortless confidence beside Kentaro Azuma, who somehow manages to look pristine even in the middle of a crowded nightclub.

And then there's the fact that Emma is a figure skater.

Of course she fucking is.

Because apparently being beautiful, sophisticated, rich, and academically gifted wasn't enough. She also understands the ice. The training. The competition. The kind of discipline that makes normal people question your sanity. She and Kentaro could probably have an entire conversation about edges and conditioning and whatever other frozen-water nonsense athletes talk about while I sit there nodding along like I know what the hell is happening.

They have more things in common.

"Yeah," Claire says beside me, apparently following my line of sight. "I always figured his type would be someone more like Emma."

Ouch.

I swallow around the unexpected bitterness climbing into my throat and force my attention back to her.

"Well, apparently his standards aren't as predictable as everyone thinks." I lift one shoulder and summon my best nonchalant smile. "He asked me to be his girlfriend, not Emma."

"I guess."

I take a long drink.

Because what the hell else am I supposed to do?

Tell her she's right?

Tell her that Kentaro didn't actually choose me?

That the only reason I have the title of girlfriend is because some psychopath became obsessed with me and Kentaro agreed to play the part until the police catch him?

My eyes betray me and drift back across the club.

Emma says something that makes Kentaro chuckle.

That stupid little sting comes back.

I hate it.

Jealousy is unfamiliar territory for me. I've never cared enough about anyone I've slept with to give a damn who they talked to afterward. They could have left my bed and proposed to someone in the parking lot for all I cared.

This is different.

Because Kentaro matters.

And apparently when someone matters, your brain starts producing all sorts of delightful new ways to torture you.

Except I have no right to be jealous.

Kentaro isn't really my boyfriend.

I know that.

There are rules. An arrangement. An expiration date attached to all of this somewhere down the road.

So Emma can talk to him.

Emma can flirt with him if she wants.