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I’d love to give him some snarky comeback, but he’s right. I don’t always perfectly cover my frustration where he’s concerned.

The thing is, Dean was supposed to be mine. By the time I’d come up with the right plan to approach ‌him, he’d ended up with my older sister. Now we’re locked in a toxic cycle with no escape in sight. Damn right I’m frustrated.

I’m careful around Ella though, and that’s what matters most. “It’s an interview. Anyone can pretend for a few hours. If I can convince Senator Latchley I’m a devoted boyfriend for an entire weekend, I can convince some school panel I’m in love with you.”

“You also have to convince Ella, or she might blab. And she’ll be the hardest.”

“Hey.” I make a point of softening my expression and put my hand on his cheek.

I’ll show him how nice I can be.

Walking my fingers along his jaw and around the back of his neck, I tangle them in the shaggy ends of his blond hair. “You’re overdue for a haircut, baby.” I tilt my head to the side.

His eyes go wide. “What did you just call me?”

Letting a subtle smile play on my lips, I add, “It’s nice, though. I like you this way.”

Then, for good measure, I reach up and swipe his bangs out of his eyes. There’s a moment of hesitation, a moment where I question my sanity before I press my lips against his. When he gasps, I lick inside, tasting his surprise. And peppermint candy.

It’s the softest kiss I’ve given anyone.

This sweetness is what I always wanted from Dean. Something I’ve punished us both by withholding.

I’m smiling inside when he moans and opens for more, even more when his arms come around me. Does he even realize the way he’s touching me right now? The way he’s gripping my sides and pulling me closer?

For a guy who gets laid for a living, Dean is awfully touch-starved. Those assholes who pay to fuck him must not be taking any time with foreplay or aftercare.

My fingers toy with the hem of his shirt. I slide them underneath, walking them up his abs. He’s not cut like he was when he played ball, but the muscles are still there, the lean tissue jumping under my touch.

It’s not long before I feel him harden against me. Needy whimpers squeak out of his throat. The sound he makes when I scrape my thumbnail across his nipple is almost perfect, but I wait until he’s breathless and panting into my mouth before I drop my hands and step away.

Feeling satisfied, I cross my arms over my chest, giving him a pointed look while he’s still trying to get his bearings. “You think that was convincing enough?”

His fingers go to his lips. “You can’t do that to me in an interview, Mike.”

“You believed it,” I tell him. “Should have seen your face when I brushed your hair out of your eyes. Hook, line, and fucking sinker, Dean. If I can make you believe it, I can sure as fuck sell it to the pretentious assholes on that admissions committee.”

He stumbles out of my way when I go to open the door, and I leave him there wondering what happened. My heart beats frantically in my chest, running wild like an animal that’s been spooked.

Because Dean’s not the only one who’s confused. And I can’t risk letting him know the truth.

I sold the act of being in love with Dean so well, I even sold it to myself.

CHAPTER TEN

Dean

Brunch the weekend before Ella’s interview is weird. The entire week has been.

Mike has taken to coming downstairs to our place after Ella’s in bed, letting himself in with his key, and climbing straight into my bed. All snuggly and stuff, as if we’re a couple.

No sex. Not exactly. But there’s cuddling. In my small bed. It’s both the most satisfying and the most frustrating thing I can remember experiencing.

The best or worst part—I haven’t decided—is how I haven’t needed him to do that thing he does when I have a nightmare. Haven’t had a single one.

It’s strange. Each night I fall into a coma with his steady, muscular arm thrown over my waist. In the morning, I wake up exactly the same way. Less like sleeping, more like my brain being turned off and turned back on again.

Mike’s barely acting the way he used to toward me. He holds my hand. He rubs my shoulders when I’m tense. The other day he made me breakfast before going to do his rideshare gig. If it weren’t for him telling me I’m not allowed to jerk off while he’s staying at my place, I’d wonder if he’d been replaced by a clone.