Fake Out (Fake Boyfriend 1)

“How can you afford a place in this building?”

“You a real estate agent now? One of my frat brother’s parents own it, and they gave me a good deal.”

“I pay over two grand where I am. It’s not a studio, but it’s a fucking dump.”

“The joys of living in New York.”

“Just tell me one thing. The guy isn’t …” Matt’s name gets stuck in my throat.

“No. It’s not my freshman year hookup.” He turns and cocks his head. “Would it be a problem for you if it was?”

Busted. “Nope. Just … curious.”

My sister is already halfway drunk when we enter Maddox’s apartment. She’s lying on the small couch that’s in front of a queen bed, watching Sex and the City reruns. She’s been obsessed with the show since before she was even old enough to watch it. “What’s my brother doing here?”

“Love you too,” I say.

Jealousy over Maddox’s apartment rears its ugly head. Yeah, it’s small, but the countertop in the kitchen—which is bigger than mine—is granite, the floorboards are a sleek oak color, and if there was to be a wall that divided his sitting area from the bed, it’d basically be the same size as my one-bedroom apartment but fancier.

This is why I should be nicer to people. They could give me an apartment, damn it. Maybe I’ll tell Noah he’s slacking in the friend department. He’s like a kazillionaire. He lives in a four-bedroom brownstone. I could totally move in—no, wait, then I’d have to be Noah’s roommate, and I don’t think there’s anyone alive who could deal with his ego twenty-four hours a day.

Stacy wobbles as she stands from the couch. “Why aren’t you out celebrating with Eric?”

An excuse would be a good thing to come up with right now, but I’ve got nothing.

“His fiancée was there,” Maddox says. “She had a headache so they left early. I invited Damon back here for drinks.”

Stacy screws up her face. “Is drinks a euphemism for something else? I’m all for you two doing the nasty, but not while I’m here, ’kay?”

“Yay, loose-lipped drunk Stacy has arrived,” I say sarcastically.

Maddox snorts. “Nope. Not gonna happen between me and your brother, Stace. He’s made that perfectly clear.”

And now I feel like an asshole. “Mad—”

“Tequila me.” Maddox cuts me off which is for the best because I have no idea what I was going to say.

“Come and get it.” Stacy pours a shot, licks her hand and shakes salt on it, and then shoves a lemon wedge in her mouth, facing outward.

“Oh, geez, shots?” I ask.

Maddox doesn’t hesitate. He licks the salt off Stacy’s hand, takes the shot, and then leans in to take the lemon wedge out of her mouth. And fuck, if I don’t hate my sister right now.

That’s when he turns his sights on me. Shit. I watch as he licks his hand and gets a shot set up for me. “I haven’t done shots since I was like nineteen,” I say.

“Stace, I think your brother is calling us immature.”

“No,” I say, “I’m pointing out that I chugged three beers at dinner, and if I do this, I probably won’t be able to walk.”

Stacy coughs in between saying “Lightweight.”

“I’m sorry I grew out of the binge-drinking phase sophomore year of college and applied myself to get a usable degree.”

“Oooh, they’re fighting words,” Maddox says.

“Marketing is usable. I’m employed, aren’t I?” Stacy says.

“You’re smart, Stacy. You could’ve been anything you wanted, and you chose a highly unstable industry—”

Stacy throws her head back. “You sound like Mom. Besides, kettle meet pot. How is marketing more unstable than sports agenting … agentry? Is agenting a word?”

Maddox ignores my sister’s ramblings and places the lemon in between his lips as his eyes bore into mine.

“Guess I’m doing this then.” I step forward and lick salt off Maddox’s hand—ignoring his sharp intake of breath—and throw back the tequila. My heart pounds in my chest as I move in to take the lemon. A small piece of fruit separates our mouths, and my head chants for him to “accidentally” drop the lemon wedge. He doesn’t.

When I pull back and am done screwing up my face at the taste, Maddox grins. He looks innocent and adorable as fuck.

Our eyes lock and I can’t tear my gaze away even if I want to.

“Ugh,” Stacy whines, breaking Maddox and me apart. “Big is such an asshole.” She plucks a tissue from the box on the coffee table and throws it at the TV.

“What have I told you about watching that shit here?” Maddox says. “Last time, you threw a coaster at my TV.”

“You love it, and now you’re riding the rainbow train … oh, wait, the bi train is blue, purple, and pink, isn’t it? Either way, you’re allowed to admit your love for Sex and the City now.”