Lessons in Faking (Hall Beck University #1)

Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

McCarthy was comfortable. His lap didn’t feel like one at all—or maybe I was just glad to spare my ass from sitting on chairs that looked as comfortable as blunt boulders. Even if that meant McCarthy’s legs cushioning it.

I tried not to think about that at all. About the muscles rippling his thighs, or about the fact I was sitting on them.

Despite my greatest efforts of focusing on anything else, I was still aware of the arm slung around my waist and the murmur of his and Caden’s conversation. Hence my startle when McCarthy shifted underneath me.

“Sorry,” he muttered, drawing my attention from my conversation with Wren and the girl beside her, Laila. She’d turned out to be someone’s sister: I wish I remembered.

McCarthy’s grip around me tightened when I turned his way. Bad idea. His brown eyes were mere inches from mine, so close I could feel his breath catching against my nose.

Which made ignoring him underneath me so much harder. His fingers curling around my hip didn’t help, and the fact that I’m pretty sure it wasn’t intentional didn’t either.

I blinked hastily, trying to adjust my new position. My arms ended up around his neck, and I honestly didn’t mean for them to. Because it meant his undivided attention on me, and my undivided attention on him.

He tensed below me, and I paused my wiggling abruptly, like I’d gotten a new sense of awareness what sitting— wiggling —in his lap really meant. “Sorry.” I cringed, honestly. “Just trying to get—”

“Comfortable,” he whispered, voice strained. An odd choice, I thought, to whisper in a loud, dingy sports bar. I didn’t like how intimate it felt.

McCarthy swallowed hard, eyes never leaving mine.

Undivided attention.

“Are you?” he asked, voice still low. “Comfortable? Because I distinctly remember you saying light PDA, and the way you’re nestling into my crotch is anything but—”

“I’m not!” I hissed, but the second I lifted some of my weight off him, I couldn’t deny it. Horrified wouldn’t begin to describe how I felt, and I was glad for the low lighting when heat crept up my neck.

He huffed. The way I felt it on my skin only exaggerated the color in my cheeks. “All I ask is that you have some mercy on me, Pressley.” Something low in my belly coiled at the rasp in his voice, and I was so focused on suppressing the feeling, I forgot to… say something. Speechless. I’d never been speechless.

“Great.” McCarthy nodded, the corner of his lip twitching. “So you’re comfortable?”

“Yes.” Even if I weren’t, I wouldn’t dare move. Not scared of the consequences, but by how much I wanted to know what they’d be. How much I wanted to shift in his lap just for the sake of it—

“Dude!” The words beamed across the table.

Whatever spell between us broke, and judging by my train of thoughts, I should be glad about it. I turned to follow the voice, wincing when it meant I was wiggling again. Getting away from McCarthy’s intense look felt like sweet relief in itself, but the low chuckle right by my ear would follow me into my dreams that night.

‘Dude’ Guy’s deep voice cut through the group as a laugh accompanied the word. Sitting next to Henry, he hit his chest hard enough to get my brother’s attention, then nodded in my general direction.

“Isn’t it weird?” He sounded amused, but the polite hint of a smile on Henry’s lips fell despite it, as soon as he followed his teammate’s gaze. I looked anywhere else.

Right then, I was painfully aware of McCarthy. The fact I was still sitting on top of him and his breath tickled my neck as he picked up his conversation with Caden again. It took all my willpower to focus on the voices on the other end of the table, instead of the sensations all over my body.

Dude Guy elaborated. “That McCarthy is dating your sister, I mean.” Thanks for the clarification . “I’d kill anyone at this table who tried—” He cut himself off, and my eyes flicked in their direction to see the guy throwing a threatening glare at no one in particular. “But my sister’s also sixteen, so…” He dragged the word out, shrugging at the fact, as if it wasn’t the main problem in the scenario.

Henry’s eyes closed for a moment to gather his composure. He looked like he was about ready to commit murder. Then, his eyes slid in our direction once more, a deadly glare in them. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat— wait, no. McCarthy’s lap. Goddamn it.

McCarthy drew in a sharp breath, head whirling in my direction again. I wasn’t sure if he meant for his hold around my waist to tighten. But it did.

“Pressley” he hissed, voice low and deep. “I’m really trying here.” But I didn’t want to focus on that, or him, or how tense he was all of a sudden. How he held me closer to keep me in place.

My eyes and ears were already on my brother again. The latter sighed, seemingly letting out all built-up frustration before he took a long sip from his glass.

As if to emphasize his point—as if he knew I was listening and as if he knew how desperately I wanted to hear his answer— he didn’t look away when he said, “Couldn’t care less, Michael.” Then, he smiled. Right to my face.

Which made an awful thought pop into my head.

Was the reason Henry supposedly didn’t care that he knew ? Knew me well enough to know I wouldn’t purposely spend more time with McCarthy than seriously needed? Knew me well enough to anticipate the surefire revenge coming his way, and knew me well enough to figure out that this was it?

With how much distance he’d put between us, I didn’t think he’d know me at all, but…

My head spun. I panicked. I stood. Short-circuited. A few heads turned my way curiously, quickly diverting when they realized nothing was going on. Excluding Wren and McCarthy, who were both looking at me with equal interest in what I was planning.

Funny you should ask. I didn’t know, either.

“Getting food,” I lied quickly. I nodded to the bar and hoped to God they served nachos or peanuts or fries in this place.

And thank God they did.

I took my sweet time reading each and every food item on the menu.

Cheesy nachos. Onion rings. Peanuts.

I was in no rush to get back opposite of my brother. Or on top of McCarthy, for that matter. What was the point if Henry was already fully aware of everything? Any previous confidence in my plan had vanished.

Who would’ve guessed it’d be me begging Wren to leave well before she had the chance to? Apparently, her conversation with Laila was delightful. One glance told me as much.

With my eyes back on the menu, I sighed.

Mozzarella sticks. Wings. French fries.

“Athalia.”

My head shot back up at the sound of my name. The dim light revealed a vaguely familiar smile.

“Blake.” If I sounded surprised, it’s because I was.

Blake Zachary, all charm and big smiles. Remembering McCarthy’s list, Blake was his best friend. Tall, dark, and handsome: he was the very definition of it. We’d been on the same beer pong team once, but that was as far as our acquaintance went.

“You enjoying yourself?” His dark eyes trailed back to me when he absentmindedly gave the bartender his order. Compared to McCarthy’s honey brown, his were an almost abyss-like-black, deeper and darker, and I definitely needed to stop thinking about eyes that weren’t in front of me right now.

“Uh-huh,” I muttered, breaking my thoughts off. I nodded. “You?”

“Celebrating a win’s always nice,” he agreed. “Better than a loss, anyway—thanks, man.” He gave a grateful nod to the bartender, placing the beer on the bar between them.

“I feel we should get to know each other better,” he continued, his voice smooth and silky. “Now that you’re dating my best friend and all. I hardly know anything about you. Nothing, apart from the fact that you’re awful at beer pong and supposed to hate Dylan as much as your brother does.” There was something challenging in his eyes, yet his calm demeanor didn’t crack.

“Are you trying to do a background check on me, Zachary?” I teased, and it brought a slight smile to his face.

“Not at all.” He shrugged. Blake raised the glass to his lips, taking a sip before he shook his head. “Sorry,” he snorted in amusement. “Trying this new approach called ‘Intimidating Best Friend’. Wren’s got it perfected.” His eyes flashed behind me. “How did I do?”

“Awful,” I deadpanned. “Really quite awful.” I laughed then, and was relieved when he offered me a single one as well.

“Good.” His eyes wandered down my sweater, halfheartedly tucked into the pleated skirt, its grey almost as dark as the tights underneath. When his eyes came back up, it was too dark to read his expression. “Let’s try that again, then.”

And he was actually quite pleasant to talk to once he dropped the act of concerned, intimidating best friend. We did so for a solid ten minutes, before he turned to order another drink for Mike. Whoever that was.

As if I’d just remembered, my attention darted to the laminated menu still sitting underneath my fingertips.

“That must be one hell of a snack.” I startled at the familiar voice coming from behind me. My head whipped up in recognition, and I eyed the bottles of liquor behind the bar. “Whatever you ordered, better be worth the twenty minutes it took you to get it.”

McCarthy knew nothing had been ordered. He just wanted to see me squirm, and I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Not after he’d left me speechless once already tonight.

“I’ll probably go with the nachos. What do you think?” I pretended to read that damned menu yet again. In the corner of my eye, I could see Blake’s attention shift from the much busier bartender to his best friend.

McCarthy’s arms wrapped around my waist from behind, head resting on my shoulder and his body flush with mine. To keep up our facade—obviously. Despite having sat on his lap for the past hour, this felt different enough for my breath to hitch. Hopefully so lightly it went unnoticed.

When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. “I think,” he began, his lips hovering right by my ear. “I think you might’ve forgotten you’re supposed to be my girlfriend. Not his.” The little nod in Blake’s direction had his lips graze my skin. A subtle touch. Nothing major. I ignored the goose bumps running down my neck when his hot breath tickled it. And I ignored the urge to lean into his tall frame behind me.

One of his fingers absentmindedly trailed along the dip of my waist, though the fabric dampened most of the impact it would’ve probably made.

Listen . It’s been a while. This was not about who did it, and more the fact it was being done in the first place.

The light scent of beer mixed with his cologne in the air around us, and I wanted to shove him off me just to feel like I could breathe in something other than his intoxicating scent. Instead, my eyes closed for a brief second so I could get it together; then I turned around.

I didn’t realize how close that would leave us standing. A few inches, not more. His face, his eyes, his lips, all right there. Trying to bring just the tiniest bit of distance between us, I failed when my back hit the bar, my head still angled up to catch his eyes.

They were rapidly taking in every part of my face. Drinking in every faint freckle along and around my nose, the green eyes I’d inherited from Dad, and the flushed cheeks I blamed on the stuffy air in here.

Remembering his words, I scrambled for a reply before the silence became deafening. “I’m bonding with your best friend,” I gasped in irony, my voice low. “You should be thrilled. At least we get along.” My eyes trailed to Wren, still immersed in her conversation with Laila, and he caught my drift without having to follow my gaze.

A smirk formed on his lips, and his head tilted slightly. Raising a brow, in a know-it-all tone he said, “My best friend, who’s had a thing for you since you picked your brother up from practice the first time?” His face was almost flush with mine, his lips by my ear again to make sure no one would hear his next words. “And proceeded to chew off the entire team’s ear about it? I’m just telling you what it looks like to them.” He shrugged when he brought much-needed distance between us.

“All right, all right, cool it.” I rolled my eyes, hands flying up in playful defeat. The urge to rest them on his chest came up. Briefly. Kind of. I mean, it was right there. Instead, I lowered them. Before he could say anything else, I made sure I had the next word. “So.” I trailed off, finger tapping the menu. “Nachos?” I looked up at him through mascara-covered lashes, the question leaving my lips with a grin threatening to spill across them.

McCarthy huffed, nodded and tried his best to suppress his own smile. He searched for the bartender—Gene—behind me, then let his hand slip from my hip to my hand, tugging it lightly to get me in front of Gene and my nachos ordered.

By the time I turned around, Blake was long gone, sitting in his previous spot at the table behind us. Five minutes after that, I was back on McCarthy’s lap, both of us unbothered by the other’s presence, maybe for the first time.