Lessons in Faking (Hall Beck University #1)

Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

It was 11PM when McCarthy showed up at my door, ensuring me he was ready to live it up. He did not look the part. As if on cue, a yawn rattled through his chest.

“We don’t have to go,” was the first thing that slipped past my lips. I thought it was…

“ Wow ,” he gasped. “So thoughtful of you.”

Yeah, it was exactly that.

“I know.” I continued, my tone exaggerated as I huffed. “I just care about you so much. You should know that by now.”

I rushed back into the kitchen, knowing McCarthy had let himself in when I heard the door shut. “It’s also the fact that I would like people to know I’m amazing company to keep, and my boyfriend falling asleep on me would say quite the opposite.” It definitely had nothing to do with the fact I was nervous. “Beer?”

The question hung in the air as I opened the fridge, rising to my toes to reach the top shelf. When he didn’t answer, I looked over my shoulder to throw him a questioning glance.

McCarthy’s eyes flew up to meet mine just in time, shrugging out of his dark Carhartt jacket and hanging it over one of the stools. When he pushed off the island to walk over, I took that as a yes—quickly grabbed a can out of the fridge before he could and then turned back around with a victorious smile.

Being faster than him felt like a small win in itself. I might’ve gloated more if I wasn’t immediately faced with his chest. It took him less time to get to me than I’d anticipated, and as the smirk slipped from my lips, it appeared on his. Without breaking eye contact, his hand curled around the can, finger grazing mine before I could let go.

I did not want to interpret the way his touch scorched my skin. The way color rose to my neck.

“No, thank you,” he said, voice lower as he placed the beer back on the top shelf. Cool air hit my back, and a shiver ran down my spine. McCarthy was close enough for me to feel the suppressed chuckle in his chest. His head basically hovered above my own, and I thanked God for the height difference that put some distance between us.

His eyes casually shifted to take in the contents of my fridge, ignoring my body pressed between his and the cold air. “Something sweeter?” he absentmindedly requested from above, hand curling around the corner of the fridge. His gaze dropped again, scanning my face. “Please?”

He seemed different tonight—more unpredictable.

Fuck, something was definitely wrong with the guy, when please and thank you out of his mouth made you feel on edge.

I took the opportunity to duck under his arm, escaping to clear my thoughts of… him. I didn’t want to notice the outline of his toned arms, the short sleeves showing them off. My eyes really just grazed them. Anyone’s would have.

“Oh, McCarthy.” I hummed playfully, overcoming the single flutter in my belly. Because I was nervous. About the party. “I’m flattered. But you can’t have me. Remember that contract?”

He tilted his head, huffed in amusement. “And what a shame that is, right?”

What a shame. I ignored his words pointedly. Nothing to read into here . Leaning against the counter beside him, I looked anywhere but his way. To distract from everything about Dylan McCarthy Williams that clouded my judgement. For starters, his presence. Followed by the scent of his earthy aftershave, the sound of his snicker and the way I could feel his eyes boring into the side of my face.

“This isn’t really a soda household. Sorry. Didn’t take you for a sweet tooth,” I admitted.

“That’s fine. Many things you wouldn’t take me for,” he retorted casually, then pushed off the counter to stand in front of me. “Ready?” His eyes flew down my frame when he asked, as if to approve the way I looked before he turned up on frat row with me on his arm.

“Don’t know,” I admitted. My honesty kind of surprised me.

It seemed he mirrored the sentiment. His brows shot up, giving me a tentative look before following up with another once-over. He shook his head when he looked back at me. “Seriously?” he asked.

In answer, I pushed myself off the counter and headed for the full-length mirror in my room. Since Wren was busy, I’d gotten ready by myself for the first time in a long time, and I wondered whether the lack of a second opinion had affected my outfit decisions. You could never go wrong with a black dress, but…

“It’s a bit basic,” I concluded loud enough for him to hear my words in the kitchen, a single wall between us. Or maybe it was too much? I thought back to my last frat parties, trying to remember whether people wore dresses to them. Distractedly, I twisted and turned in front of the mirror beside my bed to see all angles.

It was decided. I hated it.

In defeat, I dropped my hands with a groan. McCarthy showed up in my door the next second, and my eyes locked with his in the mirror. He leaned himself against the frame, head tilting with an incredulous look on his face.

“You’re not seriously thinking about changing, are you?” His eyes fell down my body again. Maybe even lingered on my backside. Who knows? I certainly wasn’t keeping track.

“I am.” I puffed out a breath. “It’s too much. Or too little. Maybe too—” Annoyed, I tried to fix what, in my head, had become the unfixable.

Riding the hem of the dress further up my thigh, I turned from side to side. I cupped my boobs, pushing them up, wondering if maybe I should’ve gone with the push-up bra instead of the no-bra option that left me looking relatively flat. In a matter of seconds, this had become a fashion emergency, and I’d forgotten all about McCarthy’s presence in order to fix it.

Until a strangled groan that wasn’t mine reminded me. Two large hands turned me, and I stared right at McCarthy. Startled, I looked up, green eyes big with surprise and my hands awkwardly falling from my breasts. He held onto my shoulders as he took a deep breath, trying to lessen his clear annoyance at how long I was taking.

At least that’s what I thought it was, until his gaze dropped lower for a fraction of a second.

“It’s perfect,” McCarthy snapped, dark eyes back on mine. “Heads will turn, Pressley. No doubt about it.” The sarcastic undertone I was used to made an appearance again, and somehow it calmed my suspiciously fast beating heart. “But if I still want to get the chance to show you off, we’ll have to leave this apartment eventually.”

I still ended up changing. Just my choice of shoes, though. And I regretted the knee-high boots for one reason only: their plateau heel. Neither of us wanted to be designated driver, but walking over to frat row had been one of his worst ideas.

Not even halfway through the twenty-minute walk, I forced him into an Uber. Necessary, if I wanted to survive the night. And five minutes later, we thanked the driver and jumped out of the car. Our destination was as obvious as the nose on my face.

Loud music, neon lights, laughing people. You could smell a frat party from a mile away, especially if it was a birthday bash for the captain of the soccer team. Which was how McCarthy knew Henry would be here, and which was why, inevitably, I was here too.

Not daring a glance in McCarthy’s direction, I slipped my hand into his. Big, and warm and solid, closing around mine without a second of hesitation.

This was our first official outing as a couple. This was different . It had to look real to everyone, from every angle, all the time. Not just to Henry. Not just when he was around or looking.

Always.

For the next few hours, I had to make sure every fleeting glance, every look, every touch would make this look real. And somehow, that didn’t seem quite as challenging as it would’ve been a few weeks ago.

As if McCarthy was reading my thoughts, he gave my hand a quick, reassuring squeeze before pulling me inside.