Lessons in Faking (Hall Beck University #1)

Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

We made a beeline for the drinks first. We both knew we needed at least some kind of alcohol, if we wanted to pull this off and look casual while doing so.

The kitchen of the frat house was open concept, cut off from the main living room by an island that served as a bar during events like these. Leftover pieces of pizza were scattered across the counter behind it, some still in the box, some… not. In any case, it was crowded back there— everywhere .

The couches that had been pushed to the walls of the living room were at full occupancy, and so was the makeshift dance floor they made room for. Sweaty, drunk, happy bodies that were no more than a blur moved across it, hands either in the air or on someone else.

Smaller groups were sitting and standing on the stairs. Someone had just fallen off the stairs, so technically, they were lying on them too. To say this was probably the most crowded party I’d been to would be an understatement.

My eyes returned to my company for the night. He’d ignored the sweet drinks he’d requested at my place and cracked open a bottle of beer instead. McCarthy squinted in displeasure as soon as he tipped the bottle to take a sip. I could only imagine how much worse it was warm, and three hours into the party.

Though the cheap wine in my plastic cup probably wasn’t much better.

“D!” The friendly shout caught my attention, and I turned with my cup firmly between my hands.

“Kenny.” McCarthy sounded just as pleased to see the vaguely familiar guy who approached us. They did that man-hug-but-not-really-hug thing, before McCarthy forced another sip of piss beer down his throat, this time without a reaction. “You seen the birthday boy?”

Kenny shook his head. Dark blond hair flopping over his forehead, he shrugged. “Not yet—just arrived.” His eyes slid to me. “But I do see you brought a date.” I gave a polite smile, not thinking a handshake was cool enough for the occasion. “And a nice one at that.” His attention was back on my fake boyfriend.

Dude, I’m right here—

McCarthy’s brow furrowed. “She’s right there.” He lifted our intertwined hands for emphasis. For a second I’d wondered whether I’d thought out loud. “You can give her the compliment, not me.”

Kenny’s eyes widened, though he made a point out of not looking at either of us. A nervous laugh rippled out of him instead. His uneasiness made me smile. Before he could stutter another answer, McCarthy put him out of his misery by announcing we’d go look for the birthday boy. In passing, he gave Kenny a pat on the back as we left.

“Don’t take it personal,” he said, as soon as we left him behind, leaning closer to make sure his voice carried over the music. Amusement played in his voice, the huff of a laugh brushed my ear. “Kenny’s got a real problem with talking to women. Especially pretty ones. We’ve tried to teach him, but he just goes into full panic mode. I’m talking sweaty palms, red cheeks, stuttering.”

“Just like you, then.” I shrugged, knowing I was as wrong as the sun rising in the west. And his head turned in my direction, still smiling because he knew it too.

“Yeah.” He dragged the word out comically, grinning. “ Exactly like me.”

We found the reason for this party by the fireplace in the back, leaning against the stone exterior with a group of people surrounding him. Big Mike, the birthday boy, wasn’t big at all. Big Mike was also Dude Guy, aka Michael from the bar. And so when McCarthy casually propped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer in the middle of our conversation, Mike’s brows rose in sync with the smile on his lips.

He seemed to have a particular interest in our fake relationship, because he interrupted McCarthy in the middle of his sentence to say “So,” in a voice three pitches higher than its usual dark tone. “What in God’s name is this?” he asked, eyes jumping between me and McCarthy. The latter snorted casually, throwing me a quick glance and pairing it with a smile that said I’ll handle this . Fine by me.

“I know you don’t have much experience with the opposite sex, but I assumed you’d know a woman when you saw one—” McCarthy’s smug response was cut off when Big Mike whacked his hand across the back of his head, a wheezing laugh accompanying his words.

“It’s my birthday, asshole. You’re supposed to be nice to me!” Laughter pierced his words. “Pressley is going to shit himself when he sees you’re here together—” He cut himself off, whipping his head in my direction with an apologetic smile. “The other one,” he clarified unnecessarily, a warm smile on his lips.

I think a breath might’ve gotten stuck in my throat.

No one had ever referred to Henry as the other one . That had always been me.

“Let him,” was McCarthy’s shrugged reply, when I was still smiling over Big Mike’s the other one.

“Well, was only a matter of time, anyway. Wasn’t it?” His eyes were on McCarthy again, his tone easy as he bumped his shoulder. My body basically pressed against him made it easy to notice he’d tensed up. He grumbled an inaudible reply, arm still around my shoulder.

“And besides.” Big Mike went on. “It’s definitely making him a better player, isn’t it? So we all win here.”

McCarthy relaxed at the mention of soccer. God, reading him was so much easier when I was close enough to feel every single one of his muscles move.

“He’s never played better,” he admitted. “He runs, like, twice as fast, is twice as confident—our defense is up tenfold thanks to him. Brown won’t stand a chance next week. Won’t even get the ball past Pressley with me around.” His eyes slid to me. “Or her.”

That was my cue to leave. Soccer talk had always been my cue to leave.

“Well, you’re welcome, guys.” I laughed as I gently wiggled free of McCarthy’s grip. He gave a confused look at my escape. “I’ll be right back, just gonna find the bathroom.”

“Upstairs,” Big Mike instructed, and I thanked him with a thumbs-up, already too far to want to yell over the music.

I squeezed past the pairs and trios sitting and standing—but not lying—on the stairs to find a much quieter, but not entirely empty corridor. The bathroom was through the door straight ahead, opposite the stairs. And I spotted McCarthy the second I returned to the hallway. My body’s reaction surprised me more than the sight of him. My lips tried to pull up instinctively. When he pushed himself off the wall to walk toward me, I actually smiled at him.

His eyes flicked behind me for no longer than a fraction of a second, and a small, almost nonexistent smirk pulled at the corner of his lip. I didn’t have time to form a single thought before he stood in front of me, and I was swept up by the whirlwind that was Dylan McCarthy Williams.

In the blink of an eye, he moved. Us . His hands on my waist gently nudged me left, into a room I hadn’t previously known to be there. His touch only lifted to open the door before turning me in his grip and using my poor, helpless body to close it from inside the room. I was stuck.

Between him, and an unmovable object.

Wide-eyed, I looked up at him, so much confusion in my expression, he had to stifle a laugh. The suppressed sound rumbled through his chest, and I could feel it because it was almost touching mine, which was rising and falling rapidly.

“Sorry.” And he sounded sincere. His hand stayed curled around my waist, and I didn’t make any indication of wanting him to remove it. My skin burned under his touch, despite the layer of fabric between us.

“Pressley.” His words did absolutely nothing to explain. Not even when he paired them with a nod to the closed door I was pressed against.

I was still so confused, all I asked was, “Yes?”

“No.” McCarthy shook his head quickly, the involuntary grin on his lips deepening. “The other one.”

There it was again.

I swear my eyes lit up and I didn’t know why or how or what. I just knew not being the other one felt great. And, secretly, I think that’s why he had said it. Not that he’d ever admit it. “Behind you,” he continued.

It clicked when someone hammered against the door. McCarthy locked it in one swift motion, leaving the part of me he’d previously touched cold and empty.

“Athalia!” Henry sounded angry, and I flinched at the hiss in his voice, pressing myself against the door harder just to make sure. My eyes were still fixed on McCarthy’s, now merely inches from mine, and I blinked slowly, unsure what to do.

“Quick thinking,” I admitted, my voice thin as I tried to relax into the situation. Unfortunately, my body wasn’t ready to calm down—he was too close. Looking down at me, his hot breath tickling my nose.

“And the rest is up to his imagination, I guess,” McCarthy muttered, a shrug accompanying his low voice.

I’d rather not have my brother imagining any of that—but that was the point, right? Henry didn’t know we were just standing still, locked in place. He didn’t know the first time we’d purposely touched was when I took his hand tonight. Or that this was the closest we’d ever been to each other.

“Can you believe this shit?” His voice came from outside, the complaint challenged by someone else, their tone calmer which made it hard to understand. Then, Henry scoffed. “ No , Reuben, I can’t just—” He cut himself off with an exaggerated groan.

Henry continued his complaining. Loudly. Angrily.

Couldn’t care less my ass .

“Athalia!” It echoed again. With a sigh, my eyes fell onto McCarthy again, only to pop wide in their sockets. The lack of distance between us forced a sharp intake of breath out of me.

Had he always been this close or was I just losing my mind?

“Just… shut up.” I sighed at the smirk on his lips, the knowing snicker he let go of, hoping he’d forget the apparent effect he had on me. My gaze flicked through the dark room as a distraction, making out a bathroom door, the shadow of a king-sized bed in the middle and a streetlamp behind the curtains, which made it possible to see anything in the first place.

“What?” He laughed lowly, defensively. His hands shot up to display his innocence, and it brought a bit of distance between us. “That’s all you, princess.” My eyes jumped back to him, narrowed at the mocking nickname and in an effort to keep my stomach from spinning right out of my body. He went on to tease, “It’s not my fault you get nervous—”

“I’m not.” My answer came too quickly, though. Felt too forced. “I don’t.” When he only huffed, I wanted to scream. “You don’t affect me at all, McCarthy,” I went on in a low voice, laying it on way too thick. Great .

I hadn’t had enough to drink to blame what was happening on the alcohol. I wish I could, but a cup of cheap wine didn’t make me blush and stutter, and it certainly wouldn’t make me look so stupid.

“I don’t?” he pouted, and I jerked slightly when his finger trailed up my arm playfully, proving the opposite of everything I’d just said to him. “What’s all this, then?” His voice was as smug as the smirk on his lips when he referred to the trail of goose bumps he was leaving behind. God, someone take me out of my misery. Please .

Just that I wasn’t quite sure I’d want to be anywhere else right now.

Something played in the brown of his eyes before he went on. “You have to get used to being this close to me, Pressley.” His gaze shifted to follow the trace of his finger, moving up my arm and leaving my hot skin behind. Heat that made it all the way to my cheeks, and his long, firm fingers were right on its heels as they teased along my collarbones.

I swear I didn’t want my head to turn. Granting him more access wasn’t a conscious decision. When he spoke, a shiver ran up my spine. “You can’t get nervous with every little touch.”

Again, I meant to deny the accusation. “I don’t—” But I cut myself off when he gently hooked his finger under my chin, tilting it upward to connect our eyes. Inevitably almost connecting our lips, too. I couldn’t ignore how close they were, and my eyes flicked to them when really, I didn’t mean to.

“Relax,” he said, his voice dark and rough like I’d never heard it before. He sounded… strangled, focused on every reaction on my face. Which meant there was absolutely no way he hadn’t seen me look at his lips. “I’m your boyfriend , remember?” he emphasized. “If you want this to be convincing, you’re supposed to be used to this.” His mouth moved right to my ear, a rough whisper all that left it. “To my hands all over you. My lips on your skin.”

It sounded like a promise. One he seemed desperate to keep when his breath stuttered and his mouth moved—

“Athalia!”

Fuck.

Henry’s shouting brought me back to this reality. Pretty sure I’d temporarily entered one where I wouldn’t have minded McCarthy to go on with whatever he’d been about to do. And I almost wanted to curse Henry more than I wanted to get back there. Almost .

An annoyed groan slipped past my lips, head falling against the wooden door in defeat.

“I know what you’re doing, Athalia!”

That caught my attention. My eyes widened—no, I’m pretty sure they doubled in size—shooting back to McCarthy. Though he seemed as cool, calm, and collected as always. His finger merely lifted from beneath my chin to my lips, silently shushing me. Unsurprisingly, it did.

And he was right. Right? Henry couldn’t possibly know. If he did, he wouldn’t be furiously hammering against the door.

He wasn’t good enough at reading people—not good enough at reading me . Right?

“You’re fucking pathetic for this, Athalia. Seriously—” came from the other side of the door. “My expectations for you were low, but holy fuck, McCarthy? ”

Oh.

My hand flew to the handle. Well before I had even made the conscious decision to open the door and physically fight my brother, my temper had decided for me. And I really thought I’d have to fight McCarthy too, when his hand firmly placed itself on top of mine to stop it from unlocking the door.

He lifted it quickly at my glare, only ruffling my hair with a devious smile on his face. At my questioning look, he shrugged. “Just gotta make you look right. Ready?”

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them, determined to sell this thing. “Whatever it takes.”

McCarthy opened the door so forcefully, Henry almost fell through it.

My brother startled at the sight of us, probably half not expecting me to cave, half knowing his words were exactly what would make me do so. We’d grown up learning exactly what buttons to push to get the reaction we wanted. The shock on his face turned into a victorious expression within seconds, scanning both of us quickly. McCarthy stood behind me, I could feel his towering body inches away.

“I know what you’re doing,” Henry repeated.

“I heard you the first time.” My voice sounded cold, unbothered. I thought I was doing a good job of hiding my panic-ridden thoughts.

“Good.” His eyes slid to McCarthy, gaze so threatening, I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes. “So you can stop whatever this is now, because I know—”

Which was when I cut him off before he could confirm my earlier fear.

“I don’t know what you know, Henry.” I could probably guess, but I ignored that pointed voice in my head. “I don’t care what you think you know,” I went on. “All I know is that you don’t know shit.”

Did that even make sense? The anger in me ignored all signs of reason.

My brother threw his head back in an Oh please manner, and then said the exact words to emphasize. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.” His eyes flicked toward McCarthy once more, just to make a point. Just to let me know we were thinking the same thing. “Why you’re parading him around like a new purse. Why you only do so when I’m around. None of the people I’ve talked to have even seen you hold hands, never mind kiss—”

“You’ve been going around asking about me?” That was the first and only time McCarthy said anything. His brows drew together, tongue poking the inside of his cheek in irritation. Yet, he sounded almost monotone.

“If you’re supposed to be messing around with my sister; hell yes I am!” Henry’s eyes fixed on him again, unable to hide the anger surging behind his green eyes as well as McCarthy could.

It had always been their dynamic. Henry blew up quickly, got angry fast. McCarthy… I hadn’t seen him truly angry once. Just annoyed, bothered, irritated… the list went on.

It’s probably one of the reasons the two mixed so badly together: McCarthy acting unbothered only served to piss Henry off more, and Henry blowing up so quickly probably amused McCarthy. It was a vicious cycle.

While one look told me McCarthy hadn’t been happy about the revelation, I couldn’t help feel somewhat… victorious. When had Henry last cared enough to ask me a question? Never mind asking other people.

“What?” Henry spat during the short, deliberate silence that lingered. “You think I’m just going to let you—”

“We kiss,” I blurted. Probably in reply to his very accurate observation that we didn’t. It’s what seemed most threatening to this plan, and my brain must’ve latched onto that fact, trying to fix that hole in our story. Both their heads flew in my direction, and I narrowed my eyes into Henry’s. “So much. All the time.”

Was I laying it on too thick? Judging by McCarthy’s warning nudge, he seemed to think so.

“No you don’t.” Henry didn’t miss a beat. Probably because he didn’t want to think about the possibility, any more than I did. “You’re full of shit and you know it. Just. Give. It. Up.”

But he must’ve known that wasn’t an option. We’d both been born with the same ego, inherited from our father dearest. There wasn’t a way in hell I was going to admit this was fake. I’d rather die before I’d do so from the embarrassment, anyway.

“We just were.” I gestured into the room behind us. We might as well have been, with how close we’d been standing. Henry followed my gaze, but his response was as immediate and confident as the last one.

“No you weren’t.” His eyes slid back to me. I hated the little curl of his lip when he knew he was right. And I hated the way my nose twitched when I knew I wasn’t.

There was a single beat of silence between this moment—where I was just as convinced as Henry that I wouldn’t be kissing McCarthy—and the next, when I was an inch away from doing so.

If I had to explain how and when McCarthy had managed to turn me on my heels, or when and how I had managed to wrap my arms behind his neck, I wouldn’t be of much help.

We acted in perfect sync without ever having said a word, exchanged a glance. The whole thing was a blur, right up until my lips were a hair’s length from his and I felt myself hesitate when my back hit the wall behind me. Right up until I could feel the heat of his breath on my lips, and realized his hands had found themselves on my hips as if it was second nature.

The fact I saw Henry storming off in the corner of my eye didn’t keep me from instinctively closing them when McCarthy overcame the inch between us.

The cloud of anger evaporated with the sound of his breath hitching against me, with his hand gently curling around my face. With his lips, finally on mine. For a weak moment, I really believed this was the reason we had them in the first place. And mine parted without any conscious effort of my own, hand untangling behind his neck to get lost in his hair.

Yep , definitely not 3-in-1shampoo.

It was probably ten seconds before I came up for air—not enough time to warrant how I felt. Flustered, turned on. A little needy. McCarthy let a low, muffled sound of disapproval slip past his lips that almost made me go in for round two. He cleared his throat, probably hoping it would cover the accidental noise, but I was hyper aware of every single sound and motion coming from him, including the unevenness of his breath, that made an unwanted wave of more surge through my body.

Nope. Nopenopenopenope.

“That wasn’t a good idea.” His voice was barely a whisper.

My breath still stuttered in my throat, I felt glued in place. Maybe a part of me didn’t want to move away from him at all. Which was absurd.

I knew his gaze was still burning into the side of my face, when I finally looked down the corridor. Henry was gone, but I hardly cared—had known . Had known and done it anyway.

Not a good idea .

For many reasons, it was probably the worst idea I’d ever had.

He’s Dylan McCarthy Williams.

I just kissed him.

And it kind of felt too good to just… forget.

So why wasn’t I regretting it? I swallowed when I looked at him again, right about my suspicion that his eyes had never left me.