Foolish Games: A Brothers Best Friend Fake Dating Romance

twenty-three

#1 at the Box Office:Titanic

Vivienne Delacroix

“Mom?”

“Yeah, honey?” Mom asks, glancing up at me from her desk. It’s dark out, but she’s still in her office, the newspaper spread open across the heavy walnut desk. Nothing but rows upon rows of numbers and letters, like some kind of code from Dad’s secret society. But this isn’t a hidden message from the Midnight Swans. It’s the stock market.

I glance behind me and pull the door closed. “Can I ask you for something, and you promise not to tell anyone? Even Dad?”

She straightens, sitting back and taking off her reading glasses. “You can tell me anything. What’s up?”

I sink into the leather chair across from her desk. “Okay, but you can’t tell anyone else. Not Nana, not Robert, not anyone.”

She nods, her lips tightening. “Of course. What is it, honey?”

“I—I was wondering if I could get on the pill,” I say, my skin prickling with heat at the discomfort of having to ask this. Chaz was always overly cautious about condom usage, so I never worried about it before. But Sebastian is obviously as reckless with his sperm as he is everything else in his life.

“Thank god,” Mom bursts out, laughing and sitting back in her chair, laying a hand over her heart. “I thought you were going to tell me you were pregnant.”

I might be, but I’m not about to tell her that now. I’ll just have to pray like hell that it’s not the right time of the month for that to happen—and get on birth control before risking it again. Because from what Sebastian said today, he’s not planning to stop this anytime soon.

My heart swells with elation and my tummy flips at the same time. God, I’m so screwed. But the thought that he wants to keep doing this, even if we have to sneak around, makes me want to get up and dance. In fact, the sneaking around even holds a certain appeal. I’m not sure what that says about me.

It probably means I’m not the perfect Delacroix daughter to the perfect Delacroix family, which only makes me want to make sure I look like it to my parents. And that means not taking this kind of chance again.

“So… Can I?” I ask.

“Of course, honey,” she says. “Although… Did you and Chaz work things out?”

“No,” I say, holding up a hand to stop the questions. “And I’m not seeing anyone else. I just want to be safe and prepared when I start to. I mean, I’ll be at college next year anyway. Having a prescription ahead of time is probably a good idea, right?”

“Of course, darling,” she says. “I’m sure whatever you’re doing, it’s best not to make a baby out of it.” I stand to leave, but when I reach the door, she calls out. “Just remember, there are other things that can ruin your future besides a baby.”

“I know, Mom.”

“I know you do,” she says. “But it never hurts to have a reminder.”

She goes back to work, and I hesitate at the door, watching her for a moment before pulling the door closed. Both my parents are complete workaholics. Most of the other wives stay home or spend their time doing church events or charity functions, but Mom says she’d go out of her mind with boredom if she didn’t have a job. More likely, they’re both burying themselves in their time consuming, stressful jobs to ignore the problems in their marriage.

On top of work, Mom still has to keep up appearances for the other families, being put together and flawless at all times. It’s exhausting just watching her do it all. Maybe that’s why it’s such a relief to be with a guy like Sebastian, who doesn’t seem interested in my family name. Chaz’s family is very driven to achieve the highest status possible in this town without being founders. While I haven’t met Sebastian’s parents, from his lack of probing questions about my family’s finances, my mother’s heritage, and our standing with the other families, I’m guessing it’s not a priority for the Swifts. His mom probably has more pressing issues on her mind, what with her husband having disappeared.

It’s nice to be with someone with no pressure to uphold the perfect image of a Delacroix, and since we’re not actually dating, that makes it even more relaxed. Ironically, I feel like he’s genuinely interested in me, even though there’s nothing genuine about our relationship. Still, when we’re hanging out, I don’t have to worry about ulterior motives. In fact, since we’re not dating, there’s no reason he would even tell his mom about me, just like I didn’t tell mine. There’s no pressure to introduce each other to parents, impress our families, or anything other than simple, uncomplicated fun.

Funny how the easiest relationship to be in is one that’s not a relationship at all.

*

“Wanna tell me about this party?” Sebastian asks, picking up a DVD case and turning it over to read the back. “Am I crashing? Is your lawyer daddy going to arrest me if I show up without an invite?”

“No one will arrest you,” I assure him, snuggling into his side. “And I’m your invite.”

“It’s not just for founding families?”

“There are only, like, twenty-five founding heirs in high school and college,” I point out. “And we’ve all known each other since we were born.”

“So?” He sets the movie down, and we move along the wide, brightly lit aisle of Hastings, where we came after watching a movie at the theater. It’s been a few weeks since the birth control appointment, and let’s just say, we’re putting it to good use.

“This is a masquerade ball, so the point is to have some mystery, which would be impossible if it were just the founding families,” I explain. “Plus, it would as boring and stuffy as the Founders Ball if we kept the guest list that small.”

“So how many people are on this guest list?”

“I’m not sure,” I admit, sliding an arm around his back when he wraps one around my shoulders. “Each founding family throws at least one function every year. The Delacroixs host the Garden Club’s charity event in May. The Darlings host the annual New Year’s Eve party, so they’re in charge of the guest list.”

“It’s like you’re in a secret society that the rest of the town doesn’t know about.”

“Kind of,” I say with an awkward laugh, since my father is, in fact, in a secret society with the men from the other founding families.

“But this one isn’t like a Garden Party or that Founders’ Ball, right?” Sebastian asks, leading us into the comedy section. “It’s a real party, like a postgame party, but with costumes?”

“Basically,” I say. “But you don’t wear a costume. You wear a tux and a mask. All the founding heirs have an invitation that includes a guest, and everyone thinks we’re together, so you have an invite. If you want to go as my guest, that is.”

My heart does a little drop as I wait for his answer.

He smiles down at me, a gleam in his candy-apple eyes. “Are you asking me out?”

“I mean, sort of,” I whisper, glancing around to make sure no one from school is within earshot. A few people from FHS work here, not to mention it’s a pretty popular hangout. “We’re not really together though. But I’m sure Chaz will be there.”

“Then I’ll be there,” he says, tightening a possessive arm around me. He leans down and steals a kiss while we’re alone.

Of course he said yes. He just got invited to the most exclusive party in town for New Year’s Eve, and if there’s one thing Sebastian likes to do, it’s have fun.

“Okay,” I say with a relieved little laugh. “Thank you. I normally don’t go to this one, but Nana’s been on my case about how it’s my senior year and I’ll regret it if I don’t do everything, like I can’t have any fun after high school.”

“You should listen to the wisdom of your elders,” Sebastian says, nodding solemnly.

“Shut up,” I say, stifling a giggle. And then, because this thing is delicate and depends on keeping things light, casual—at least on the surface—and in the present moment, I steer the conversation away from graduation. Asking him to a party in two weeks is already a risk. Thinking about what happens in five months reminds me that I’m not just starting a new life when I go to college. I’m leaving this one.

I’m leaving him.

A knot forms in my throat at the thought, and I throw my arms around him, pressing my ear to his chest and hugging him hard.

“What’s that for?” he asks, laughing.

“I just hate the thought of going alone,” I say. “So, I wanted to say thank you.”

“If you really want to say thank you, I believe that is best done on your knees,” he murmurs against the top of my head. “It’s called swallowing.”

“Sebastian!” I try to pull away, but he presses his nose into my scalp and inhales deeply, his chest swelling in my arms as he fills his lungs with my scent.

“One of these days I’m going to wear you down,” he says, planting a kiss on the crown of my head before pulling back and offering me a wicked grin. “You can’t call yourself a bad girl until you know how to suck it down like a milkshake.”

“Gross,” I sway, swatting his arm.

He swats my ass in return, then swipes for me, but I dart away. He chases me along the next aisle, until we almost collide with an elderly couple at the New Release display. Sebastian grabs me at the last second, keeping me from knocking over the woman’s walker, and yanks me back into his chest.

“Sorry,” he says, giving the couple the polite smile he uses on adults. They mutter to each other and give us dirty looks as Sebastian steers me into the next aisle and starts tickling me.

“Come on,” I say, taking his hand and pulling him toward the door.

“What’s the rush?” he asks. “I still need to find Slumber Party Massacre 2. Now I might never find out if the same hot girls dared to have another slumber party after the first one turned deadly, or if it’s a totally different group of hot girls having pillow fights.”

“Tragic,” I mutter.

“Wouldn’t you be curious?” he asks.

We continue our banter all the way to my car. Since the day he got all possessive when I tried to hang out with Chaz again, thing have settled into a predictable—if something as volatile as our relationship can be called that—routine. Sebastian doesn’t want to ride to school together in the mornings, so we arrive separately. We meet at his locker, which I decorate before each game, just as the other girls do for Billy, Randy, Tommy, Maddox, and the rest of the football players. We keep our public displays of affection to handholding and hugging, both to spare my brother and hide the fact that we do more than that behind closed doors.

I manage to keep Sebastian from dragging me into the AV room each day, though we do meet in the back stairwell to make out, and once, he pushed me into the nook under the stairs and fingered me until I came. Another time, he saw me in the hall while on his way back from the restroom, grabbed me, and pulled me into an empty classroom. There, he dropped to his knees, threw my legs over his shoulders, and brought me to orgasm so quickly it was more terrifying than the knowledge that someone could walk in on us.

He was right about me—I do get off on the public aspect. The fear of being caught is half the thrill. The fact that he knows my body better than I do scares me.

I don’t know what this thing is between us, but I don’t want to bring it up and be the clingy girl who needs to define everything. And if I’m being honest, I don’t want to ruin what we have. I know it’s casual for him, and that it’s not for me. I know it’s going to hurt when it ends, so I put off the ending every time I have the chance. It’s nothing like what I had with Chaz, nothing I imagined I’d ever want. But the sex is so good I’m halfway guilty and halfway afraid of becoming an addict. I know it won’t last, but I remember my grandmother’s advice to have a little fun before college, be a little wild, and I take it.

I admit, it feels good to let go. It’s fun to be with someone so different from me. I’ve always been more cerebral, and I thought that’s what I wanted in a boyfriend. But everything about Sebastian is visceral and physical. He never stops touching me, and when we’re alone, those touches usually lead to one or both of us climaxing.

He’s not just different from me, though. He brings out a different side of me. I used to only feel that thrill of being alive and free when I drove the Corvette. But over the last month, it’s become a regular part of my days. Between his football practices and my extracurriculars, we don’t get to spend every evening together, so we make the most of the time we have and steal moments together if we can’t break away to be together after school.

We sneak out at lunch and park in the most secluded spot we can find before Sebastian pulls me onto his lap, shoves down his jeans, and takes me in the cramped front seat in broad daylight. I never thought I’d be a girl who couldn’t make it through two days without sex, but I crave it every bit as much as he does.

When we don’t sneak off campus, we sit with his football crowd at lunch, and though I don’t fit in with the other football player’s girlfriends, and I don’t care about being popular, I don’t want to be away from Sebastian for that one period of the day when we can be together, since we don’t have any classes together.

When we need an excuse to spend an evening together, we go out so people will see us doing things like a real couple, and Sebastian plies me to eat the junk he does, convincing me to try pepperoni on my pizza and fries dipped in chocolate shake when we go to Boehner’s Burgers, a local place owned by the family of one of Lexi’s friends.

We fly down the highway at a hundred miles per hour with Sebastian’s fingers inside me, sometimes his mouth on me, and by some miracle, make it alive every time. I never thought I’d be a girl who parked at the quarry, or one who loved the dangerous thrill of reaching orgasm at breakneck speeds or sneaking back into town after city curfew.

We stop to fill up at a gas station one night, and Sebastian goes in to pay and comes back with a pair of red plastic sunglasses with heart shaped frames. They’re tacky and cheap and everything my family would hate. I love them more than my pair from Chanel.

Sebastian gets a pair with star frames for himself, and once we’re both laughing at how ridiculous we look, he switches off my Dixie ChicksCD and turns on the radio, whooping when the dial reaches a song he likes. He turns it back to get a clear signal, then throws open the door, runs around, and drags me out of the car to dance with him right there in the parking lot, blasting the Rolling Stones from my speakers.

“What is this grandpa music?” I ask through my laughter.

“You mean classic,” he says. “This shit’s stood the test of time. No one’s going to remember Garth Brooks in twenty years.”

I draw back. “You don’t like my music?”

“Of course I do,” he says, twirling me around and then bringing my body close. “It’s just kinda… Sad. Life’s sad enough, isn’t it? I like music that makes me happy. Semisonic and the Offspring and don’t tell my sister, but the Spice Girls are kinda bangin.’ Still doesn’t mean anyone’s going to remember them.”

“You’re going to feel so dumb in twenty years.”

He frowns. “You think any of those artists will be around when our kids are dancing in parking lots?”

“We’ll be listening to it,” I point out. “Just like the only people who listen to this are our parents.”

“We’re listening to it right now,” he says, flattening his hand on my lower back and pulling me in for a long, lingering kiss in front of the gas station just as Keisha and Scarlet emerge, slushies in hand.

“Be glad you’re dating a jock now,” Scarlet says to me. “Otherwise I’d be tempted to throw my slushie in your face, nerd.”

Keisha just shakes her head. “Anyone dumb enough to date Sebastian deserves to get played,” she says, heading for her Neon with Scarlet following on her heel like a loyal puppy.

“Don’t listen to them,” Sebastian says, holding out a hand and helping me into the Corvette. “They’re just jealous that you get to keep me.” He leans down and presses a kiss to my lips, giving me a wicked grin when he pulls back. “Are they looking?”

I glance past him and nod, annoyed at people from school for interrupting, even though this whole thing is for their benefit in the first place.

He gives me another lingering kiss that makes my toes curl before closing the door and jogging around the car to hop into the passenger seat. I hate how good he is at this, how he remembers it’s a game even when I’ve forgotten. I turn my CD on again and pull out of the lot, trying to forget the intrusion of reality into our world of blissful make believe. I want to ask what he meant by saying I get to keep him. Does that mean they didn’t, that he’s been with both those girls? But I don’t really want the answer. Considering they’re cheerleaders, I pretty much already know.

I also know Sebastian secretly loves my music, even if he says happy stuff is superior, since while we’re driving, I have to ban him from ruining all my favorite songs by wailing along with them.

I gave him my number the day I didn’t go over to Chaz’s study session, and after that, we’ve talked on the phone every night, until we’re so tired one of us falls asleep, usually sometime in the dark hours before dawn. Every time I open my locker, I’m giddy when I see a folded note from him waiting for me.

We’re still pretending to date, but I have to remind myself every day that it’s not real. Sebastian doesn’t do real relationships. I have to content myself with the fake kind and tell myself it’s for the best. After all, I’m going to Stanford next fall. I don’t even know what Sebastian plans to do for the rest of his life. We don’t talk about the future. We stay firmly rooted in the present, the physical, whatever pleasure we can derive from the current moment.

Our plan is working, so technically, we should have ended it, but neither of us mention that, either.

No one thinks I’m a loser whose boyfriend moved on after one day. The whole school thinks I’ve caught the uncatchable Sebastian Swift in my net, and they barely even speculate about how I did it anymore. I don’t feel guilty that Sebastian’s not getting anything out of it, since I haven’t just given him my body.

He may not know it, but he owns my heart too. Maybe that’s why I’m in no hurry to get back to the guy who moved on so quickly. I don’t even want to make Chaz pay anymore. He gives us looks that range from resentful to pining, and anyone who cares enough to look can see he’s not happy about the way things turned out.

I guess I won the breakup after all.