Chapter 30 #2
I don't know why I put it on tonight. Or maybe I do, but I've been pretending I hadn't thought about him when I clasped it around my neck. Of course he noticed it.
“Happy birthday.” His breath grazes my ear, his fingers drifting up my thigh, slow enough to make me ache.
We stand frozen in this moment, his body caging mine against the wall, neither of us speaking. The bass from the club pulses through us like a shared heartbeat. One move - forward or back - could change everything.
His fingers flex on my thigh, and I can’t help the small sound that escapes me. His eyes darken further.
“Tara.” My name is a low rasp. A warning. An invitation.
We’re nothing. We’ve always been nothing. We both know that. But with his hands on me and the taste of his name on my tongue, I can’t seem to remember why that ever mattered.
“Alfie, I—” My palm finds his chest, his heartbeat hammering beneath my fingertips. “What are we even fighting about? I’m so—”
A burst of drunken laughter shatters the moment. Three girls stumble down the hallway, arms linked, nearly crashing into us.
“Oops!” One giggles, her vodka cranberry sloshing dangerously close to my dress. “Sorry! Just trying to— oh my god, were we interrupting something?”
Alfie steps back, his hand falling from my thigh. The sudden absence of his touch leaves me cold.
“No,” he says, voice clipped. “You weren’t.”
The girls exchange knowing looks, barely containing their giggles as they weave past us toward the bathroom. One of them stage-whispers, “Get it, girl!” as they pass.
The spell is broken. Alfie runs a hand through his hair, not quite meeting my eyes.
“I should—” He gestures vaguely toward the main room.
“Yeah,” I say, though everything in me screams to pull him back. “Me too.”
I duck into the bathroom, finding one of the girls from the hallway applying lipstick in the mirror. Her friends occupy the stalls, their giggles echoing off the tiles.
“Oh my God,” she gushes, lipstick frozen halfway to her mouth. “Your boyfriend is seriously hot.”
“Phe!” A voice squeaks from one of the stalls. “You can’t just say that to someone!”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I mutter, instantly regretting the admission.
“Oh.” Her perfectly shaped eyebrow arches in the mirror. “In that case, maybe I’ll go say hi.” She resumes applying her lipstick with renewed interest.
“Phoebe!” her friend scolds. “Could you be any more inappropriate?”
Something possessive and primal rises in my chest. Before I can stop myself, I’m sliding one of my rings to my left hand, holding it up casually as I fix my hair. “Actually, he’s not my boyfriend. He’s my fiancé.”
“Oh!” Her eyes widen comically in the mirror. “God, I’m so sorry! Congratulations!”
“Thanks.” I flash her a sweet smile, slipping into an empty stall. “And yeah, he is hot, isn’t he?”
The petty satisfaction warms me more than any shot has all night. Even if it is completely ridiculous.
I weave through the crowd, still buzzed from the last round of shots. The music is loud, the lights flashing over swaying bodies. Just as I pass the bar, a guy steps into my space.
“Hey, didn’t I see you at the UMS party last week?” He grins, all confidence, and leans a little too close.
I blink up at him. He’s attractive enough—tall, dark hair, easy smile—but something about his approach makes my skin prickle.
“Maybe,” I say, noncommittal.
He smirks. “Maybe you should let me buy you a drink, then.”
Before I can answer, a familiar presence slides in behind me—close but not touching.
Alfie.
His voice is low, only for me. “You into this guy?”
I exhale slowly. “Not particularly.”
His head dips, lips brushing just close enough to ghost heat along my ear. “Want me to make him back off?”
I tilt my head slightly, testing him now. “You think you can?”
A beat of silence. His fingers brush the small of my back—just barely, just enough to ask permission.
I don’t pull away.
Alfie takes that as a yes.
He steps in, finally closing the distance between us, his voice casual but sharp enough to cut. “She won’t be needing that drink.”
The guy raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? And why not?”
I arch an eyebrow, deciding to see how far Alfie will take this. “Yeah, Alfie. Why not?”
His fingers flex against my hip. “Because we’re fake dating.”
The guy pauses, skeptical. “Fake dating?”
Alfie nods once, completely unbothered. “Yeah. It’s this whole thing. She pretends to be with me, and I get to do stuff like this”—his grip tightens slightly on my waist— “so guys like you don’t get the wrong idea.”
The guy chuckles, shaking his head. “Right. And you don’t catch feelings in that little arrangement?”
Alfie doesn’t hesitate. “Nope.”
Liar.
The guy glances between us, then steps back, hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, man. Whatever you say.” He winks at me before disappearing into the crowd.
Alfie still hasn’t moved.
Even then, his hand lingers on my hip, his thumb brushing absently over the fabric of my dress.
“You really had to pull the ‘fake dating’ card?” I tilt my head up at him.
He shrugs, unbothered. “Seemed efficient.”
I narrow my eyes. “Right. Just logistics, then?”
His jaw tightens just slightly, but his voice stays casual. “Of course.”
I smirk. “Liar.”
His grip on my waist tightens just for a second before he finally—finally—steps back.
“Have a good birthday, Tara,” he mutters.