Fake Dating My Best Friend (Campus Confessions & Sapphic Secrets #1)

1. Sloane

Sloane

My snack drawer was a monument to ten years of unrequited love.

It was on the bottom-right of my desk, tucked away from the prying eyes of our other floormates, nestled safely in my college dorm room.

Inside, it was organized with architectural precision: sour gummy worms on the left, salt-and-vinegar chips in the middle, and those specific dark chocolate sea-salt caramels on the right.

I didn't even like gummies. But Chloe did. And when you’ve been the Mercury to someone else’s sun since the fifth grade, you learn that the best way to stay in their orbit is to be the person who is always there for them.

The heavy door to our dorm room swung open with a familiar, frantic thud. I didn't have to look up from my blueprints to know she was there. I could smell her perfume—something expensive, floral, and bright—cutting through the stale, dusty air of my late-night study session.

"If he calls me one more time, I’m throwing my phone into the campus lake," Chloe declared, her voice a mix of a sob and a snarl.

Chloe Moore was my childhood best friend, my college roommate, and my secret crush.

She was everything I was not—pretty, social, and confident.

I, on the other hand, owned only black clothes, preferred to stay to myself, and think about Architecture and buildings in my free time.

We were the classic case of opposites attract.

I still remember the first time I met Chloe.

We were seven, in elementary school, and she had just transferred.

The very first day, she asked me to be her friend, confident and bright ever since.

Chloe was a pretty kid with big blue eyes and blonde pigtails.

Everyone liked her and it was easy to give in to her, so I said yes.

It was the ‘yes’ that changed my life. We’ve been inseparable ever since, going to high school together.

If it weren’t from Chloe, I wouldn’t have chosen an out of state college, but she talked me into it.

"Tyler, your boyfriend?" I asked, though it wasn't really a question.

I finally looked up. Chloe was a vision of chaotic perfection.

She was tall, her svelte frame draped in a pale blue sweater that matched her eyes, her wavy blonde hair falling in disarray over her shoulders.

She looked like a movie star who had just been told her film was canceled.

Every time I looked at her, my heart did this weird little flip.

I breathed, trying to ignore it, but with each passing day, it was getting harder to ignore.

"Yeah, that Tyler," she spat, pacing the small rug between our beds. "He sent me a three-page 'manifesto' about how he’s changed. He’s 'evolving,' Sloane. He’s 'practicing mindfulness.' Between rounds of beer pong and hitting on freshmen, apparently."

“I thought you liked him,” I said, my heart heavy, as usual.

As the more popular girl in college, Chloe was never single.

All the boys had a thing for her and before she broke up, someone else would ask her out.

For years, I’d seen her go from one relationship to another, never catching a break.

It was part of her charm. Chloe was a marketing major with a social media following, and she was a social butterfly.

“I hate him,” she groaned. “I’m going to break up with him. Gosh, he’s so annoying. Why didn’t you tell me how annoying college boys were?”

“Umm…I’m a lesbian, remember? I am not into boys.” I reached down and pulled open the drawer.

The sound of the sliding wood was like a Pavlovian trigger. Chloe stopped pacing. She looked at the drawer, then at me. Her expression softened, the jagged edges of her panic smoothing out into something weary and sweet.

"You got the strawberry ones," she whispered, crossing the room in three long-legged strides. She sank onto the edge of my bed, her knees nearly touching mine.

"I noticed the bag in the kitchen was empty," I said, my voice carefully neutral. I knew those were her favorite.

“This is why friends are more important than boys,” she said. “I love you, Sloane.”

My heart did a jagged little hop in my chest. It was a joke.

She said things like that all the time—the casual, careless affection of someone who has never had to wonder if their best friend wants to kiss them breathless.

She didn’t mean it in a romantic way, I knew that.

I returned my gaze to my drafting paper, focusing intensely on the line of a load-bearing wall so I wouldn't have to focus on how close she was. "Help yourself."

She ripped the bag open, the crinkle of plastic the only sound in the room for a moment. "You’re a saint, Sloane. Truly. Why do I date idiots when I have you?"

"Because you like the drama," I said, my pen scratching against the paper. "And because you're terrified of being bored for more than five minutes."

"I’m not terrified of being bored," she countered, tossing a gummy into her mouth. She leaned back on her elbows, looking up at me. "I’m terrified of being still. There’s a difference."

I looked at her then. Really looked at her.

Away from the boys and the parties, Chloe looked smaller.

Vulnerable. She was the most popular girl on campus, the one every frat boy wanted on his arm, but here in the dim glow of my desk lamp, she just looked like the girl who used to hide in my closet when her parents fought.

"He's going to show up at the Senior Mixer this Friday, isn't he?" I asked.

Chloe groaned, covering her face with her hands. "He told everyone we're 'on a break.' He thinks if he makes a big enough scene in front of the whole class, I’ll fold. And the worst part? People expect me to. They think I'm part of a set."

"You're not a set," I said firmly.

“You know me.” She looped her arm into mine casually, laying her head on my shoulder. My heart was going to explode at this rate. Her blue eyes met mine. “I’m going to break up with him tomorrow. I can’t keep up with his excuses.”

Another one bites the dust, I thought. “Good luck with that. If I know anything about Tyler, he’s not the type to let go easily.”

The next day—

“Oh my god, he was so dramatic about it!” Sloane exclaimed the next evening, drinking coffee as we both did our homework in the cafe.

We met every day, friends who shared things with each other.

“When I told him I was done, he said he’d make me change my mind.

Can you believe it? That boy doesn’t understand no. ”

“He’ll get over it,” I said, a little worried.

“No, this time, he won’t. He isn’t just ‘not getting it,’ Sloane. He’s making it a performance,” Chloe said, stabbing her straw into her iced latte with more force than necessary.

The campus café was buzzing with the hum of espresso machines and the low chatter of seniors mourning their final semester, but Chloe’s frustration created a private storm front at our small corner table.

She leaned back, her long, svelte frame looking elegant even in a slouchy oversized cardigan, but her jaw was set in that stubborn line I knew all too well.

“He told the guys at the gym that I’m just ‘having an episode’ and that he’s going to win me back at the Mixer tomorrow night with some big grand gesture,” she groaned, running a hand through her blonde waves.

“He treats my feelings like a hurdle he just needs to clear. Like I’m a brand he’s trying to acquire. ”

I leaned my chin on my hand, watching her.

In the soft light of the café, the blue of her eyes seemed deep enough to drown in.

I felt that familiar, sharp ache—the reverence of seeing her for exactly who she was, mixed with the agonizing pain of knowing I was her safe harbor, the place she went to rest before sailing back out to someone else.

“He doesn't know you,” I said softly. It wasn’t a jab; it was a fact. Tyler knew the girl who looked good on his arm at football games. He didn't know the girl who got silent when she was truly hurt or the girl who made me a present on every birthday, even though she was hopeless with DIY.

“None of them do,” she whispered, her gaze dropping to her reflection in the dark surface of the table. “I’m always the ‘perfect girlfriend.’ I play the part, I say the lines, and then I’m exhausted. I’m so tired of being someone’s trophy, Sloane. I just want to be done with it. All of it.”

She looked up at me then, and the light in her eyes changed. It wasn’t the weary look from a moment ago; it was a spark. A dangerous, impulsive, very Chloe-like spark.

“I have an idea,” she said.

My stomach did a slow, apprehensive roll. “Chloe, the last time you said that, we ended up sneak-climbing the library roof and nearly getting suspended.”

“This is better. And safer. Mostly.” She leaned across the table, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Tyler won’t respect my ‘no.’ He only respects other men—or the idea that I’m completely, irrevocably off the market. He needs to think there is zero chance of a comeback.”

“Okay... so you stay single and ignore him?”

“No,” she said, a slow smirk spreading across her face.

“He knows I’m bisexual. He’s joked about it before in that annoying, dismissive way guys do.

But if I’m with a woman? If I’m with someone everyone knows is closer to me than he ever was?

He’ll have to shut up. It’ll crush his ego because he can’t compete with over a decade of history. ”

I felt the air leave my lungs. “You want to fake date a girl to get rid of Tyler?”

“Not just a girl,” she said, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. Her touch sent a jolt of heat straight to my core. “I want to fake date you.”

I pulled my hand back as if I’d been burned, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. “Absolutely not. Chloe, that is a disaster waiting to happen. We’re best friends. People will talk, our parents will find out, and—and it’s a lie. A massive, complicated lie.”

“It’s a temporary arrangement!” she argued, her voice rising in her excitement. “Just until the Senior Gala. Once the semester is over, we’ll ‘break up’ amicably. It’s perfect. You’re the only person I trust to actually pull this off. Everyone already jokes that we’re married anyway.”

“Because we’re friends,” I hissed, clutching my coffee cup like a lifeline. “This is too much, Chloe. Even for you.”

She saw me wavering, and I knew I was in trouble. She didn't go for logic; she went for the heart. She leaned in, her expression melting into that small, vulnerable look that always made me feel like I’d do anything to keep her safe.

She held out her pinky finger.

“Pinky swear,” she whispered, calling out our secret promise.

I inhaled sharply, wanting to do this, but knowing how it’d destroy me.

“Please, Sloane. I can’t deal with another month of Tyler’s ‘gestures.’ I just want peace.

I just want to spend my last month of college with my favorite person without some guy trying to claim me. Don’t you want to help me?”

I looked at her finger, then at those wide blue eyes.

This was my life's greatest weakness. I had spent fifteen years going along with Chloe’s whims—moving states, choosing colleges, staying up until dawn—just to stay with her.

To say no now felt like a betrayal of the very thing that kept me alive.

But saying yes meant pretending to have the one thing I wanted most in the world. It meant holding her hand and kissing her for an audience, all while knowing that to her, it was just a strategic move. A play.

I was going to break my own heart. I could feel it happening already.

But I couldn't say no to her. I never could.

I reached out, my smaller, darker-clothed hand looking tiny against hers, and hooked my pinky around hers.

“One month,” I said, my voice thick with a conflict she couldn’t see. “Just until the Gala.”

Chloe beamed, a radiant, triumphant sun that threatened to blind me. “You’re the best, Sloane! Truly! This is going to be so much fun.”

She gathered her things, energized and humming, while I sat there, frozen. To her, we were just starting a fun new game. To me, I had just signed up to live out my greatest fantasy as a scripted lie.