3. Sloane
Sloane
The phantom sensation of Chloe’s lips against the pulse-point of my neck hadn’t faded in fourteen days.
I could feel it even now, sitting in the coffee shop with her, working on my project while she worked on hers.
We’d been together all day, putting on a show for the audience. Only, it didn’t feel like a show to me.
In the quiet hours of the night, when the only sound in our room was the rhythmic hum of her breathing, I could still feel the ghost of her lips, her warm kisses lighting my blood on fire.
That night at the frat house shouldn't have happened.
It was supposed to be a "launch," a strategic maneuver in the war against Tyler’s ego. But when she had backed me against that bookshelf, pinning my petite frame with the weight of her body, the world hadn’t just tilted—it had shattered.
Her mouth had been a fever on my skin. When she groaned against my neck, a low, vibration that I felt in my very marrow, I’d realized I was well and truly ruined.
Because I wanted more of that. I wanted her lips in places I couldn’t name.
For a decade, I’d tried to convince myself that my love for her was a quiet, manageable ache.
But that night, the ache had turned into a roar.
A fierce inferno that demanded to be let out of the cage of my heart.
“You’re doing that thing again,” Chloe whispered.
She was sitting so close that our thighs were touching beneath the table.
I’d gone back to my all-black wardrobe, and Chloe was dressed in a pink dress, her wavy blonde hair gleaming and smooth.
She reached out, threading her long, elegant fingers through mine.
My heart did that familiar, jagged hop. To anyone watching—and everyone was watching—it was a sweet, domestic gesture. Something a girlfriend would do. But to me, it was a slow-acting poison. Her skin was so soft, her grip so possessive, that it made me want to confess everything.
“What thing?” I asked, my voice coming out slightly huskier than I intended. I tried to focus on my work, but everything was blurry except the feel of her warm fingers against mine.
“The ‘Sloane’ stare. You’re overthinking something.
” She squeezed my hand, her blue eyes scanning my face with a disconcerting intensity.
“The plan is working, you know. Tyler hasn't sent a single message in ten days. He actually crossed the street when he saw us walking to the library yesterday. We won.”
“Yeah,” I said, looking down at our joined hands. “We won.”
If winning felt this much like losing, I didn't want to know what a defeat looked like.
Every time she touched me, every time she leaned in to "perform" for a crowd, a little more of my resolve crumbled. This was everything I’d wanted, but it was all fake.
Chloe was becoming more comfortable with touching me—brushing my hair back, resting her chin on my shoulder, letting her hand linger on my waist long after the ‘audience’ had turned away—and it was torture.
I wanted it so bad, but I also wanted to push her away.
At this rate, she would steal my heart before I had a chance to protect it.
Chloe tilted her head, watching me. “I was thinking about something. At the party.”
I stiffened. Please don't mention the neck thing. Please.
“I realized I’ve never seen you date anyone,” she said, her voice curious, almost probing. “I mean, I know you’re into women, obviously. But you’ve never brought a girl home. You’ve never even talked about a crush. Why?”
I felt a cold sweat break out on my neck. I couldn’t tell her the truth: Because the only person I want is my best friend.
“I’m busy, Chloe. Architecture is a jealous mistress,” I said, trying for a deflection. “Besides, I’m not like you. I’m not the popular girl.”
“Bull,” she countered, her thumb tracing small circles on the back of my hand. “You’re hot, Sloane. Like, really hot. I saw the way that girl in the kitchen was looking at you two weeks ago. You’re more popular than you know. If you want to date someone—”
“I’m just not interested in dating anyone right now.” I cut in, my heart hammering.
Suddenly, a group of rowdy freshman barreled past our table, one of them nearly colliding with my chair. My coffee cup wobbled dangerously.
“Careful!” Chloe reacted instantly. She didn’t just grab the cup; she grabbed me.
She pulled me toward her, her arm wrapping around my shoulders and dragging me into her lap. I ended up flush against her chest, my hands instinctively clutching her dress for balance. My body met hers, the familiar heat rushing up my skin, reminding me of how much I wanted my best friend.
The world stopped. The clatter of the café, the steam of the espresso machine—it all vanished.
There was only Chloe. The scent of her floral perfume, the svelte strength of her arms, and the blue of her eyes, which were currently inches from mine. She didn't let go. Her gaze dropped to my lips, and for a second, the air between us felt thick enough to burn.
“See?” she whispered, her voice low and dangerously intimate. “People would kill to be this close to you.”
The romantic tension was so heavy it felt like a physical weight on my chest. I wanted to lean up. I wanted to see if the heat in her eyes was real or just another layer of the act.
“SLOANE! OH MY GOD!”
The shriek shattered the moment like a brick through a window.
I jumped, nearly falling off Chloe’s lap as I looked toward the door. My heart plummeted into my stomach. Standing there, clad in a bright floral scarf and beaming with enough energy to power the entire campus, was my mother.
“It is you.” She walked toward me until she was standing overhead. We had sprung apart, but she’d seen us embracing like lovers in a café, in front of an audience. Her eyes flickered to Chloe. “And Chloe.”
“Mom?” I choked out.
“Mrs. Peterson!” Chloe said, her ‘perfect girl’ smile sliding into place with terrifying ease. “What a surprise.”
“I knew it! I knew it!” She was practically vibrating with excitement. She looked between my flustered face and Chloe’s protective arm, which—to my horror—didn't move. Chloe just pulled me closer to her side.
“Knew what?” I was almost afraid to ask.
“The whole college is talking!” my mom cried, clutching her chest. “I heard so many people say you two were dating on my way here, but I was too scared to believe it.” She glances at us still stick together.
“Looks like they were right.” I looked at Chloe, desperate for a way out, but Chloe just leaned over and pressed a sweet, lingering kiss to my temple.
I felt all my resolve sinking. We had an audience, and that meant we had to lie.
“Oh my god, I’ve been hoping this would happen…
that you two would come to your senses one day.
” She turned to me, and I knew I was in trouble.
“Sloane, honey, why didn't you tell me? After ten years of you two being inseparable, I always hoped... I always knew!”
“We wanted to be sure before we made it official, Mrs. Peterson,” Chloe said smoothly, her eyes meeting mine with a wink that made my blood run hot. “But yes. It’s true. I finally realized the best thing in my life was standing right next to me.”
My mother let out a sob of pure joy. I stood there, frozen in the grip of the lie. My mother was thrilled. The secret was out. And as Chloe squeezed my waist, I realized we weren't just fake dating anymore. We were performing for the most important audience of all—my family.
“Your dad will be so thrilled,” mom said. “And your mom too, Chloe. Why don’t you two come over for dinner this weekend? It’s been so long since I had you both in the house.”
And just like that, we were stuck pretending once more. I turned to Chloe, whose eyes were fixed on mine. Was she thinking the same thing I was? That this lie was getting out of control? And the worst part was that it wasn’t even a lie. Not for me.
The smell of my mother’s roast chicken usually felt like home. Tonight, it felt like an interrogation room.
The dining table was set with the best china, the candles were lit, and the air was thick with the kind of parental approval that could crush a person.
My parents and Chloe’s mom, Sarah, were practically glowing across from us.
They’d been neighbors for fifteen years, shared lawnmowers and holiday recipes, and now they were sharing the smug satisfaction of a long-term plan finally coming to fruition.
"I told you, didn't I?" my dad said, gesturing between us with a carving knife. "I told Sarah back in middle school that these two were a package deal. You can't have one without the other.”
"It’s true," Sarah laughed, her eyes misty as she looked at Chloe. "I always worried about the boys you brought home, honey. They never seemed to... fit. But Sloane? Sloane has been part of your life since she was seven. I couldn’t believe it when Sloane’s mom told me you guys were dating, but I can see it now. "
All evening, our parents had been going on about our new relationship, and with each lie, each omission, my guilt piled. How were we ever going to tell them that all this was fake?
"We just needed a little time to figure it out ourselves," Chloe said, her voice smooth but her fingers trembling against mine. She reached under the table, finding my hand and squeezing it—hard. Clearly, she was better at lying than me. I’d considered telling our parents the truth, but Chloe said that would complicate things further so we were sticking to the lie for now.
"But how did it actually happen?" my mom asked, leaning forward, her chin in her hands. "I want the details. Who finally realized it first?”
The table went quiet, expectant. Chloe’s grip on my hand tightened further. I could feel her panic. She was usually good at keeping the conversation going, but this was different. This was the people who knew our histories, our habits, our souls. She didn't have a script for this.
So, I took the lead. I had to.