The Fake Boyfriend Project

Sierra

“Cheers!”

I lift my glass, clinking it against Lennox’s before she narrows her eyes at me. Her hand darts toward my phone, but I yank it out of reach.

“Nox!” I yelp, leaning back with my glass of beer in my hand.

She smirks, sipping her drink. “You’ve been grinning since we walked in. Spill. Are you secretly dating someone?”

A laugh bursts out of me, loud enough to earn a glance from the other table not too far from us. “If I ever get a boyfriend, you’d be the first person to know.” I take a long sip, then grin even wider. “It’s my article. The one from yesterday blows up. Not all the comments are kind, but hey, at least people are talking. And some actually get me.”

Lennox groans, dragging a hand down her face. “Don’t tell me it’s about him again.”

“Obviously!” I snap. “Who else deserves it more than Adonis Veylor?”

Even after saying that, I feel my blood pressure spike. “Mr. Perfect. Star forward of the university hockey team. Campus darling. Poster boy of every sports campaign. Teachers love him, girls worship him, guys want to be him… and for what? For skating fast and smirking like the world is made for him. He’s got the kind of face that belongs on a magazine cover, and the kind of ego that should be buried six feet under.”

I slam my glass down, heat curling in my chest. “And don’t even get me started on last season. Everyone screams his name, but Davis Grayson carries that team. Adonis just… hogs the spotlight. Typical.”

Lennox rubs her forehead like she’s babysitting me. “Seriously, Sierra, if I don’t know your history with him, I’d swear you’re obsessed.”

I choke on my drink, coughing hard before wiping my mouth with a grimace. “Obsessed? With him? Over my dead body. I’d rather streak across campus than like that arrogant ass.”

Lennox suddenly freezes, her jaw going slack. “Oh my God. Sierra. Don’t look. Adonis Veylor. He’s here. And holy hell, he looks even better in person.”

My stomach flips. Against my better judgment, my head snaps toward the door.

And there he is.

Adonis Veylor.

The name alone can silence a room. The golden boy of Westcliff University, the star forward of our hockey team, the Frostbites. The campus practically bends at his feet. Professors adore him, fans worship him, sponsors line up with open arms.

Even people who have never watched a single game know his face.

And his face… I hate that it’s perfect. Straight nose, cheekbones sharp like they’re carved with care, lips always tilted in that arrogant half-smile. He moves like someone born to win, like nothing in the world could ever topple him.

Everyone loves him. Everyone except me.

Not that he cares. Adonis Veylor doesn’t even know I exist. I doubt he’s ever glanced twice in my direction, not unless he needs to remind the world of his superiority with that mocking laugh.

But I know him. I know the type he is. Untouchable. Selfish. Full of himself. The kind of guy who could burn down a village with one smile and have the crowd cheer while the ashes fall.

“Oh my God,” Lennox gasps suddenly, her nails digging into my wrist. “He’s not alone. Half the Frostbites are here. Sierra, half the damn team!”

I whip my head before I can stop myself, my eyes catching the familiar dark-blue jackets, the ones fans wear proudly at games. Tall, muscular silhouettes, loud laughter, that intoxicating ‘we own this place energy’ filled the bar.

Lennox practically bounces in her seat, starstruck. I don’t. My throat tightens, and I clench my fist so tightly my nails bite into my skin. But no amount of self-control slows the rapid thud in my chest.

Because even when I hate him, my body has the nerve to betray me.

A chorus of voices erupts at the entrance, deep and booming, laughter spilling across the room. And then they move in with swagger, smiles and their carelessly magnetic aura.

Straight toward us.

The Frostbites claim the empty table beside ours, their noise swelling until it wraps around the whole bar. And in the center of it all, Adonis drops lazily into his seat like a king returning to his throne, his smirk flickering wider under the adoration of the room.

I snap my gaze away, heat crawling to my cheeks.

Of all the tables in this place… it has to be this one.

I try to stay calm, like Lennox hasn’t already betrayed me with that too-bright smile of hers. Of course, she’s flashing it right at Fernando Morreti, one of the Frostbites, his thick Italian accent curling around his words like he’s used to women falling all over him.

“Hey, ladies. Would you like to join us?” he asks, his grin so bold it almost dares me to say yes.

I don’t even think twice. “No, thanks.” My tone is flat, unbothered, like swatting away a fly.

For half a second, my eyes flicker and, God help me, they meet Adonis’ eyes. He doesn’t hold my gaze, just looks away like I’m not even worth noticing.

The dismissal stings though more than I want to admit.

The rest of the Frostbites crack up at Fernando’s failed attempt, but then one of them pipes up. “Adonis, have you seen the new TooSubtle article? Whoever’s behind it can’t write a damn thing without dropping your name.”

My heart stops for a second as the familiar word reaches my ears. TooSubtle is my pseudonym, my secret and Adonis’ Veylor online nemesis.

Lennox’s head swivels toward me, her eyes straining knowingly.

And then Adonis’ deep voice and dripping with arrogance, cuts through the air. “Well, can I blame them? They need me to go viral.” The way he says it, so smug, so condescending, makes my skin prickle with heat.

A scoff escapes me before I can choke it down, my own eyes widening at my audacity. The table falls silent, eyes snapping toward me. The Frostbites stare. Lennox’s jaw tightens, probably praying I don’t do something stupid.

And Adonis… he finally looks at me.

My stomach flips violently.

The silence is unbearable. My chest aches as every pair of eyes pierce into me. “I gotta go,” I blurt, fumbling for my bag. My voice sounds thin, awkward, pathetic.

I spin toward the door, desperate to escape before the ground decides to actually swallow me whole. But in my rush, someone bumps past me, their shoulder shoving into mine. My balance tips.

I stumble forward, right into their table. Right into him.

My hands slap against Adonis’s chest, his warmth searing through the fabric of his shirt as I practically collapse onto his lap. His clean, intoxicating scent hits me before my brain catches up.

The Frostbites erupt, laughter and whistles filling the bar. My face burns, every nerve screaming as I push off him, muttering something that sounds like an apology but feels like a curse.

His stormy narrowed eyes lock with mine for a breath too long.

I bolt. I don’t care that Lennox is probably rolling her eyes or cursing me under her breath. I don’t care that I just made a scene. I just need to get out of here.

The night air slaps me as I rush outside, my pulse hammering. At the bus stop, my phone dings. Relief washes over me, thinking it’s Lennox checking in. But it’s not.

It’s Instagram.

Confused, I swipe it open only to discover I have been tagged to a post. I frown, wondering while my rarely touched account is suddenly dragged into the light.

And there my eyes catch the photo below my tagged name. Posted by Spill the Tea, WestCliff’s vulture of a gossip page.

I feel my knees tremble and a part of me losing its ability as I recognize the figures in the photo.

It’s me.

Me and Adonis.

I’m practically draped across his lap, his face angled just close enough that from the camera’s perspective, it looks intimate, very intimate.

The caption beneath it stares back at me and I blink my eyes trying to make sense of the situation.

The caption reads: Adonis Veylor’s secret girlfriend uncovered.