The Fake Boyfriend Experiment(30)

Angel raised her brows at me, but I was too upset to worry about it. I let Rafe pull me out of the room, right past the prune-faced Crusty, and out into the parking lot.



Rafe held onto my wrist the whole way to his car, and I didn’t try to pull away from him. We were both dating other people (ahem) so his heroic move to rescue me from Crusty didn’t mean he wanted to be my true and forever love, but I still felt better with him touching me.

So sue me. It wasn’t like I was trying to break up his relationship or anything.

He released my wrist to reach into the back of the Jeep. “I’ll talk to my aunt and ask her not to come to any more rehearsals. Don’t let her get to you.”

There was no point in lying. He knew what was up with me. I groaned and sat down on the rear bumper. “How can I not?”

He retrieved a paper grocery bag and set it in my arms. “She likes you, Lily. That’s why she’s here.”

The bag was heavy, so I rested it on my lap. “I hate her.”

Darkness flickered on Rafe’s face, reminding me that this was his aunt we were talking about. Now I felt bad again.

“She’s just trying to support you,” he said.

“No, she’s trying to pressure me! Do you have any idea what it’s like to be called a failure all the time?” I blinked at the sudden moisture in my eyes. Oh, God. How embarrassing. I wiped my wrist over my eyes, turning away so Rafe wouldn’t see what a wimp I was. “She has no right to make me feel so awful!”

He brushed his fingers over my cheek, and I froze. “You don’t suck, Lily.”

I swallowed hard and let him turn my face toward him. There was no way to hide the tears in my eyes, and I felt one slide down my cheek. “That’s not what she says. Or my mother.”

Rafe swore under his breath. “Screw them, Lily,” he said quietly as he brushed his thumb over my tears.

I stared at him, too shocked to answer. His thumb burned across my cheek, and his voice was so nice. He wasn’t judging me for crying. Why was he being so nice to me if he wasn’t interested in me? “But she says it all the time,” I whispered.

“So?” His voice got hard and he turned away, his hand dropping from my face. “Who cares what adults say? You think they’re always right?”

I bit my lip while he fished another bag out of the Jeep, watching his tattoo ripple over his muscles as he hoisted the bag out. “You don’t think she’s right?”



He rested the grocery sack on his hip. “Adults have their own baggage and they take it out on us. The only thing to do is blow them off. They aren’t worth crying over, Lily, trust me.”

A smile pulled at the corner of my mouth at his flippant attitude. Like it was that easy to just ignore them. “How am I supposed to blow her off? She’s in there giving me the evil eye.”

“So what? You can ignore it. Don’t let her bug you.”

I raised my eyebrows. “If you’re so tough, how come she was able to bully you into letting me in the band?”

He shrugged. “I decided it was easier to go along with her than fight it, which is not the same thing as allowing her to ruin my life. Besides, I owe her. She got us free practice space at the school.” His eyes narrowed and he averted his gaze from me. “Plus, I gotta keep her happy enough so she doesn’t ditch me. Next step foster care, right?”

I couldn’t stop my mouth from dropping open. “Seriously? Your parents would let you go to foster care?”

He turned away and started walking back toward the building. “Let’s go.”

“Hey!” I tried to catch up to him, but there was no way I could run with my bag of drinks. It was way too heavy. So I sort of hobbled across the lawn, trying to catch up to him. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t turn around, walking even faster. “You got plans for Sunday morning?”

I blinked at the change in subject. “Um, I usually practice the piano then, so I guess I’m free.”

“Meet me here at nine. I’ll get you up to speed on the new material.” He was getting even further away from me, apparently not hampered by the weight of the bag he was carrying Clearly, he was carrying cotton balls in his bag and he’d given me the bag of cement blocks.

I wrinkled my nose at his back. “You’re more of a slave driver than Crusty is.”

He shrugged and tossed me a careless glance over his shoulder. “Or you can learn it in front of the band.”

Ah, no thanks. “Fine. I’ll see if my mom can drive me.”

“I’ll pick you up,” he said as he turned to face me. “It’s on my way.”