Fake Dating The Rival My Ex's Hate For Revenge

CHAPTER 1: Happy Anniversary, Here’s Some Trauma

Melina’s POV

Nothing could compared to the wet slapping sound from the room at the end of the hall.

'Slap. Slap. Slap.'

And the moans.. oh.. the moans sounded like a dying walrus trying to sing opera.

I cringed, recoiling against the ugly floral wallpaper of the frat house hallway. Look, I know what happens at college parties.. I wasn't born yesterday. Hormones rage, beer flows and suddenly people think a twin bed covered in empty solo cups is the height of romance. But I really didn’t want to be the resident peeping Tom today.

I just wanted to find my boyfriend. Today was our anniversary. One whole year of me ignoring red flags because he had nice hair and a charming smile. I even wore the classy white dress he liked so cue the applause for the supportive girlfriend trying to pull off a surprise visit.

The bedroom door was carelessly left ajar, an open invitation for trauma. I tried to just walk past, eyes glued to the floor but human curiosity is a sick twisted thing. My eyes flicked up for a fraction of a second. I kept walking.. then I stopped.

Wait a minute...

I did a literal cartoon double-take, backing up until I was perfectly aligned with the crack in the door. I squinted through the dim light. That sandy blond hair plastered with sweat.. that familiar athletic back ans that bare and aggressively thrusting ass.

'Hold the phone. Is that... Tristan?!'

My heart did a weird painful backflip and I pushed the door wide open, slamming against the wall with a loud bang that would make a SWAT team proud.

“What the actual hell?” I yelled.

The thrusting stopped and Tristan whipped his head around, his sharp green eyes widening in panic as he scrambled backward, ripping the blanket up to cover his junk.

“Melina!” he gasped, his voice cracking like a puberty-stricken choir boy. “Babe! What are you doing here?”

“Surprise,” I deadpanned, though my voice shook. “Happy anniversary. I brought my presence but I see you're already unwrapping something else.”

My eyes drifted to the girl scrambling to pull her dress up and my stomach literally dropped out of my body, rolled across the floor and threw itself out the window.

Chloe?!

She was my childhood best friend. The girl who held my hair back when I puked in tenth grade.. the girl who helped me pick out the dress I was currently wearing.

“Mel,” Chloe squeaked, clutching her bra to her chest. “Mel, please, it's not...”

“If you say 'it’s not what it looks like,' I will actually vomit,” I snapped, stepping into the room, my hands shaking so hard I had to clench them into fists. “Because it looks exactly like you're fucking my boyfriend!”

“Babe, listen to me,” Tristan pleaded, throwing his legs over the side of the bed as he reached for his pants, trying to put on his charming mask. “We were drunk. It just happened. It meant nothing.”

“Nothing?” I scoffed. “You’ve been fucking my best friend on our anniversary, Tristan! That takes planning! That takes a special kind of garbage human!”

The tears were already burning the backs of my eyes and I refused to let them see me cry so I spun on my heel and ran.

I bolted down the stairs, shoving past sweaty college students, ignoring the shouts of my name from the top floor and hit the cool Manhattan air and just kept running.

I wandered the streets like an extra in a zombie movie with no destination and no plan.. just a girl with her broken heart. I didn’t care where I was going. In fact, as I drifted away from the lights of the college district and into the darker and sketchier alleys of the city, part of me hoped a mugger would jump out.

'Come on,' I thought to the shadows. 'Stab me.. take my purse. A knife to the spleen would honestly hurt less than this.'

But New York failed to deliver a murderer. Instead, it delivered a dive bar. The neon sign buzzed above the door, missing three letters so it just spelled 'B R'. Fitting.

I pushed inside and marched up to the sticky counter. “Tequila. Leave the bottle.”

The bartender raised an eyebrow but poured a shot. I slammed it back with the burn grounding me.

“Another.” I called.

I took shot after shot. One for Tristan’s stupid green eyes.. one for Chloe’s perfect blonde hair and one for the fact that I was twenty-one and officially alone in the world.. again.

After shot number five, the room started to tilt and I had to lean my forehead against the wood of the bar.

“Okay, kid, you're done,” the bartender grunted, pulling the bottle away.

“I'm not a kid,” I slurred, waving a finger at him. “I'm a woman of tragedy and I need the spicy water.”

“You need a cab.”

Before I could argue, a hot breath fanned against my neck. Someone slid onto the stool next to me.

“Hey there, gorgeous. You look like you could use some company.”

I turned my head. It was a guy sporting a smile that screamed 'restraining order.'

I let out a slow, dramatic sigh. “Look, buddy. I just found out my boyfriend has been playing hide-the-sausage with my best friend. My life is currently a dumpster fire and I am the garbage. You are standing too close, you smell like Axe body spray and desperation. And not in a sexy way.”

The guy’s sleazy smile vanished, replaced by an ugly scowl. “Fucking bitch. I was just trying to be nice.” He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my skin.

My heart spiked. Maybe wandering into a dark bar wasn't my best idea. “Let go of me,” I demanded, pulling back.

He didn't budge.

Suddenly, a massive hand clamped down on the creep's shoulder. “I believe the lady told you to let go.”

The voice was deep, smooth and colder than a freezer full of ice. The creep turned around to bark something back but his mouth snapped shut instantly.

I blinked, trying to get my tequila-soaked eyes to focus.

Standing there was a mountain of a man. Six-foot-four of intimidating muscle, wrapped in a dark jacket with broad shoulders, messy dark hair and piercing ice-blue eyes. A faint scar sliced through his left eyebrow, adding a dangerous edge to a face that frankly had no right being that handsome.

Jace freaking Hamilton.. Captain of the Westbridge hockey team, future NHL draft pick and Tristan’s worst enemy on and off the ice.

The creep recognized him too. He swallowed hard, dropped my arm like it was on fire and scurried out of the bar without a backward glance. Jace didn't even watch him leave. He stepped up to the bar, his massive frame dwarfing my stool. He looked at the bartender, his expression perfectly neutral. “Keep her drinks coming. Put it on my tab.”

The bartender nodded instantly and slid the tequila bottle back my way.

I stared at Jace, narrowing my eyes. “Are you stalking me? Did you use your hockey-spidey-senses to find me in my moment of weakness?”

Jace let out a chuckle. It was a nice sound.. annoyingly nice. He signaled the bartender for a water and turned back to me.

“I hate to burst your bubble, Melina Townley but the universe doesn't revolve around you. I just finished late practice.” He gestured over his shoulder where three other guys in letterman jackets were sitting at a booth in the corner. “This is our spot. You just happen to be melting down in my territory.”

I huffed, taking another shot. “Well, your territory smells like piss.”

He leaned against the bar, crossing his arms over his chest with his biceps flexed under his jacket. I shouldn't have noticed that. I really shouldn't have. “Rough night?” He asked.

“You have no idea.” I looked down at my hands. The anger was fading, leaving behind that awful hollow ache. “Tristan and Chloe. Together.”

Jace went completely still. His blue eyes darkened with a flash of genuine anger crossing his features before his protective disciplined mask slammed back into place. “McGreggor?” he asked softly. “In your bed?”

“Frat house bed,” I corrected, resting my chin on my hand. “But yeah. On our anniversary. He has the personality of a wet sock, Jace. A cheating manipulative wet sock.”

“I've been telling people he's a piece of shit for three years,” Jace said, a hint of dark sarcasm in his tone. “Nice to see the rest of the world is finally catching up.”

I actually laughed. It was a tiny broken sound but it felt good. “You know, for a guy who usually glares at me across campus, you're not terrible company, Hamilton.”

“Don't let it get around,” he muttered, picking up his glass of water. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

It was weird. I was sitting with the enemy, bonding over our mutual disgust for the guy who had just shattered my heart. Jace didn't push. He just sat there while I babbled, vented and drank away my sorrows.

Eventually, I tried to gesture wildly to emphasize a point about Tristan’s ego and my hand clipped the tequila bottle. It tipped over, splashing it's liquid all over the front of my white dress.

“Oh, fantastic,” I groaned, staring at the growing yellow stain on my chest. “Now I look like I wet myself on the wrong side of my body.”

Jace sighed, pushing off the bar. “Alright, that’s it. You're cut off. Come on.”

“Where are we going?” I asked, stumbling slightly as I stood up.

He caught my elbow, his grip firm and steady with heat radiating from his fingers right through my skin. “You can't go back to the dorms looking like that. The campus gossips will have a field day. My penthouse is two blocks from here. You can crash in the guest room and wash your clothes.”

“Oh, wow,” I slurred, leaning heavily against his side as we walked toward the exit. “Taking the heartbroken drunk girl home? How very cliché of you, Hamilton.”

“I'm a saint,” he said dryly, supporting my weight as we navigated the dark sidewalk. “A highly under-appreciated saint.”

I was definitely past the point of rational thought. The alcohol was buzzing loudly in my ears by the time we stepped into the elevator of his high-rise building. The doors chimed open to his penthouse. It was ridiculous. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city with sleek modern furniture.

He locked the front door behind us and turned to me, probably to tell me where the bathroom was but as he looked down at me witv the city lights reflecting in his icy blue eyes, my brain misfired.

He was right here, be was gorgeous and he was the one person Tristan

hated more than anything. I suddenly grabbed the lapels of his dark jacket, pulled myself up on my toes and crashed my lips hard against his…