Fake Dating the Biker Lord

Daphne O'Brien's POV

“Forget about him.” Naomi’s voice barely cut through the deafening roar of the motorcycle engines.

"I am forgetting about him,” I said, wrapping my arms around myself. My oversized denim jacket wasn't thick enough to stop the icy autumn air, or the memories of him, from sinking into my skin.

"Honey, you're so unconvincing.” Maya chimed in from my left, leaning over the rusted metal fence. “You haven’t even said a word since we got here, Daphne.”

“I’m just processing everything,” I muttered, pulling my sleeves down over my knuckles.

Maya rolled her eyes. “See? Still miserable.”

Every time I let my guard down for even a second, the scene played back on a loop behind my eyelids.

Walking into his apartment. The soft hum of the TV. The pile of unfamiliar, lace clothes scattered across the hallway rug.

And then... him.

His bare back, his body pressed heavily on top of another girl in his bed. The girl’s disgustingly high-pitched giggle ringing out while my entire world shattered when I caught a glimpse of her face.

Chloe Erikson.

He even had the guts to choose the girl who he swore he never had anything with. I had asked him several times if he was cheating, if he didn't love me anymore, and each time, it came back with the exact same answers: "Of course not, Daphne," "You're just paranoid, Daphne," "I don't even find her attractive, Daphne."

And like the lovesick fool I was, I believed every single one of his lies.

A fresh wave of nausea crawled up my throat.

Next month was meant to be our two-year anniversary. Two years of balancing his mood swings, and believing I was enough, only to be replaced like some worn-out coat.

"We can all agree he’s an absolute scrub, Daphne,” Naomi said, placing a warm hand on my shoulder. “He does not deserve another second of your tears. Look around! We’re at the biggest night race of the semester. There are hot guys everywhere.”

“I’m fine,” I lied through my teeth, straightening my spine. “I’m completely fine.”

Maya smirked, a mischievious glint entering her eyes. “Oh yeah? Prove it then.”

I blinked, raising an eyebrow. “Prove what?”

“Prove you’re over Marcus.” She gestured toward the far end of the pits, where a cluster of bikes sat idling, their exhausts spitting smoke. Leaning against a dark green bike was a guy in a scuffed leather jacket.

He was strong, broad shouldered, and attractive in a way that made my stomach flip.

“Go walk up to him. Give him a smile and ask for his number.”

“Maya, no—” Naomi started, but I cut her off.

My pride had already been battered and bruised, and it could not take another hit. I would do at the very least, stroke my own ego."

“You really think I won’t?” I looked Maya dead in the eye, my hands curling into fists inside my jacket pockets. “Well, watch me.”

Before either of them could stop me, I turned on my heel and marched straight toward the pit area. The bass from the nearby speakers thumped loudly, weirdly matching the frantic beat of my heart.

I can do this, I told myself.

I’m nineteen. I’m starting fresh.

I am not the pathetic girl who got cheated on. And so help me God, I will let this man fuck all the thoughts of Marcus out of my head.

Closing the distance, I smoothed down my brunette hair. The guy in the leather jacket was talking to someone, his posture cool and effortless.

I took a deep breath, rehearsing a casual line in my head, stepping right onto the oil stained pavement behind him.

“Hey—”

The word barely left my lips before a tall girl in red boots swept past me, completely brushing my shoulder aside. She didn't even notice I was standing there.

She threw her arms around the guy's neck, pulling him down into a deep, aggressive kiss. They were practically swallowing up each other's faces.

“Missed you, baby,” she purred loudly against his lips as they pulled back.

I froze on the spot.

The casual intimacy, the slick press of their bodies, the carefree way he wrapped an arm around her waist. It snapped back into my mind so quickly.

Marcus's bedroom. The glistening sweat on his back as he plunged himself into Chloe. The sheer, humiliating disgust of being totally invisible while someone else took what you had always thought was yours.

My throat closed up and my vision blurred around the edges.

Oh god. I'm going to throw up.

I didn't bother saying a word. Leather guy was clearly taken, and I didn't even look back at Naomi and Maya. I couldn't bear the thought of them seeing the tears springing to my eyes or watching me have a complete breakdown in front of hundreds of people.

The shame felt suffocating, the immediate need to hide my face seized me. I turned around and sprinted through the parted crowd. All I needed was a door. Any door at all, as long as it had a lock and kept me away from staring eyes.

I rounded the corner of the brick hangar that hosted the track’s maintenance bays. Near the back, lit by a single flickering yellow bulb, was a series of doors painted faded blue.

I took the first one without thinking. I just needed to be alone.

I kicked the door open, slammed it shut behind me, and stumbled blindly through the dim room toward a single sink mounted under a broken mirror.

My stomach gave out right as I reached it. I dropped to my knees, gripped the freezing metal piping beneath the basin, and heaved.

Everything came spilling out right there onto the base of the sink and the floor beneath it, the greasy food, the bitter taste of cheap beer, and the toxicity of the last few hours.

Tears stung the corners of my eyes as my chest heaved, my forehead coming to rest against the pipes.

For a while, the only sound in the poorly lit room was my ragged breathing and the faint sounds of roaring engines from the race outside.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and slumped back against the wall right beside the basin. The air in here smelled of dampness, bleach, concrete, and expensive cologne, a weirdly rich scent for an underground track bathroom.

“Fuck my life,” I whispered, holding back the tears that threatened to fall again. “Fuck him, fuck this night, and fuck everything else.”

Right above me, the sharp flick sound of a lighter echoed.

I went completely stiff.

A tiny orange flame gleamed in the shadow right next to the sink, illuminating a sharp jawline, black hair, and a pair of piercing blue eyes watching me from the darkness.

A small trail of smoke rose into the air as the flame died out.

“Are you quite finished yet?”

“No,” I rasped out, my voice raw from throwing up.

The tall figure who had been standing beside the counter slowly stepped out of the dark, towering over where I was still collapsed on the floor.

He wore a crisp, dark uniform jacket with silver stars embroidered along the high collar, the undeniable mark of Dumbridge's inner circle. So, he apparently went to my college and had watched me wrench out my guts. Could my pride be wounded any more?

He looked down at me, his eyes dead cold as he took a slow drag from his cigarette.

“Because first of all, sweetheart,” he said softly, leaning down until his shadow covered me, “you’re in the wrong room. And second of all... you just threw up on my shoes.”