Chapter 7 NORA
NORA
MY MIND IS REELING.
The footpath glows under the orange cast of the streetlights. Even at night, Stratton hums with life – music spilling from open bars, the echo of skate wheels on pavement, people gathered in groups, laughing and chatting. Neon signs flash as we pass, the thrum of a busker’s guitar nearby.
Then there’s us, strolling down town like we didn’t just shake on the most unhinged plan either of us has ever agreed to. Two people who just made an arrangement to fake date. Romantic in theory. Ridiculous in reality.
‘So,’ I say, slow and casual, like I’m not spiralling inside at what we just agreed to do, and what it means moving forward. ‘I guess you’re my boyfriend now.’
With the online relationship, it was safe. At least it felt safe, because I wasn’t facing a real-life person in front of me. It made me feel like there were no boundaries we couldn’t cross. That’s the whole reason it felt so easy. So easy to be caught up in it and fall into his trap.
I exhale, hating that this still plays on my mind.
It’s scary how much he learnt about me, so quickly, and yet I would not know this person if they passed me in the street.
Somehow, I’ve landed myself in another fake kind of relationship, but this one feels more real than whatever that was, because at least Zayden is right here with me, a real person, and that has to count for something.
Zayden shoots me a sideways look, his mouth twitching into the beginning of a grin.
‘It appears that way. Speaking of, I should document our date.’ He pulls out his phone and drops back a few steps.
I keep walking and half-turn back, in time to hear the sound of my picture being taken.
He catches back up with me and shows me the photo.
It’s cute and candid. He tags me in it with two little hands connecting in a heart shape.
He posts it and I blink down at his phone, a little surprised that he’s willing to do that, so easily.
I suppose it’s important to make it look real, but I’ve never seen Zayden post this kind of thing before.
We turn down a quieter street lined with palm trees and takeout places still open for the midnight crowd.
Our arms brush, and I can feel how weird it is.
How new it is, even though I’ve known him for a while now.
Zayden Stark, my best friend’s older brother – serial flirter, football royalty, a guy who’s the topic of a lot of conversation around campus.
Everybody knows who Zayden is. I gulp at the realisation that people are now going to be noticing me. I’m not sure I’m quite ready for that.
He once tricked me into eating a spoonful of Vegemite straight. Now he’s going to be fake holding my hand at Lindsay’s wedding for my entire family to see, as well as students around campus. How the hell did we get here?
‘You sure this helps with the whole “coach breathing down your neck” thing?’ I ask.
Zayden nods. ‘The tutoring is going to save me, and hanging out with you will keep me from ending up in stupid situations that I don’t have the time for. I need to prove I’m not a walking disaster, even though that’s what I am.’
‘You’re not a walking disaster. Uni is hard. School, assessments, study, it’s not for everyone. You can be a very intelligent person but still not fit into the curriculum. It doesn’t make you any less of a person than someone who manages to get good grades.’
‘Thanks, Nora,’ he offers me a lopsided smile, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. He doesn’t view it that way. ‘You think fake dating is going to get your family off of your back?’
I shrug. ‘Honestly, just getting through one more event without the relatives asking why I’m still single and acting like it’s a terminal illness is enough for me.’
‘Match made in heaven,’ he says, and I grin at that. Maybe that could be the next idea and title for a book. Fake dating my best friend’s older brother. There are some fun tropes I could work with.
We pause under the glow of a flickering streetlamp near the esplanade. The breeze whips in from the water, cool against my bare arms. He turns to face me, his expression unusually serious.
‘Are we crazy for doing this?’ he asks.
I nod. ‘Very.’
He offers his hand again – steadier this time. I take it. I like the idea of seeing what disaster we’ll create together. Spending more time with Zayden sounds like a pretty great idea to me.
He steps closer to me, and for some unknown reason, my hands move out, touching his chest. The heat of him spears through his shirt and onto my fingers, which have involuntarily bunched up the fabric. His hands move up the sides of my body, before circling around my hands, holding them firmly.
I feel so content with him. Safe.
He’s looking at me with heat in his gaze. That intense stare that makes my breath catch and my cheeks blush. He makes me feel beautiful when he looks at me like that, and that’s something I don’t experience very often.
‘What are you thinking about?’ I ask, scanning his face as he studies me, those emerald orbs looking dark in the dim lighting.
‘Just thinking about how lucky I am.’
‘Oh?’
‘To have such a gorgeous and smart fake girlfriend.’
I laugh. ‘Oh hush, you big flirt.’
‘You love it.’
I certainly do, I think to myself, attempting not to show him just how much his comment has affected me.
There’s a busker nearby, somewhere just out of sight, playing something slow and soft, a song I’m unfamiliar with. Zayden tilts his head, listening.
‘That guy’s not half bad.’
I hum in agreement, highly aware that we’re still holding hands. He grins, and then out of nowhere, he spins around, takes a dramatic step back, and bows.
‘May I have this dance, fake girlfriend?’
I snort. ‘You are such a dork.’
‘Yeah, but you signed up for this.’
Before I can protest, he grabs my hand and pulls me gently towards him.
There’s no one around except a couple walking barefoot through the sand a little down the way.
The whole thing feels wildly too cinematic for two people pretending to date.
Like it almost doesn’t make sense that we’re doing this with no one around to witness it.
Zayden’s not a bad dancer. He’s no professional, but he’s confident and relaxed, and it makes me laugh – really laugh – the way he sways us back and forth like this is an actual date, like we’re teenagers in a movie.
‘You’re ridiculous,’ I say, still smiling.
‘You knew that going in,’ he replies, spinning me once in a circle. ‘No refunds.’
The music drifts closer, and I let myself sink into the moment just a little, my hand in his, his chest rising and falling with a steadiness that feels weirdly comforting.
It’s not even been an hour since the agreement started and already nothing about right now feels fake. I shove the thoughts away, not wanting to ruin the moment with a panic-induced spiral. I’m good at doing that.
‘You’re a good dancer,’ I say. ‘You’ve been too modest.’
‘That’s me. Humble and modest.’ He flashes me a boyish grin.
Capturing my hand in his, he spins me around.
His grin is contagious and suddenly, I’m beaming back at him.
He yanks me towards him, and his scent fills my nostrils.
Damn, he smells as good as he looks. Warm cedarwood, with that familiar freshness that makes me think of the ocean.
He always smells like he has salt and sun on his skin.
He looks down at me. Not in the way a friend looks at a friend.
In the way someone does when they’re thinking about doing something reckless.
I swallow, aware of everything – the way his thumb brushes the back of my hand, how close he is, the steady rhythm of the waves behind us.
My heart is beating too fast, but I don’t move.
He leans in a little closer, his eyes flicking from mine to my lips. My heart stills.
‘Can a fake boyfriend kiss his fake girlfriend or is that crossing a line?’ he murmurs, gaze unmoving from my lips. Heat pools in my stomach at the way he’s looking at me.
‘It’s a line I wouldn’t mind being crossed,’ I whisper.
I tilt my face up towards his, pulse roaring in my ears, every nerve suddenly electric. His nose brushes mine. His breath is warm, him. He leans in that last inch when a shout slices through the air.
‘Oi! Zayden!’
We break apart. Zayden steps back, his hands dropping from my waist. I blink, my heart still hammering, as two of his teammates round the corner behind us, clearly fresh from a night out – laughing, stumbling slightly, eyes already locked on us.
‘Mate!’ one of them calls again, grinning.
Another one yells at the same time. ‘That you, Zayden?’
Zayden runs a hand through his hair before glancing at me. He straightens, masking whatever almost just happened between us with that easy, cocky grin he often wears around his teammates.
‘Boys,’ he says, lifting a hand in greeting.
One of them slaps him on the back while another gives me a not-so-subtle once-over.
‘Didn’t know you were out on a date,’ one of them says, raising an eyebrow. I can’t remember what his name is.
Zayden doesn’t even blink. He just slides his arm casually around my shoulders, drawing me in like we’ve done this a hundred times. ‘Yeah, didn’t realise I needed to update the group chat.’
The two boys snicker at his comment.
‘Well, we’ll leave you to it, then,’ the guy says, still eyeing me with a bit of confusion, as if he’s shocked to see us together.
I’d like to think it might be because he doesn’t recognise me and not that I’m nothing like the type of girl he’d assume Zayden would go for.
I suppose it’d be a natural assumption that he’ll end up with one of the gorgeous cheerleaders, since the team and the squad are around each other so much.
They’re all talented, beautiful and well-known around campus.
The celebrities of Stratton University, if you will.
‘See you at training?’ the other says.
‘I’ll be there,’ Zayden replies.