Chapter 19
ALFIE
“Absolutely not.” I don’t look up from my laptop which is propped up on the kitchen counter, where Europa’s surface formations blur after six straight hours of analysis. “Ask someone else.”
I stare at my lab data but can’t focus. Keep thinking about how Tara looked the other morning. How for a moment, I’d wanted to crawl back into bed with her. Not for sex - just to hold her, to watch her wake up slowly, to be...real.
That thought fucking terrifies me.
I’ve never thought about sex with anybody more than five minutes after it’s been over. Yet, for the past four days I’ve been replaying the way Tara’s face looked when I made her cum.
I rub my eyes, trying to erase the image. This is exactly what I can’t do. Can’t let myself want more. Can’t drag her into my shit.
Better to keep this simple. Clean. Fake. And what Ethan is asking will only make that harder.
We’ve only got three more days left of my family being here, we don’t need to add in anything else.
“Who else?” Ethan drops into the chair opposite me, disrupting my carefully arranged papers. “Alex is in California living her best coastal life, Freddie’s useless without her, and Troy is away. I have no other friends.”
He pouts.
That won’t work on me, sucker.
“Then don’t double date.”
“I have to! Paige specifically said she wants to get to know me in a more relaxed setting, with people I care about.” He sounds like he means it. “Come on, man. This girl is different.”
That makes me look up. Ethan doesn’t usually sound this sincere about anything that isn’t related to video games or pizza toppings.
“Different how?”
His whole face lights up. “She’s brilliant. Like, actually brilliant. She’s doing her PhD in Astrophysics, and when I made this terrible joke about Uranus—”
“Please don’t finish that sentence.”
“—she actually laughed! And then explained why it was technically inaccurate, which was somehow even hotter.” He leans forward, suddenly earnest. “I think she might be the one, Alfie. The actual one. Are you prepared to be the reason I never find true love?”
He’s now giving me puppy eyes.
He must have seen me give in to Baxter.
Fuck.
“Ask Tara,” I say finally. “Don’t drag me into it. If she says yes, then fine.”
“But that’s the thing – you’re already in it! You’re already fake dating. This is just... fake dating in public. With fancy wine.”
“I’ve already asked too much of her. And you know how I feel about—”
“Social situations? Yeah, your hatred of people is legendary. But this is just dinner. Two hours max.”
If only he knew how many painful “just dinners” I’ve been at.
I stare at my data, but the numbers swim together. The truth is, spending an evening pretending to be Tara’s boyfriend sounds simultaneously like heaven and torture. Because lately, the line between pretending and reality feels dangerously thin.
“Fine.” I scrub a hand over my face. “But you ask her.”
I try to focus back on my work.
Ethan’s already pulling out his phone, grinning like he’s won already. He puts it on speaker as it rings.
“Hey E, what’s up?” Tara’s voice fills the room, I pause typing and my throat tightens.
Does she like Ethan?
Fuck, is that jealousy?
“Tara! Light of my life, queen of my heart—”
“What do you want?” she deadpans.
“Can’t a guy just call to tell his favorite honorary sister how much he appreciates her kind soul, her generous spirit, her—”
“Ethan.”
“Okay, so there’s this girl...”
I watch as he explains, his hands gesturing wildly even though Tara can’t see him. He tells her about Paige, about the restaurant and wanting to show his serious side.
“Let me get this straight,” Tara says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “You want me and Alfie to go on a double date with you and your astrophysicist?”
“Please? You’re literally the only person I trust not to embarrass me. You’re so good at this stuff – making people feel comfortable, keeping conversations flowing. Plus, you’ll love Paige. She’s really cool and funny, and she loves fashion.”
Clever bastard. He knows exactly what buttons to push.
There’s a pause, and I hold my breath.
“Just dinner?” Tara asks.
“Just dinner. Though if you wanted to casually mention how great of a guy I am I wouldn’t be opposed. We can talk about how I saved your life one time, or how you can always count on me,”
“Don’t push it,” I call out, and hear Tara laugh through the speaker.
“Oh, hey Alfie. You’re there too?” I can’t help smiling. “Are you okay with this?”
No. Yes. Maybe. “If you are.”
“Well,” she says slowly, “I do have a new dress I’ve been wanting to test out...”
“Is that a yes?” Ethan bounces in his chair like an excited puppy.
“That’s a yes. But you’re buying the drinks. The good stuff, not that boxed nonsense you brought to game night.”
“Deal! You’re the best, T. Seriously, the absolute best. Have I mentioned how pretty you look today?”
“You can’t see me.”
“Don’t need to. You’re always pretty. Right, Alfie?”
I’m going to kill him. Slowly. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“Yeah, yeah.” He stands, already texting, probably telling Paige the good news. “Tonight at eight! Wear something fancy!”
He practically skips out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with the ghost of Tara’s laughter still echoing in my ears and the knowledge that I’m about to spend an entire evening pretending to be her boyfriend.
The fucked-up part?
I’m excited to have another excuse to touch her in public. To hold her hand, to touch the small of her back, to lean into her and breathe her in.
Later that day, Tara and I are clocking in a few hours of our community service.
“You missed one.” Tara’s voice carries across the quad, where her litter picker is pointing at a random spot in the bush. She’s wearing tiny denim shorts and a UMS shirt that’s slipped off one shoulder, and I’m trying very hard not to think about how that skin felt under my lips four nights ago.
“No, I didn’t.” I don’t look up from where I’m collecting bottles.
“Right there.” She points with her picker. “Under the bench. Unless you’re afraid to get your hands dirty, Spencer?”
We’ve been dancing around each other all week - careful teasing, maintained distance, both of us pretending Saturday night didn’t change everything. It’s almost normal. Almost like before.
Except before, I didn’t know how she tasted when she laughed against my mouth. Before, I hadn’t fallen asleep with her curled against my chest. Before, I hadn’t woken up wanting to stay.
“Earth to Alfie.” A crumpled paper ball bounces off my head.
“Did you just throw trash at me?”
“Technically, I’m supposed to pick up trash.” She grins, but there’s something different in it now - like she’s not sure if she’s allowed to tease me anymore.
“Ethan’s excited about tonight,” I say, because someone has to address it.
“Yeah?” Her voice goes carefully neutral. “The pink shirt thing still stands, by the way. It would look cute if we matched. For the fake date, I mean.”
The word ‘fake’ hits harder than it should. “Right. For show.”
She’s quiet for a moment, then, “Though apparently you don’t need my fashion advice. That freshman seemed pretty invested in your wardrobe choices yesterday.”
I pause, watching her attack an innocent candy wrapper. “Are you jealous, Hawkins?”
“Of a freshman who can’t find the biggest building on campus?” She scoffs, but her cheeks flush pink. “Please. I just think it’s funny that Mr. ‘I Hate Social Interaction’ suddenly turns into a campus tour guide for pretty boys with good hair.”
“Good hair?”
“Not that I noticed,” she mutters, then louder, “I’m just saying, you’re usually so prickly with strangers. But one bat of his eyelashes and—”
“Definitely jealous.” I decide, fighting a grin.
“I am not!” The wrapper goes flying. “I’m just... observant.”
“Very observant. Especially of his hair, apparently.”
She throws her picker at me. I catch it, laughing, and for a moment it’s like nothing’s changed. Then our eyes meet and the air crackles with three days of wanting to touch her again.
I absolutely do not think about how the tailor in town is open for another hour, or how I could probably get there if I leave right after this. Just like I’m not thinking about how she felt in my arms Saturday night, or how hard it was to leave Sunday morning.
I’m distracted as we head on our fake-double-date that feels more like a real date than any other date I’ve ever been on. Which isn’t many. I keep thinking about the text I just received from my mom.
Mother
RE: the donor dinner on Thursday. You’ll bring your... friend, of course.
And make sure she wears something appropriate. Something less garish. The trustees can be so traditional.
My fists clench. Tara is too fucking good for these people. Fuck. The donor dinner. That’s why they’re really here. I can’t believe I forgot about it. Now I have to tell Tara she’s got to pretend again.
No.
I’ll figure something out; I can’t put her through that.
I try to put it aside as I walk into the restaurant.
Tara arrives in a white dress with pink flowers, and I resist the urge to adjust my newly-acquired pink shirt that cost more than my monthly grocery bill.
Not that the money really matters to me; I have a sickening amount in a trust that I get each year.
Her eyes light up. “Oh my God, you did have a pink shirt!”
“Found it in the back of my closet.” I lie, like I haven’t spent the last few hours getting it altered to fit perfectly. Like the smile she’s giving me now isn’t worth every penny.
Paige turns out to be exactly Ethan’s type; sharp, pretty, clearly smarter than him but finds his jokes funny anyway. She watches him order wine with a huge smile that makes me think maybe he’s not completely delusional about this being different.
“So,” she turns to us over appetizers, “how did you two first meet?”
I catch Tara’s shoulders tense beside me. I place a hand on her thigh under the table and I’m happy to feel her muscles relax under my fingers.
Good.