Chapter 15 #2
Drew laughs, warming me from the inside out. “Fair point. Though I still can’t believe you didn’t defend my honor even a little bit.”
“Your honor?” I raise an eyebrow. “You made a joke about Alex massaging Gerard’s ass. You’re lucky the only damage you received was to your shins.”
“I’m wounded.” He clutches his chest dramatically. “My own boyfriend, abandoning me in my time of need.”
The word boyfriend sends a jolt through me every time he says it. I know it’s part of the act, but my traitorous heart doesn’t understand that.
“You’ll survive,” I say, stealing the last piece of his bacon as compensation for my emotional turmoil.
The rest of breakfast passes in a blur of easy conversation and casual touches. Drew’s hand on my thigh. My arm around his waist as we leave. His fingers playing with the hair at the nape of my neck while we wait for our next class.
Each touch is sweet, exquisite torture that I’m growing far too addicted to.
“You’re getting good at this,” Drew comments in the afternoon. We’re in my dorm room, studying, which has become code for hiding from the latest wave of cell phones in our faces.
“At what?” I ask, glancing up from my textbook.
“The whole boyfriend thing.” He’s sprawled on my bed, one arm behind his head, appearing unfairly attractive in ripped jeans and a BSU hockey hoodie. “Very convincing.”
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I say, aiming for light and missing by a mile.
His lips curl into that familiar grin as he pushes himself upright and slides toward me until our knees almost touch. “Yeah? What’s been your favorite part?”
You, I think. All of it. Every second. The way you look at me like I matter. The way you touch me as though I’m fragile. The way you make me forget this isn’t real.
“The free coffee,” I say instead. “Definitely the perks.”
He laughs, loud and bright, and I want to bottle the sound and listen to it whenever I’m depressed. “I see how it is. Using me for my dining dollars.”
“You’ve discovered my master plan,” I deadpan.
We’re sitting close enough that I can see flecks of gold in his hazel eyes, the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks.
“Jackson?” Ryan’s voice from the doorway startles us. I didn’t even hear him come in. He’s standing there with his messenger bag, eyes darting between us with an expression I can’t quite read. “I need to grab something from my desk.”
“Yeah, of course,” I say, scooting away from Drew even though there’s no reason to. We’re supposed to be dating. Being close is normal. Expected, even.
Ryan moves to his desk, but I know he’s watching us in that quiet, observant way of his.
He’s been doing that all week—catching my eye at random moments, opening his mouth to say something before changing his mind.
It’s driving me crazy, but I’m also terrified of what he might say if he does speak up.
“I’ll see you at dinner,” Ryan says finally, gathering whatever he came for. He pauses at the door. “Jackson?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve been meaning to tell you that I’m happy you finally told Drew how you feel about him.” Ryan’s smile is small but genuine.
My entire body goes cold, then hot, then cold again. The blood drains from my face as Ryan disappears out the door.
The silence that follows is deafening. My heart pounds so hard, I’m convinced Drew can hear it. I can’t look at him. I can’t breathe. I can’t think.
“Jackson.” Drew’s voice is careful, measured. “What did Ryan mean by that?”
My brain scrambles for an explanation, any explanation that isn’t the truth. Because the truth is that I’m in love with my fake boyfriend, and Ryan just accidentally outed me. My hands are shaking. I shove them under my thighs.
“I…” My voice cracks. I clear my throat and try again. “I had to tell him something.”
“Tell him what?” Drew hasn’t moved from the bed, but I can feel his eyes boring into me.
“About us. About why I went from denying we were together to suddenly dating you.” The lie forms as I speak, each word tasting more bitter than ipecac.
“He was suspicious. You know how observant he is. So I told him that I’d been harboring feelings for you and finally worked up the courage to say something. ”
It’s not entirely a lie.
“You told Ryan you have feelings for me?” Drew’s voice is strange, almost strangled.
“Had to make it believable.” I force myself to meet his eyes, to sell this lie even though it’s killing me. “He’s my roommate. He’d know if I was faking the whole thing.”
And now I’m lying to Drew about lying to Ryan, and my head spins with the layers of dishonesty.
I’m the worst person alive.
“That was smart,” Drew finally says right as my heart is about to explode. “Making him think that. Very method acting of you.”
Method acting. Right. Because that’s all this is to him—a performance. My chest aches with the weight of everything I can’t say.
“I’m hungry,” I say, desperate to change the subject.
“Pizza sound good?” Drew asks.
I nod, and we spend the rest of the afternoon quoting iconic movie lines at each other and stuffing our faces with cheesy slices of pizza. We argue about whether football players can play hockey and vice versa. We wrestle for the remote, and I let him win when my cock starts to stiffen.
It’s easy, comfortable, and everything I’ve ever wanted. I can only hope that it never ends.