Chapter 25
JACKSON
I’m staring at the menu, but all I can see are the words swimming together into one giant mess of you’re lying to everyone.
“My mom keeps asking when she’ll get to meet you,” Drew says. “She saw the roller rink photos on Facebook. Apparently, her book club is invested in my love life now.”
“Your mom’s book club knows about me? I’m honored.”
“They think you’re handsome,” he says while I fidget with my napkin, folding it into increasingly smaller squares.
“What’s she like? Your mom?”
“She’s…” He pauses, trying to find words that capture what I’m sure is the force of nature that is Janet Larney.
“Now that she’s with a man who treats her right, she’s one of those involved mothers.
Makes cookies for every school fundraiser, volunteers at the soup kitchen, and can guilt-trip you into anything with a raised eyebrow.
My stepdad says she should’ve been a CIA interrogator. ”
“Sounds terrifying. I like her already.”
The waitress appears to take our order, and I’m grateful for the interruption. I order the first thing I see, while Drew gets a burger like a normal person who isn’t having an internal crisis.
“Have you told your parents?” Drew asks once she’s gone.
My stomach drops. “What?”
“Your family. Have you told them we’re dating?”
Dating. That word sits heavy in my gut. I force myself to meet his eyes. “I…it’s complicated.”
“Because it’s fake?”
The bluntness of it makes me flinch. “Because if I tell them, just for us to inevitably break up after spring break, my mom will be devastated.”
Drew’s expression shifts, something unreadable flickering across his features. “Right. After spring break.”
“That’s still the plan, right? We fool the Ice Queen, let the heat die down, then have an amicable split?”
“Yeah.” He’s studying me with those hazel eyes as his thick fingers drum on the table. “That’s still the plan.”
The silence stretches between us, filled with all the things I can’t say. I don’t want to break up after spring break. I want to tell my parents about him because this thing between us is becoming more real than anything I’ve experienced.
Drew’s phone buzzes on the table. He glances at it, and his face goes pale.
“What’s wrong?”
“Gerard. He says to check the Ice Queen’s newest post immediately.”
My body goes rigid. “What now?”
Drew scrolls rapidly, his expression shifting from concern to horror to something scarily close to panic. “Oh, fuck.”
“What?” I lean across the table, trying to see his screen. “Drew, what is it?”
He turns the phone toward me, and I read the headline: Live from New England, it’s (the Ice Queen on a) Saturday Night!
The blood drains from my face as I scan the post. She knows about the bathroom. She knows about Ryan’s comments. She knows I’ve been jerking off while supposedly dating sex fiend, Drew Larney.
“Fuck,” Drew breathes, still scrolling. “She’s here. She’s watching us right now.”
My head snaps up, eyes darting around the restaurant. Every person is now a suspicious character. The woman, typing on her laptop in the corner. The guy at the bar, nursing a beer. Even our waitress, who’s been nothing but professional, could be the Ice Queen.
“We need to fix this,” Drew says, his voice low and urgent. “Now.”
“How?” My voice cracks on the word.
Drew leans forward, and the intensity in his eyes makes my breath catch. “We need to be more convincing. More…intimate.”
“We’ve been holding hands—”
“That’s not enough.” He glances around, then back at me. “She thinks we’re not fucking. We need to make it clear that we are.”
My body goes rigid. “You want to have sex in the restaurant?”
“No, Jesus.” But his eyes darken with something hungry and wild, sending electricity racing down my spine. “We need to talk about it. Loudly enough that whoever’s listening gets the message.”
“Talk about sex?” I whisper.
“Unless you have a better idea?”
I don’t. My mind is blank except for the memory of Drew pressed against me in that bathroom stall.
“Okay,” I say, nodding resolutely. “How do we…”
Drew’s hand slides across the table to cover mine, but this time it’s different.
His thumb strokes across my knuckles in a way that sends sparks up my arm.
“Trust me, Jacky, okay?” He raises his voice slightly, not enough to be obvious but enough to carry.
“I’m sorry about this morning, babe. I know you were hoping for round two before I left. ”
My face burns. I know we’re performing, but the casual way he says it, as though we actually spent the morning in bed together, makes my whole body react. “It’s fine,” I croak.
“No, it’s not.” His fingers intertwine with mine, and he brings my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles that shouldn’t be as intimate as it is. “I promise I’ll make it up to you tonight. We can try that thing you mentioned.”
What thing? My brain scrambles for something to say that sounds believable. “The…yeah. That thing.”
Drew’s eyes dance with amusement, but he keeps his expression serious. “You sure you’re ready for it? I know last time was intense.”
Last time. Like there’ve been multiple times instead of one desperate encounter that haunts my dreams. “I can handle it,” I say, trying to match his tone.
“Mm.” He leans back but keeps hold of my hand. “You said that last week, too, and then you could barely walk the next day.”
I squirm in my seat, my jeans suddenly too tight as my mind conjures Drew above me, his body leaving mine boneless and spent. Then me, wincing with every step down the hallway while Drew watches with a satisfied smirk.
This is torture. Having to pretend we’re having the sex I desperately want while knowing it’s all for show. “That was different. I wasn’t prepared for how…enthusiastic you’d be.”
Drew grins, and it’s the cocky, confident smile that made me fall for him in the first place. “Can you blame me? When you make those sounds, Jacky…”
I want to die. I want to climb across this table and kiss him until neither of us can breathe. I want to drag him into the restroom and make this conversation a reality. Instead, I force myself to keep playing along. “You’re not exactly quiet yourself.”
“Fair point.” His thumb continues stroking my hand. “Remember when Kyle almost walked in on us?”
We’re making up stories now, creating a whole fictional sex life for the Ice Queen’s benefit. “You mean when you forgot to lock the door?”
“I was distracted.” His eyes drop to my mouth. “You were doing that thing with your tongue.”
My tongue? Christ. I lick my lips automatically, and Drew’s grip on my hand tightens. “Which thing?”
“You know which thing.” His voice drops lower, and suddenly, this doesn’t feel like performing anymore. “The one that makes me forget my own name.”
The air between us crackles. Drew’s thumb traces circles on my palm, sending electric currents up my arm.
His knee shifts against mine under the table, the denim of his jeans rough against my leg.
The restaurant blurs at the edges of my vision until all I can see is the gold flecks in his hazel eyes, the slight part of his lips, the pulse jumping in his throat.
Someone drops a fork with a clatter, but neither of us flinches.
“We should probably…” I trail off, not sure what I want to say. Stop? Keep going? Acknowledge that I’m hard under this table?
“Yeah,” Drew agrees, but he doesn’t let go of my hand. “Food should be here soon.”
Right. Food. We’re in a restaurant, surrounded by people, one of whom is documenting our every move. This is all for show. Except the way Drew’s staring at me is full of hunger for something that isn’t on any menu.
“After dinner,” he says, this time loud enough to carry, “we can go back to the Hockey House. The guys are going out tonight, but you and I will be staying in…side each other. Unless you’d prefer your place?” He raises an eyebrow. “Though last time, Ryan came back early.”
Last time. Another fictional encounter to add to our made-up sexual history. “Your room’s good.”
“Perfect.” He finally releases my hand as our food arrives, but the loss of contact hurts. “We can take our time. Do it properly instead of rushing as we have been.”
The waitress sets down our plates with a knowing smile, and I realize she heard that last part. Now she probably thinks we’re the couple who can’t stop fucking long enough to eat a meal. God, how I wish that were true.
I pick at my pasta, hyperaware of Drew’s eyes on me. “You’re not eating.”
“Not that hungry.” For food, anyway.
“You should eat.” His voice carries the same concern from earlier, but now it’s tinged with suggestion. “You’ll need your energy.”
I choke on air. He’s too good at this, slipping into the role of attentive boyfriend who’s also planning to rail me into next week. Meanwhile, I’m sitting here trying not to combust from a mixture of arousal and embarrassment.
“I’m fine,” I manage, twirling the Alfredo around my fork.
“Jackson.” My name falls from his lips with such unexpected tenderness that I can’t help but meet his gaze. “Eat something. Please?”
It’s the please that does it. Soft and genuine, momentarily breaking through the performance. I take a bite to appease him, ignoring how the simple act of following his request causes heat to pool in my stomach.
We continue the meal in relative quiet, but the tension never dissipates.
His foot bumps mine under the table and I nearly drop my fork.
When he reaches for the salt, his fingers graze my forearm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from making a sound.
By the time we’re finished eating, I’m wound tighter than a wind-up toy.
“Ready to go?” Drew asks, signaling for the check.
No. Yes. I don’t know. The idea of leaving with him, of continuing this charade somewhere private, is both heady and unsettling.
Because what happens when we’re alone? Do we keep pretending?
Do we acknowledge that this whole conversation has been a lie?
Do I finally tell him that I want it to be real?
“Yeah,” I say instead. “Let’s go.”
Drew pays—insists on it, like a real boyfriend would—and then we’re standing, his hand finding the small of my back to guide me out. It’s such a simple touch, but my whole body lights up at the contact.
The cold air outside is a relief after the heated atmosphere of the restaurant. I take a deep breath, trying to clear my head, but Drew’s hand is still on my back, and his body is warm beside mine.
“Think it worked?” I ask as we head for his truck.
He considers this. “Maybe. We’ll have to wait and see what she writes next. I’m sorry if that was too much. I know talking about that stuff isn’t easy, since you’re straight and all.”
Straight. I haven’t been straight since I came to BSU. “It’s fine,” I lie. “Whatever it takes to fool her, right?”
“Right.” Something flashes across his face. Disappointment? Relief? I can’t tell. “Whatever it takes.”
We reach the truck, and Drew opens my door for me. Like a real boyfriend. Like someone who cares. And maybe he does, just not in the way I want him to.
As he walks around to the driver’s side, I close my eyes and try to get myself under control. We’re not going to his room. We’re not going to do any of the things we spent twenty minutes discussing. We’re two friends playing pretend, even if my body hasn’t gotten the memo.
But when Drew slides into the driver’s seat and smiles at me, his hazel eyes still dark with something that might be desire or might be good acting, I know I’m fucked in all the ways I shouldn’t be.