HOLDEN
Idon’t know why it won’t go away. It was a joke. A stupid, throwaway idea said with too much alcohol.
You guys should date each other.
Ridiculous, right? Korie and I? The idea shouldn’t have stayed in my brain longer than five seconds. And yet… here I am. Still thinking about it a week later.
“Dude. Are you okay?”
I blink, dragging my attention back to the present.
Blaine is staring at me from across the table in the break room, halfway through eating whatever sad excuse for a sandwich he brought today.
“You’ve been holding that same fry for, like, a full minute.”
I glance down and cringe a little when I realize he’s right. Gross. I toss it back into the container.
Blaine frowns at me. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Uh-huh.”
I grab another fry, this time actually eating it, if only to prove a point. It’s cold and disgusting on my tongue, but I force myself to swallow.
Blaine leans back in his chair, studying me. His dark, greasy hair sweeps across his forehead, barely hiding a patch of acne. “Do you need the name of my therapist or something? You look like you’re in crisis.”
“I’m not having a crisis.”
“I didn’t say having a crisis. I said in crisis. As in your head is going to explode and you get all… twitchy.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m fine, man. I’m literally just eating lunch.”
When he tries again, I flip him off, making Cole laugh from the other side of the room.
But Blaine is not entirely wrong. My head does feel like it’s going to explode.
It’s been a broken record ever since my stupid sister blurted her stupid idea.
Every time I stop actively thinking about it, it comes back to me.
Not actually date. But like, fake date.
For whatever reason, it won’t leave me alone.
I scrub a hand over my face and say it again, if only to convince myself. “I’m fine.”
Blaine finally huffs. “If you say so.” Pushing his chair back, he throws his wrapper away, then leaves the room.
I let out a breath, dragging my hands over my face. I wish I could leave already.
Cole shifts in his seat, watching me closely as he finishes his protein shake. “Seriously, though. Are you okay, Holden? You’ve been kinda quiet the last couple of days.”
“Yeah. Just a lot on my mind.”
He waits patiently, but when I don’t explain, he just nods. “My door is open if you need it.”
“Thanks.”
I appreciate Cole, and I’m glad we’re becoming friends, but this isn’t something I can talk about. With anyone. Especially those who know Korie. They might read into it, or worse, even agree with Hattie that it’s a good idea.
I’m having a hard enough time trying to convince myself it’s not.
Forcing myself up, I chuck my food in the trash and get back to work. Two more hours of screaming kids. God help me. I hate summer.
By the time I get home, I’m irritated.
At Hattie.
At work.
At myself.
At the fact that this stupid idea has somehow wormed its way into my brain and refuses to leave.
Every time I ask myself why I’m even considering it, the only logical answer is: why wouldn’t I?
Korie has been my best friend since before we knew how to walk.
We’ve done everything together. We know each other better than anyone, can finish each other’s sentences, or read each other’s thoughts from across the room.
They see things about me I probably don’t, and vice versa.
It’s honestly kind of remarkable I haven’t gone to them for advice.
But the absurdity of it is what’s throwing me off.
I genuinely cannot imagine myself on a date with Korie. Not because we’re incompatible, but because we’re just… us. Korie and Holden. Best friends.
I drop my keys on the table and pull out my phone, texting Korie. Want to come over? I’m bored.
Not exactly the right word, but it’s better than admitting I don’t want to sit alone with my thoughts all night again.
Thirty minutes later, Korie strolls into my apartment as if they live here.
Wet from the rain, their hair clings to their head, and they wear a dark green hoodie with sleeves pushed up halfway on their arms. The wide collar drapes off one shoulder, revealing the strap of whatever they’re wearing underneath.
They toss a brown paper bag on the counter before offering me a silver-foiled monstrosity. “I brought burritos.”
I should’ve known they’d bring food. “Thanks.”
We sit on my old leather couch, feet tucked under us as we eat.
Korie makes a face at the burrito after their third or fourth bite. “This is not spicy.”
“You say that about everything.”
They hold it out to me. “Try it.”
“I’m not going to eat your burrito.”
They take another bite, becoming even more annoyed. “Ugh, it’s like they’re afraid of seasoning.”
I shove them with my toe. “Or you just have a broken sense of taste.”
They look up at me, unimpressed. “No! I have a refined sense of taste, thankyouverymuch.”
I smirk. “You put hot sauce on scrambled eggs.”
“And?”
“That’s a cry for help, Kor. Not a refined sense of taste.”
Korie snorts, shaking their head as they take another bite anyway.
The apartment is warm and quiet except for the sound of whatever playlist is on.
We talk about our day, about the group text from Korie’s sister, and the movies we want to see soon.
It’s exactly the kind of night we’ve had a million times before, which is comforting and dangerous. It’s tempting me to stir things up.
But can I? I don’t want to ruin anything between us. Fake date or not, Korie and I could end up hurting each other if we say the wrong thing, and that’s the last thing I want to do.
Still, the thought has tortured me all day.
No—longer than that.
Days.
“Hey,” I blurt before setting my burrito down. “Can I ask you something?”
They glance up, narrowing their eyes slightly. “That sounds suspicious.”
“It’s not.”
“That tone is suspicious.”
“What? How? It’s a normal tone.”
Korie shakes their head, sweeping some of their hair to the side. “It’s not,” they say flatly. “That’s your I-have-an-idea-I-probably-shouldn’t-say-out-loud-but-I’m-going-to-anyway tone. It usually gets us into trouble.”
I huff out a quiet laugh. “You’re making that up.”
“I’m absolutely not. You always play innocent before throwing us into some grand adventure.”
“I do not!”
Korie tilts their head. “Joshua Tree? Seattle? The weekend in Dallas? Those were all your ideas, dude.”
I scrub a hand over the back of my neck, already regretting this. But at least this idea isn’t mine.
“Just—hear me out, okay?”
Korie sets their wrapper aside, giving me their full attention, which is somehow worse. I resist the urge to get to my feet and pace. When I say nothing, they wave a hand in annoyance.
“Okay,” they say dramatically. “I’m listening.”
I take a breath. “I know you’re going to say this is dumb.”
They snort. “Oh, that’s a great start.”
“But,” I continue, “what if we did what Hattie suggested the other night? Just for a little while, I mean.”
“What?”
“You know. Pretended to date.”
Korie blinks at me, saying nothing. Then they lean back, studying my face like they’re waiting for the punchline. When it doesn’t come, they say one word.
“No.”
My heart sinks. I expected that. It’s exactly what I would say if the roles were reversed. But still. The more I think about this, the more I think it’s genuinely a good—if insane—idea. Korie really is the best person to help me sort my shit out.
I lean forward, my elbows on my thighs. “You didn’t even—”
“Because I don’t need to,” they cut in, reaching for their food again as if the conversation is already over. “The answer is no.”
“Korie.”
“Holden.”
“Just listen—”
“I did listen. I said no. It’s a bad idea.”
I exhale through my nose, trying to keep this light. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“I know enough.”
“Oh yeah? Then tell me.”
“You’d say that because we’re best friends, we’re the perfect people to do this with, because we know each other so well. We can call each other’s flaws out and help each other become better. But it’s stupid. We are not the right people for that.”
Fuck. That is exactly what I was thinking.
“Well, why not?”
They take a bite without answering.
“Why aren’t we the right people for it?” When they don’t answer, I push in. “It’s like you said, we know each other best, Kor. You’ve seen me fail a million times already, and I’m sure you have some opinion about why that keeps happening. So tell me.”
They brush a thumb over the corner of their mouth, chewing carefully. I wait, my leg bouncing, but Korie says nothing, finishing their burrito and squishing the wrapper into a tight ball.
“You’re always telling me I’m terrible at dating, but you don’t tell me why.”
“You’re not terrible at it,” they say softly. “I have literally never said that.”
“You imply it.”
“I don’t imply it either.”
“You do, though. You heavily imply it. Hattie too. Everyone does.” I can’t keep the pain from my voice.
Korie finally looks up at me, shoulders sagging. “You’re doing fine.”
“I’m not,” I shoot back. “I’m decent at getting dates, sure. But after that? I wing it, every time.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is.” I scoot to the edge of my seat, hands clasped. “I either overthink everything or I don’t think enough. There’s no in-between. And you”—I gesture at them—“you notice everything.”
They narrow their eyes again.
“So you can tell me what works. What doesn’t. All that stuff.”
Korie lets out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “God, Holden. You’ve put way too much thought into this.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I! This is stupid. You don’t need ‘practice.’ You’re not a project.”
I shrug. “Maybe I am. I have a long list of people who think I wasn’t worth seeing again.”
“That’s on them.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do know that.”
“You called me out about my shirt and letting Gage choose the restaurant,” I say firmly. I lean forward, elbows braced on my knees. “So help me see it.”
They stare at me for a beat, then shake their head. “No. I am not fake dating you so you can… what, take notes?”
“I wouldn’t take notes.”