Chapter 10
ELIAS
Emergency!
We need to figure out our costumes.
Ichuckle to myself. Why does he keep starting every text with ‘Emergency!’ and all those emojis? I keep almost mistaking his messages for marketing and transferring them to spam.
You choose.
He keeps typing and then deleting it again. In the end, I put my phone down and go and do something else. When I come back, he’s finally hit send.
How up for dressing like Yoda would you be?
I bark out a laugh. I’m still grinning when I fix my hair in the mirror. Stop that.
Wouldn’t it be better to dress me as something sexy? Maybe something I can move in?
Plus, unless Ben has a thing for Yoda—in which case, we’ll have to have a talk about that—he’s not going to find me sexy if I’m dressed as a big green, furry thing. Fifty percent of flirting convincingly is actually finding the other person attractive. I’m not Daniel Day-Lewis and neither is he.
Wait, is Yoda furry? I think I’ll need to do some research if I’m going to be a nerd’s fake boyfriend.
He does that typing, deleting thing again.
Absolutely. You’re totally right. I’ll go back to the drawing board.
I imagine him stressing over there in that big house. Neglecting his schoolwork to research Star Wars costumes.
Don’t overthink it. If you want me to be Yoda, I’ll be Yoda.
He sends me a picture from a website of a costume with a long, leather waistcoat, a thick belt, a single glove and knee-high boots.
How about this?
Looks good. Where do I buy it?
You don’t have to buy anything. What size shoe do you wear?
49
What!?
15 in US sizes.
Still huge.
I smile. Is he blushing right now? Or is he so innocent he doesn’t get it? I doubt that. Ben is not anywhere near as innocent as people think he is.
Relax, I can buy boots.
Don’t worry, I have an alternative.
Does he own all these costumes? Is he a secret cosplayer? Or is he going to buy them for me?
I wish he’d just let me buy my own.
He sends me a picture of a less elaborate costume. A black tunic with a simple belt and black trousers.
This is a more relaxed Kenobi Jedi costume
Was I supposed to know what the other one was?
Cool.
Wear whatever shoes you want.
I’m guessing tennis shoes aren’t included in that.
My roommates are playing video games in the living room so I go out and ask them what kind of shoes you’d wear with a Kenobi Jedi costume.
I’m bombarded with way too many questions until I just show them the picture.
“Is this for another sorority party?” Chad asks.
“Do you think we could get an invite?” Jesse adds.
Chad elbows him in the ribs. “Dude!” He turns to me. “It’s cool, don’t worry about it.”
“It’s a frat party, and I’ll ask.”
“Really?”
They high five.
“Hey, don’t sweat it about the shoes. Let us know your size and I can find you a pair of Jedi boots from a guy I know.”
I decide not to ask too many questions and thank them.
Do you think my roommates could come to your frat party?
Are they well-behaved?
They’re house-trained, sort of.
Sure, but you’re responsible for them
Oh great.
Thanks. They’re getting me Jedi boots. Whatever they are.
Awesome! You can be Anakin then after all.
Sure.
So that’s who the first one was? I really need to do my research.
I step out of Ben’s private bathroom at the frat house dressed in my costume, boots and all.
Ben looks like he’s swallowed his own tongue again. I glance down at myself.
“Do I look stupid?”
He shakes his head. His eyes are wide, pupils blown.
Okay, so I guess I should be relieved we didn’t go with Yoda. Or would he be salivating over me dressed as Yoda?
He clears his throat. “Do the boots fit okay?”
They pinch a bit. “Perfect.”
“Elias, you look great.” There’s that cute blush again.
Ben’s dressed in a brown tunic with a robe that falls down to his ankles. Is he the Victorian lady version of Anakin Skywalker? Despite the shapeless robe covering his entire body, he still looks good.
“Who are you, again?”
Ben rolls his eyes. “I’m Obi-Wan.”
“Of course.”
My roommates are downstairs in furry brown onesies making weird noises and eating all the Doritos.
“Sorry about them,” I lean in and say to Ben.
His blush becomes furious. Am I giving off super pheromones in this thing or something?
Like nerd catnip? If I’d have known it would get me laid by hot nerds, I would have started dressing like Star Wars characters years ago.
Not that I’m expecting to have sex with Ben.
That won’t be part of the fake dating thing, right?
Either way, I think Anakin Skywalker just improved my chances by two hundred percent.
Chad and Jesse look up from their bowl of chips and make Chewbacca noises at me—see, I did my research.
“Dude, you look awesome!” Jesse says.
Chad nods his agreement.
Nate comes in from the living room and gives me a once over. “Anakin Skywalker, cool.”
Is everyone in this fraternity a nerd?
“Who are you?” I ask. He’s wearing eyeliner and his floppy hair is styled into an exaggerated side fringe.
“Gerard Way.”
I give him a blank stare.
“Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge-era,” he adds, like this is supposed to be helpful.
I nod. “Ah, cool.”
He goes to answer the door and when he comes back, he’s dragging his boyfriend in wearing a similar getup. Evan doesn’t look half as comfortable in eyeliner and the costume doesn’t work as well with his blond hair, but he’s giving it a good go.
Archer and Miles head in a few minutes later with a keg. Oh great, an entire keg of disgusting beer. At least tell me this one is alcoholic.
Ben leans in, the hem of his robe brushing against my leg.
“Don’t worry, I have something stashed away for later.”
Those cute blotches are all over his cheeks and he can’t maintain eye-contact. I wish he would just take me to this stash right now. How long is this party going to go on for?
I keep one eye on Chad and Jesse when the women start showing up. I did invite Joelle but she told me she’d rather stick needles in her eyes than go to a frat party.
“You’re really taking what I said to heart, aren’t you?” Ben says when he sees me watching my roommates like a hawk.
“What?”
“Your friends look harmless, and Nate already gave them the low-down about how to act around … women.”
I grin. So he told him about that?
“Come on.”
He nods toward the hallway and I follow. My stomach swoops at the thought of us hooking up, but I quickly push it away. No need to complicate the situation any further.
It’s been a while since I had sex, but that’s no excuse for acting like a rabid dog around my doubles partner.
Ben opens a door and pulls me inside. I’m instantly hit by the overpowering scent of laundry detergent. There’s a washing machine and dryer pushed against the wall.
Ben opens the top on one of the machines and leans in. I’m sure I saw a video like this once. Nope, definitely get that out of your head.
“Here,” he says, a grin splitting his face as he holds up two bottles.
“What is it? Beer?”
“German beer. Do you recognize it?”
“No, but I’m not a connoisseur.”
“Oh? You sure acted like one at the last party.”
He flashes me a cheeky smile.
“I’m just a person with normal taste buds. You don’t need to be a beer expert to know that stuff tasted like piss.”
Ben snorts as he leans back against the dryer, or the washing machine. I’m not sure which one is which. They look different than the kind we keep in the kitchen back home.
He pulls a bottle opener from a pocket inside that long robe and opens a beer before passing it to me.
The room is small and quiet. I hear him swallow as I press the beer bottle to my lips.
“How is it?” I ask.
“Good. But then I don’t have ‘normal taste buds,’ right?”
I roll my eyes before taking a sip. “Mm, not bad.”
Do his shoulders slump with relief? Did he really care what I thought of his beer?
“There’s two more in the dryer, but we’ll have to go back out to the party at some point.”
Why?
“Thanks.”
“It’s the least I can do.” He drops his gaze to the beer label.
“So, do you think Nate bought it? Us flirting?” I ask.
“He definitely bought you flirting with me.”
I bump him with my hip. “You’ll have to up your flirting game.”
He scoffs. “I have no idea how to flirt.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
His face is on fire, but I keep probing.
“Don’t tell me you’ve never flirted with anyone?”
“Never.”
When he looks at me, I’m struck by the pure vulnerability in his big brown eyes.
I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. “Don’t worry. I’ll teach you how to flirt.”
He smiles shyly before lowering his gaze.
“So, are we going to tell everyone we hooked up at this party?”
Ben starts choking on his beer. I give him a pat on the back until he recovers.
“I don’t think we need to go that far.”
“Why not?”
“Let’s just … say you asked me out or something.”
“Why do I have to ask you out?”
“Because everyone knows I’d never have the guts to ask you.”
I don’t know how to respond to that. How incredibly sad that a guy as intelligent, impressive and good-looking as Ben wouldn’t have the courage to ask a guy out on a date.
I clear my throat, reminding myself that we’re not really dating, and we need boundaries if we’re going to do this thing—clear boundaries.
“So, how are you with PDAs?”
His head snaps up. “Huh?”
“I mean, when we’re pretending to date? Do you want to hold hands in public? Kiss?”
His eyes get wide. “Kissing isn’t exactly pretending.”
“Okay, no kissing then. Is it a yes or no on the hand holding?”
He rubs the back of his neck and squirms. “I guess hand holding would be okay.”
“Will we actually go out on ‘dates’ or just hang out in our rooms? Pretending to be doing other things while we actually talk tactics and watch tennis highlights.”
Ben snorts. “Is that what we’re going to do on our ‘dates?’ Is that why you agreed to it? To monopolize my time to talk about tennis?”
“Well, yes.”
He swallows. Why does he look sad? I want to wipe that look off his face, but I have no idea how if I’m not allowed to kiss him.
Kissing usually works when trying to cheer someone up.
Kissing and blow jobs. He looked like he was about to have a heart attack last time I suggested sex, so I won’t do that again.
Before I can say anything, he squares his shoulders.
“I guess we could go out sometimes, just to make it look realistic. We could go to the library or out for food and talk about tennis there. And we could hang out here, or at your dorm, and watch highlights or whatever. I could even help you study if you like.”
Did I upset him and he’s still being nice to me? I feel like the world’s biggest asshole.
“Is there something I could do for you? Other than teaching you how to flirt?”
“What do you mean?”
“I feel like I’m getting the better deal out of this.”
“No, you’re not. You’re literally pretending to be my boyfriend.”
I’m about to tell him that isn’t exactly a chore when the door opens.
“Here you guys are, everything okay?” Nate asks. He eyes me suspiciously, as if I kidnapped Ben and forced him to come in here and drink semi-decent beer with me.
“Busted,” Ben says with a guilty grin. He holds the beer up.
“I’ll leave you guys to it. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“No, it’s okay, we’re coming back out now, aren’t we?” He turns to me, so I nod.
“If anyone asks where we got the beer, just say you don’t know.”
“I’ll pretend I don’t speak English.”
“Perfect.”
He flashes me a smile, but there’s sadness behind it. Was it something I said? I try to tell myself it doesn’t matter, but that feeling in my gut has other ideas. I should probably try and make whatever it is better.
For our tennis, of course.
I mingle as much as I can force myself to, waiting for Ben to take me to the laundry room again so we can drink another beer in private.
Maybe I can be a bit more tactful this time and avoid upsetting him.
I could tell him what I’d been about to tell him before Nate came in—that it isn’t exactly a chore to be his fake boyfriend.
I’m watching Ben laughing with Archer and Miles when his face changes suddenly. I follow his eyeline to a guy in a stuffy blazer and shirt. Either he isn’t in costume, or it’s the costume of a stiff rich guy.
The guy spots Ben and makes a beeline for him.
Ben’s smile is strained as he watches him.
Is this Tom?
He’s good-looking, in a polished, clinical sort of way. My stomach twists as he studies Ben in his costume.
Should I save him? I am about to be his fake boyfriend after all. Tonight is supposed to be our Romeo and Juliet moment. Eyes meeting through a fish tank and all that. Now this guy is going to ruin it.
Ben has that look on his face he gets sometimes—tight smile stretched painfully, his throat moving as he swallows.
My brain goes full caveman mode. Mine. Before I can think straight, I march across the kitchen and get between them.
I slip my arm around Ben’s waist—under the robe—his body warm under my hand as I pull him closer to me.
A little gasp escapes, and he stiffens. Was this a mistake?
He said yes to handholding, no to kissing.
But we didn’t discuss Neanderthal-like grabbing-slash-claiming in front of men he had one date with.
But then he softens against me, relaxing.
Tom hesitates before continuing toward us. The expression on his face makes it look like he smelled something rotten.
“Hi, Ben.”
“How are you? Wow, what costume are you wearing?”
Ben’s word vomiting. I have to hold in a snort as I give his hip a squeeze. Relax, I hope the touch conveys.
Tom looks up at me, then back down at Ben.
“Oh, this is Elias, from the tennis team.”
I slip my arm out from under Ben’s robe to shake Tom’s hand. I’m sure I got my point across already.
“Ben, can I speak to you for a moment?” Tom gives me a disdainful glance. “Alone.”
Ben opens his mouth. Nothing comes out.
He doesn’t want to go with this guy, he’s just too nice to say no. I’m not.
“Actually, we were about to dance.”
“We were?”
I pull Ben by the hand, out of the kitchen and into the living room where the speakers are.
A few people are bopping along to a playlist someone put on from their phone.
I grab Ben and pull him close enough to sway a little.
I could be wrong, but he doesn’t strike me as someone who has moves—any that he’d show off in public at least.
I have no idea if I’m being an idiot or a hero right now. Ben is stiff in my arms, not looking at me.
But then he relaxes against my chest and lets out a long sigh.
“Thank you,” he says.
My heart thumps. I wonder if he can feel it.
“You’re welcome.” Boyfriend.