Chapter 14 #2
“Fake dating you?” He glanced down at me. “Yeah, Texas. Kind of am.”
That should have been a joke.
It did not land like one.
By lunch, the campaign had officially gone prime time.
Drew insisted that eating together counted as rule compliance and dragged me to the athletic cafeteria, which was less a dining hall and more a high-performance feeding station for people with impossible metabolisms and too many ice packs.
I had eaten there plenty of times with soccer.
But never with Drew.
That was different.
Walking in beside him changed the room.
Football players called out. A couple basketball guys looked over. My teammates turned from one of the long tables, eyes going straight to our joined hands. A girl from volleyball smiled like she knew something I did not.
Drew did not slow down.
He kept me tucked beside him, not behind him, not hidden under his arm like an accessory. Beside him. Like the room could look all it wanted and he had already decided where I belonged.
Which was fake.
Obviously.
We were in the food line when a girl with glossy black hair and a sorority sweatshirt appeared at Drew’s other side.
“Travers,” she sang. “There you are.”
My spine went straight.
She was pretty in that polished, expensive way that looked casual until you added up the hair, lashes, nails, tan, and jewelry. She slid into his space like she’d done it before, hip brushing his thigh, one hand landing on his forearm.
Again with the touching.
Was there a sign on him I couldn’t see?
Public bicep. Please handle?
Drew glanced down at her hand, then at me.
I smiled.
It was not a friendly smile.
The girl either missed the warning or had the survival instincts of a decorative pillow.
“I need your jersey for the party this weekend,” she said. “We’re doing athletes and angels.”
I nearly choked on air.
Drew blinked once. “Athletes and angels.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She tilted her head and dragged one fingernail down his arm. “You promised me last month.”
Drew’s eyes flicked to me again.
There it was.
The tiniest bit of panic.
Not fear.
Awareness.
Like he knew exactly how close I was to weaponizing a plastic fork.
“I didn’t promise you my jersey,” he said.
“You said maybe.”
“That means no in man language.”
She pouted. Actually pouted. “Come on. I’d look cute in it.”
Something hot and stupid moved through me.
Of course she would look cute in it. Everyone on campus would probably look cute in Drew’s jersey. That was the problem. His number was not sacred. His hoodie was not sacred. His bed was not sacred. He had been loose, loud, adored, touched, wanted, available.
And I had no right to hate any of that.
No right at all.
Still, I heard myself say, “His jersey is taken.”
Both of them looked at me.
Drew very slowly smiled.
The girl’s mouth parted. “Oh.”
I wanted to crawl out of my own skin.
Not because I regretted saying it.
Because I didn’t.
Drew’s gaze stayed on me, bright and wicked and something else underneath.
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s taken.”
The girl’s eyes bounced between us. Then she gave a tiny laugh and backed off with a fake little wave. “Cute. Good for you guys.”
She left.
I stared very hard at the trays.
Drew leaned down near my ear. “Careful, Calloway.”
I grabbed a plate. “Don’t.”
“You almost sounded possessive.”
“I was protecting the integrity of the storyline.”
“Sure.”
“Consistency matters.”
“Absolutely.”
“You told me that.”
“I did.” His voice dropped lower. “Still liked hearing it.”
I looked up, and that was a mistake.
His eyes were on me with that same direct heat I kept forgetting how to survive. Not teasing now. Not entirely. He looked like he wanted to drag me behind the nearest wall and thank me for publicly staking a fake claim.
And the worst part?
For one insane second, I wanted him to.
Then someone yelled his name from the football table, and the moment broke.
Drew loaded his tray with enough food for three normal men and one endangered bear, then led me to the table where his teammates had already cleared space.
Not asked.
Cleared.
Like this had been decided.
Dante was there, leaning back with one arm over his chair, dark eyes taking in everything. Jace sat beside him, grinning like he was about to enjoy himself at my expense.
“Well, damn,” Jace said. “Texas came to lunch.”
“I am not Texas,” I said.
Drew sat beside me. “She’s Texas.”
“I have a name.”
“Yeah. Babe or Texas.”
Dante choked on his water.
Jace slapped the table. “Oh, he’s gone.”
Drew pointed a fry at him. “Watch yourself.”
“No, this is fascinating.” Jace leaned forward. “I’ve never seen him bring a girl to team lunch.”
“That cannot possibly be true,” I said.
“It is,” Dante said.
I looked at him.
He shrugged. “He’ll let them come to parties. Sit near him after games. Hang around the house. This?” He gestured between us. “No.”
My stomach dipped.
Drew was suddenly very interested in his burger.
I told myself not to read into it.
I immediately read into it.
“Maybe he finally found someone mean enough to keep him humble,” Jace smirked.
“I am doing charity work,” I said.
Drew looked at me. “Baby, I’m the charity?”
“You need supervision.”
“I need eight thousand calories and a woman who can handle greatness.”
“You need a leash.”
The table went quiet for half a second.
Then Dante muttered, “Don’t encourage him.”
Drew’s grin turned feral. “You offering to put a collar on me?”
My entire face went hot.
Jace lost his mind.
I kicked Drew under the table, which did not work because his thigh was apparently made of concrete.
He caught my ankle gently between his calves.
I froze.
He went right back to eating, talking to his teammates like he had not just trapped my leg under the table. But his hand slipped beneath the edge of it and found my knee. Just rested there at first. Warm. Heavy. Quiet.
My body forgot the difference between real and fake.
Around us, football players argued about routes and professors and somebody’s terrible parking job. Trays scraped. Forks clinked. Girls looked over. Guys nodded at Drew. Every few minutes, someone would glance at his hand near my leg and then look away like they’d learned something private.
Drew’s thumb moved once against my knee.
A tiny stroke.
Barely anything.
My breath caught anyway.
He turned his head slightly, mouth near my ear. “You good?”
No swagger.
No joke.
Just checking.
That was worse.
“Yes,” I said.
His thumb moved again, softer this time.
And there it was.
The danger.
Not the public claim. Not the jealousy. Not even the kissing.
This.
Sitting at lunch with his hand on my knee while he argued with Dante about a coverage read. Him eating off my plate without asking. Me taking his water because mine was empty. Drew noticing when I shifted my injured leg and moving his chair half an inch so I had more room.
It slid into place too naturally.
Like a relationship.
Like the kind I had wanted with Tristan. Easy routines. Private jokes. Someone saving me a seat without making me beg for space in his life.
Except Tristan had always made me feel like I was waiting outside a locked room.
Drew kept pulling me through doors and acting confused when I hesitated.
This was just pretend.
Right?
It had to be pretend.
So why did it feel more solid than anything real I had ever tried to build?
After lunch, he walked me across the quad.
That should not have been an event.
It was.
Campus at noon was a stage dressed in California sunshine: palms, bikes, stone paths, perfect people pretending not to watch while absolutely watching.
Drew kept my hand in his, swinging it lightly between us like we had been doing this for months.
Every few steps someone called his name.
He answered some. Ignored others. Never dropped my hand.
Halfway across the quad, my phone buzzed.
Lana had sent me a screenshot.
@StanfordSideEye had posted a photo of us from lunch.
Drew Travers and Isa Calloway coming out of the closet real fast
I stopped walking. “Shit.”
Drew looked over my shoulder. “That’s a good picture.”
“That is your takeaway?”
“My jawline looks strong.”
“You are impossible.”
“And photogenic.” He tugged me gently back into motion. “Post something a reply…”
“No.”
“Rule one.”
“I posted dinner.”
“I posted dinner. You reposted. Doesn’t count.”
“It absolutely counts.”
“Bare minimum girlfriend behavior.”
“Fake girlfriend.”
“Still fine details involved.”
I stopped near the fountain and faced him. “You are going to be exhausting about this, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“It’s one of my best qualities.”
“It is not.”
“What is?”
I should have said shoulders.
I should have said dimples.
I should have said nothing and kept walking.
Instead, because my brain had apparently suffered a sports-related injury without notifying me, I said, “You notice things.”
Drew went still.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
His grip on my hand changed, fingers flexing once around mine. “Yeah?”
I swallowed.
“Sometimes.”
The quad noise seemed to thin around us.
For one dangerous second, he looked almost young. Not cocky. Not loud. Not the man who had announced our fake relationship to half the athletic department like he was claiming a touchdown.
Just Drew.
Watching me like my opinion had landed somewhere important.
Then his gaze flicked over my shoulder.
His expression sharpened.
I knew before I turned.
Tristan.
He was walking out of the library with Stella beside him. She had her hair down, dark and glossy over one shoulder, and he was carrying her bag like it weighed nothing. They were not touching, but they did not need to. The space between them had already been claimed.
My chest tightened.
Not like before.
Not the sharp, breathless ache of wanting something that refused to become mine.
More like touching a bruise to see if it still hurt.
It did.
Just less.
Drew’s thumb brushed mine. “You okay?”
I turned back to him.
That was new.
Noticing Tristan and choosing to look at Drew.
Drew noticed too.
His mouth softened before he hid it behind a smirk. “Damn, Texas.”
“What?”
“You looked at me first that time.”