For Real
Author: Chelsea M. Cameron
Date: 2013-11-11 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: New Adult; Romance; College; Contemporary; Contemporary Romance; Young Adult; New Adult Romance; School; Chick Lit; Fiction
Description: Two people. One fake relationship. What could go wrong? When virgin Shannon Travers gets fed up with her friends demanding that she find a boyfriend, she enlists the help of tattooed, mohawk-rocking graphic design student Jett. He’s more than happy to play along with their Fake Relationship, including the Ten Rules of Fake Dating that control-freak Shannon comes up with. Even if he likes to violate them. Repeatedly. But what happens when Fake Dating starts to feel… not fake anymore? Will Shannon be willing to let go and embrace the first thing in her life that’s ever felt REAL?

For Real (Rules of Love, Book One)

Copyright © 2013 Chelsea M. Cameron
www.chelseamcameron.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are use fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. All rights reserved.

Edited by Jen Henricks

Cover Copyright © Sarah Hansen at Okay Creations

Interior Design byNovel Ninjutsu

“I’m sorry to bother you, but can you watch my computer?”

“What?” I pull my earbuds out and look up to meet a pair of astonishingly golden-brown eyes set in a chiseled face under a head of black hair shaved short on the sides and left long on top and gelled to one side like a wave. From the top of his shirt peek several tattoos and both arms are also covered, but I don’t have a chance to see what they are, as my eyes are drawn back to his eyes and I’m left momentarily without words.

I fish for something in my brain to say and come up with two words.

“Yeah, sure.” Brilliant.

He flashes me a quick smile, pulls his ringing cellphone out of one baggy pocket, and dashes out of the cafe. I’ve been so immersed in working on my paper that I hadn’t even seen him come in, even though he’s been sitting at a table right behind me.

Outside, he’s strolling up and down the sidewalk in front of the cafe, talking on his phone, a smile on his face. I turn in my chair and sneak a peek at his laptop, which is open to Facebook. I’m too far away to see anything, but I know the page layout well enough. He also has a stack of books, and a notebook open with some scribbles in it. A cup of black coffee steams next to the computer. I turn back around so he won’t catch me being a total creeper. Plus, I need to get back to work. I can’t get distracted now.

I’m just starting the second semester of my junior year, and I can almost taste my degree. It tastes like victory and thick paper. In less than two years I’ll have a bachelor’s of science degree in business and be well on my way to an MBA. It makes me shiver inside just thinking about having my own office at the top of a glossy skyscraper, sitting at my mahogany desk and crossing my nylon-clad legs as I sign a corporate merger with a pen that probably costs more than the car I currently drive. Utter bliss. Yes, I want to have money when I’m older. I’ve lived twenty-one years without it. I know it can’t buy happiness, but my family was pretty miserable without it.

My phone buzzes with a text from my roommate, Hazel. I open it to find a picture of a penis.

I’ve never sexted with a boy. Just Hazel. Maybe I should look into the lesbian thing.

Shut it down, Shannon. Shut it down and focus. I breathe three times, in and out, closing my eyes and emptying my mind. Every thought drains out and I lock my eyes back on my computer screen. My paper isn’t due until next week, but I never wait until the last minute to do a paper like everyone else. You never get anywhere by procrastinating, as has been proven by both my parents and my older brother, Cole, through the dizzying array of semi-failed jobs and careers they’ve had. My brother can’t even make it as a pot dealer, his current occupation. Probably because he smokes too much of his product.

Sometimes I’m convinced I was adopted. Even though I look like the rest of my family, with dishwater blonde hair (that I cover up with highlights) and blue eyes, I don’t act like a single one of them. I’ve heard my parents wonder more than once if I was possessed. They were joking, of course, but it still stings when they point out what I’m already painfully aware of, that I don’t fit in. I’m the black freaking sheep.

“Thanks.” The laptop guy is back. He braces his hands on my table and leans down so his face is close to mine. Dude, invade my personal bubble much? “I don’t normally trust strangers with my stuff, but you look . . .” his eyes skim their way up and down my body, and I shift under his scrutiny. “Trustworthy,” he finally says.

Well, I probably do. I have to go to work in the operations department of a local bank later, so I have a black pencil skirt with a white blouse tucked into it and my cute-but-comfortable tan pumps on. In contrast, his shirt has a cartoon robot splashed across the front and his jeans are really baggy, but not sagging too much. It would be clear to anyone looking at us side-by-side that we have next to nothing in common.

“I think that’s a compliment,” I say as he straightens up and starts moving back toward his table.

“That’s up to you,” he says, walking backwards and finally sitting back down. I turn back around, shaking my head. Whatever.

I start putting my earbuds back in, but stop when someone taps me on the shoulder.

“For your trouble,” he says, as I slowly turn around to see him standing right behind my chair, holding a plate out to me with a scone on it. “Raspberry scone?”

“Uh, no. Thank you. I’m good.” I just polished off a blueberry muffin and I’m on my second cup of black tea.

“You sure? This is a really good scone. You could wrap it up and take it home with you.” He waves the plate in front of me, as if that’s supposed to entice me.

“No, thanks.” I turn around again and hope he’ll go away.

“Fine, then I guess I’ll just owe you one.”

I turn my music back on and ignore him. Saint-Sens fills my ears and drowns out the rest of the noise in the cafe as I pull my focus back to my paper.

An hour later, I type the finishing touches and start packing my things up. The guy is gone, and I’ve been too absorbed to notice when he’d left. My chances of seeing him ever again are slim, since Central Maine University has nearly ten thousand students, and most of them are commuters.

I say a quick prayer before turning the key on my Crown Victoria (which I got dirt cheap because it was a former police car), hoping it’ll start. Thankfully, the engine engages with a minimum of sputtering and I drive from downtown Hartford to the next town over, Deermont, where my job is. I park near the back of the building and swipe my card in the door. I have just enough time to get to my desk, turn my computer on and clock in. So far, I have never been late. Not only because I hate being late, but I’m also terrified of my boss.

My cubicle is near the back of the building, in the “farm” as everyone calls it. I say hello to a few of my coworkers, most of whom are fellow students. My favorite coworker, Amelia, isn’t working today. Bummer. Nearly everyone else’s cubicles just has a few papers or photographs, but hers is covered with her drawings and positive notes and pictures of butterflies. Amelia’s the sunniest person I’ve ever met. Sometimes she’s too much, but things never seem too bad when she’s around.

I have a stack of loan files that need to be scanned, so I start with removing the staples from all the pages. Yes, it’s as boring as it sounds, but at least I can listen to my music. I put my earbuds back in and get to work. This is what I need to do to get where I want to be. Everyone has to start somewhere. I have to pay my dues, even if that means removing staples from a two-hundred page appraisal.

Three hours later, I am ready to go back to my apartment and get busy on more homework. I’m fishing in my purse for my keys when my hand closes on something. It’s a paper crane folded out of notebook paper. What the heck? I don’t know where it came from, but I know that it wasn’t in there this morning. My mind drifts back to the café, and the guy with the laptop. Maybe he dropped it in there?

It’s a weird thing to do, so I hope it was by accident. He’s Asian, so maybe it’s just a thing that he does to celebrate his culture? God, is that racist? I don’t mean it to be.

I turn it over in my hand as I walk to my car, my heels crunching on the pavement. Cranes are supposed to be good luck or something, so I set it on my dashboard. I don’t really believe in superstition, but you can never be too careful. I don’t want to risk any bad mojo.

“I’m baaaaack,” I say as I unlock the front door to my craptastic apartment. I shuck off my heels and sigh in relief. There is nothing quite as nice as taking your heels off at the end of a long day. Except maybe taking your bra off. Men could just never understand that.

“How was work?” Hazel, my roommate, is hovering over a pot of something in our microscopic kitchen. This could be bad.

“Fine. What are you making?” I say, setting my bag down and trying to avoid the kitchen, in case this turns out to be one of her experiments.

“Relax, it’s from a box.” She holds up an empty box of mac and cheese. I don’t breathe easier, because she’s definitely messed that up more than once. “And I bought a pre-made salad and there is ice cream. So we’re good.” Only then do I let out a breath. She holds the spoon out and I take a bite. Phew.

“I swear, every time I cook you act like I’m feeding you poison.” Hazel and I had become friends two years ago when we’d lived next door to each other in the dorms. She’d had issues with her roommate, I’d had issues with mine, and we’d ended up moving in together halfway through the year. We’ve lived together ever since. We were both poor as all get-out, but we’d managed to find an apartment in Deermont and it hasn’t fallen apart yet, although it’s held together with duct tape and staples.

As much as we get along, Hazel and I are visual opposites. Her skin is gorgeous and dark and she tans within twenty seconds of standing in the sun. Her dark hair curls in perfect rings, unlike mine that tends to do its own thing and be curly on some days and not so curly on other days.

With the kind of figure that made guys eyes pop when she dances, she definitely gets more attention from the opposite (and sometimes the same) sex than I do.

“You going to work?” A few months ago, Hazel had gotten herself a job as a bartender at the campus bar a few nights a week. It’s a little bit classier than some of the college establishments, but the tips suck, so it’s a tradeoff. At least, if one of the patrons gets rowdy, she can call campus security and they actually show up.

“Yeah, in an hour. Remind me why I didn’t sell my organs online to pay for my education?” I grab a fork and start stealing bites of mac and cheese from the pot. I’m starving, so I’m willing to take a risk.

“Because it’s illegal?”

“Right. That. They might frown upon that at law school, yes?”

I nod and she gets a fork, too. We often eat dinner like this. Less dishes to wash.

“Usually.”

We finish off the pot and then share the salad from the plastic container as we sit on the couch and work on our various never-ending homework assignments.

“So it’s going to happen tonight,” Hazel says as she puts on the tight shirt she always wears to work. It shows a lot of cleavage, but she gets better tips that way. I don’t hate the player, I hate the game in this instance.

“What’s going to happen?” I already know the answer.

“I am going to find a nice young man to pop that cherry of yours.” She jabs her fork at me and I back up so she doesn’t stab me with it.

There it is again. The reminder that I’m a card-carrying member of the Virginity Club. I wish I had some good reason, that I was saving myself for Jesus, or my parents had put the fear in me, or told me that if I had sex with a boy that my ears would fall off and I’d gain forty pounds, but I have no such excuse.

The truth is, boys are just gross. Part of me is still semi-convinced they have cooties.

I’ve sort of dated, but every time I think about getting physical, or close to a guy, he smells weird, or has hair on his knuckles, or burps or does something else to completely turn me off.

I’ve been on a few dates here and there, but usually I have to send out an emergency call to one of my friends. In high school, rumors went around that I was a lesbian, and I went ahead and let them spread. Of course, then girls started hitting on me, but they were easier to fend off.

I thought that in college, I’d have the chance to maybe meet someone. But, here I am, well into my junior year and that fellow hasn’t shown up yet. Sure, there are plenty of guys on campus, but a lot of them are taken. Or gay. Or taken and gay. Or total and complete douchebags. Or budding alcoholics. Or gay, taken, douchebag alcoholics.

Since my friends have always struck out when it came to setting me up with a boy in order to make him my boyfriend, they’ve lowered their expectations to just getting me laid.

I don’t exactly advertise my virginity, but it always seems to come up when people are drinking and swapping stories, and I get red-faced and run away to the bathroom when everyone starts talking about their first times.

“How many times have I told you I’m set? It will happen when it’s supposed to happen.” This is always my response. Even though it’s probably bullshit.

She shakes her head, her curls bouncing. “Don’t give me that fairy godmother, dreams come true shit. We don’t need to find your prince charming. Just a non-skeezy guy to do you a service. Think of him as . . . a plumber.” She scrapes the bottom of the salad container for the last few croutons.

“A plumber? Have you ever seen a sexy plumber? Outside of a porno?” One of the other things my friends have done to try to make me want to have sex is make me watch it. I’d only lasted about five minutes when I had to run away and beg them to shut it off. Seeing other people . . . doing things like that? I don’t understand how anyone can find that sexy. Plus, the girls were like, unbelievably flexible. No way I can contort myself like that.

I’d been branded as a prude from then on.

“Why are you so hung up about it? I know you have a little battery friend.”

“Yeah, so? I’m a virgin, but I’m not supposed to know about my own body?” Hazel has also surprised me a time or two when I thought I was alone. “I have a sex drive, Haze. Being a virgin doesn’t stop me from having sexual feelings.”

In fact, I probably have more than the average girl, just because they are so . . . pent up.

“We just need to take those sexual feelings and transfer them to something with a penis. A real penis. With a boy attached to it.”

I shake my head and go to take a shower.

When I get out of the shower, Hazel yells to me that she’s going to work. I change into my favorite sweats and start on some more homework. I’m NEVER done with homework. Or maybe it’s never done with me.

As soon as I finish everything on my To Do list, I finally allow myself a reward: a few chapters of the book I’d gotten last week. It’s a heart-wrenching contemporary, and I know it’s bound to make me cry. Hazel is always telling me that I’m missing out on the college experience, but I’d rather not wake up on the floor of a strange apartment, under a strange naked guy, not knowing how I’d gotten there. If that makes me a loser, then I guess I’ll wear that label proudly. I can party when I’ve gotten what I wanted.

I plug my phone in, making sure the alarm is set for seven, and shut the light off. I try to go to sleep, but my mind is busy and chattering in my skull and making it difficult. I don’t like to dwell on negative thoughts, because they’re rarely productive, but tonight they seem especially loud. I blame it on the encounter with Laptop Guy.

Maybe the reason I haven’t found a good guy is that he doesn’t exist. That there’s something in me that’s . . . allergic to them. I’m attracted to them, sure, but the moment things get close, I just . . . can’t go any further. I find flaws and they turn me off.

I’m a control freak. No one needs to tell me that. I’ve known it my whole life. Ever since I freaked out when my mom didn’t put the crayons in the box exactly the way they’d been when we’d opened it. I’ve always needed order, and things to be just so. It’s a wonder I don’t have Obsessive-compulsive disorder. Hazel is always telling me I should get tested when I spend fifteen minutes rearranging the plates the right way after she’s unloaded the dishwasher.

Sex is one of those things that’s a complete loss of control. You give yourself up, in your most vulnerable state, to another person, and they give themselves to you. I don’t think I’m ready for that. For the . . . intimacy. I mentally gag on the word.

I spend the rest of the night tossing and turning and thinking about sex until it’s too much and I have to get myself off a few times just so I can sleep. Can you be a nymphomaniac if you only have sex with yourself? Finally, I fall into a semi-restless sleep, and I’m grumpy when I get up the next morning.

Hazel’s passed out in her room, so I make sure I’m as quiet as I can be while I get ready and drive to campus for yet another day of my undergraduate career. I’m setting my travel mug in the cupholder when I notice the paper crane. Shrugging, I toss it in my bag. It can keep my pens company.

I end up carrying the crane with me for the rest of the week, but I don’t see Laptop Guy again. Hazel also hasn’t been able to find me a guy at work, so on Friday night I’m told, for the thousandth time, that I must get myself ready to go on the prowl. Fun, fun, fun.

Sometimes, I wonder if I should just tell my friends to go fuck themselves. To leave me alone about it. I can picture how that would go, and it wouldn’t stop them from continuing to try. It would probably make them work even harder, actually. So, I curl my hair, put on my “going out” make-up, which is a little sexier than my normal make-up routine, and make sure that my boobs are boosted and show to good advantage. There aren’t a whole lot of social options around, and the local bars are more than happy to cater to the collage populace. Despite the fact that Hazel works in a bar, the only thing she seems to want to do with her time off is . . . go to a bar.

“Are y’all ready yet?” Jordyn, our resident Southern Belle (who completely denies it, despite the overwhelming evidence), stands in the kitchen and taps her heel on the floor. A South Carolina girl at heart, she’s somehow convinced that her upbringing left no impression on her.

She pulls some gum out of her purse and hands me a piece as she fluffs her brown hair that certainly doesn’t need any fluffing. Jordyn has a tendency to go for big loose curls that flounce on her shoulders and down her back, and she’s no stranger to a teasing comb.

“Hazel is taking her time,” I say, adjusting the strap on my heel. Jordyn rolls her eyes.

“Are you guys coming?” Daisy pops her head in the front door, followed by Cass. They’re both statuesque and tall (the bitches), Daisy with dark shoulder-length hair, and Cass with a strawberry blonde bob. They’ve been friends since high school and I’d adopted them our first week, back in our freshman year, when I’d bumped into them after having a wardrobe emergency in the dorm bathroom.

Jordyn is the newest of the group and Hazel had met her in one of her classes last year. Strange how you can have one encounter with someone that forms a friendship that can last years.

Sometimes I wonder if the reason I can’t get a guy is because I only have friends who are girls. I can talk to guys, certainly. I’m not a complete social defect. I just . . . have a tendency to say embarrassing things in front of guys. Or do embarrassing things. Or both. And then I have to run away to my friends and they admonish me and then I beg to go home.

“Tonight is the night!” Hazel says, banging her bedroom door open and striking a pose in the doorway. A shiny black top slinks over her torso, paired with her tightest jeans and her BBs (bitch boots).

“Tonight is what night?” I ask, even though I know the answer. We’ve done this routine enough times.

“Tonight is the night, you, Shannon Travers, are getting laid.” She draws out the word “laid” and swivels her hips around, as if she’s having sex with it. Dread churns in my stomach.

The other girls cheer and clap and I die a little inside.

“Um, may I remind you how many times you’ve tried this before? And how many times has it worked?” I say, tugging on my shirt so it’s even.

“This time, I have a feeling. My Hazel senses are tingling,” she says, wiggling her nose. Oh, she is asking for it. I spank her and she shrieks.

“Yeah, I think I’m feelin’ you,” Jordyn says, and Daisy and Cass nod as if they’re one person.

“It’s happening, Shan,” Cass says, patting me on the shoulder. It’s not reassuring. I don’t have any hope for tonight.

None of them are virgins and Cass and Jordyn both currently have boyfriends. Daisy is fresh off a break-up and Hazel doesn’t date. Any way you slice it, I’m the fifth wheel. Their unfortunate virgin friend.

I hate it.

They’re still going on about getting me a man as we pile into Cass’ car. It’s her turn to be the DD and she isn’t very happy about it, judging by her constant grumbling. I should have just taken her turn, but I’m going home with a guy, if they have their way. I swear, one of these days they are just going to pay someone to take me home. Or maybe pool their money and buy me a mail-order-virginity-taker.

There is a general cheer that goes up when we pull into the parking lot of the least-sketchy bar in Hartford. I tell them I’m cheering on the inside.

I allow myself one last inhale of cool fresh air before my friends drag me into the darkness, heat and noise of the bar. Here goes nothing.

Alas, it’s just like all the other times. We all order Sex on the Beach drinks, find a spot, and my friends start scoping while I wait to enjoy dancing. I might be a control freak, but contrary to what my friends believe, I do love letting go on the dance floor. I did dance team in high school, but it conflicted with my other activities so I had to give it up after graduation. I miss it all the time. There’s something wonderful about knowing your body and how it moves and escaping into a song for a while. The world blurs, and I don’t feel awkward and out of place. But we can’t dance until I’ve rejected at least three prospects. Or that’s how the routine goes.

“What about him?” Daisy says, sipping her drink and leaning down so I can hear her. She jabs her chin at a cluster of guys at the bar. “Gray shirt, baseball cap.”

I try to study the guy with an objective eye. He’s turned sideways and talking to another guy. They’re both nursing Bud Lights. If you looked up “average twenty-something male from Maine” in the dictionary, that guy’s picture would pop up. Just . . . generic. Average. He does have nice arms, I suppose, and a nice smile. But he probably doesn’t read, ever, and he’s probably really into sports. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a guy who makes fun of me for getting excited about a book, and then turns around and gets even more excited about some stupid sports team.

I turn back to Daisy. She should be looking for her own man, but here she is, trying to help me out. I can’t get mad at her for that, can I?

“Well?” she says, sucking the last of her drink down. I look back at the guy, who has sensed us staring at him, and looks over.

“Meh,” I say, shrugging. He isn’t virginity-losing material. If he’d even be interested in me anyway. Right now he’s staring at Daisy, who is oblivious.

“You’re impossible,” Daisy yells, shaking her head as she goes to get a second drink. The guy tries to talk to her, but she ignores him.

We finally head out to the dance floor, have some more drinks and I turn down some more guys. My friends all get approached, and they try to steer whatever guy trying to hit on them to me, but I manage to give off enough of a repelling vibe that their eyes slide right over me. On the rare occasion they actually want to talk, I spend the time giving them one-word answers while counting up their flaws in my head. Crooked teeth, weird cologne, wart on index finger, won’t stop calling me “dude”, doesn’t understand that “irregardless” isn’t a word . . .

They finally get fed up with me and insist that I at least talk to someone for five minutes. Hazel even got a timer going on her phone. I guess I could do that. Five minutes wasn’t going to kill me. I scan the bar, looking for someone I could comfortably converse with for five minutes without wanting to kill myself or run away.

And then there he is. Like a lighthouse on a foggy evening, Laptop Guy from the café walks in the door. My savior. I nod to my friends and point at him. They all give me a thumbs-up, so I walk over to him, with what I hope is confidence. He appears to be alone, which is even better. His eyes scan the room, like he is looking for someone, and then they stop on me. I lift my hand and give him a little wave.

“Hi,” I say. Or yell. The music is pretty loud at the moment. I can feel my friends staring at my back.

“Hi. Nice to see you again.” He smiles and my knees go wobbly. “Do you, um, come here often?” Wow, he’s nervous now? He’d been so confident at the café.

“Yeah,” is my brilliant response. “I mean, I don’t come here a lot, a lot, but I come here sometimes.” Even more brilliant.

“Do you want a drink?” I motion to the one already in my hand. I wonder how many minutes have passed. I must be close to being done. Would they come get me when I was done? Would they yell or make a buzzer sound?

“Oh,” he says. “Are you here with someone?”

“Just some friends. They’re right over . . .” I trail off because my friends are not where I left them, watching me fumble through my five minutes. I do a quick scan of the room and they aren’t there. What the hell?

“Um, they were right there. Can you give me a second?” I went for my phone, but remembered I’d left my purse at the table. It was gone. They’d taken my purse hostage to make sure I talked to him. They were probably in the bathroom having a good laugh, or maybe hiding in a corner. Yup, there they were. They spotted me and Hazel pointed at my purse and shook her head.

“Something wrong?” Laptop Guy says.

“Nope. Just having an absolutely sucky night.” They thought it was funny, and I might have, if they hadn’t been so pushy and insistent so many other times. It isn’t a harmless joke. Not to me. And that is when I snap and decide I’ve had enough. I turn to Laptop Guy and say something that I have never said to a stranger before.

“This is going to sound really weird, but could you take me home?” Laptop Guy’s eyes go wide for a second and he laughs and shakes his head.

“Well, if you put it that way . . .”

Now it’s my turn to be shocked. “Oh my God! I’m not asking you to . . . you know . . . I just need a ride. In a car. Like, I need you to get in your car with me in the passenger seat and take me home. Driving. Just driving. Not a euphemism.” I’m glad the bar is dark enough that he can’t see my face flame up.

Yup, I can add this moment to the list of reasons I’m forever single. I sniff and try not to look behind me at my friends.

“Yeah, of course. You must be desperate if you’re willing to ask a stranger.” That’s one word for it.

“You’re not a stranger, exactly. You’re Laptop Guy.” He laughs again and I feel a tiny bit better. At least there’s one person who’s willing to be nice to me.

“I was going to meet my roommate here, but I can’t find him anyway, so come on.” He holds the door open for me. I don’t even have my coat, since they have that, probably so I couldn’t leave without telling them first. I don’t look back as Jett and I exit the bar and walk toward his car. “Also, although Laptop Guy is the name on my birth certificate, I go by Jett. It’s actually my middle name, but no one can pronounce my actual first name.” Cool guy, cool name. Not a lot of guys could pull off a name like that. But he definitely wouldn’t have passed as a Winston or a David.

“Hi, Jett, I’m Shannon.”

He leads me toward a car that seems to have been assembled by taking apart several other cars and welding them back together in a sort of patchwork vehicle. It isn’t even all one color.

“Um,” I say as he holds the door open for me.

“It doesn’t look like much, but it’ll get you where you need to go. You scared, princess?” Okay, so I’d asked the guy for a favor, and I know his first name, but he’s calling me princess now? That’s a little too . . . familiar. He must have seen the uneasy look on my face, or my hesitation to get in the car.

He backs up immediately. “Whoa, okay. I’m sorry. If you want, I can call you a cab.”

“No, it’s fine,” I say sliding into the passenger seat. I thought it would reek of oil, or dirty socks, but it smells really nice, as if he’d just cleaned it and also has an air freshener hidden somewhere. He gets in and clicks his seatbelt. I look at the front of the bar and see my friends. Or whatever they are now. I glare at them. I wish the identical looks of shock on their faces were more satisfying, but they aren’t. Hazel starts to walk toward the car.

“Um, if you could go, that would be great.” Jett manhandles the shifter into submission and we take off, driving right past my friends.

“You know them?”

“Yeah. They’re on my shit list right now.” Jett nods in understanding and then puts his arm around me.

“You also might want to smile like I’ve said something funny,” he says as he slowly drives past them.

“Well, say something funny, and I will.”

He turns his head and says one word.

“Penis.”

This causes me to burst out laughing just as we drive by my “friends”, my head thrown back as Jett laughs with me and punches the accelerator and we screech out of the lot, the tires definitely leaving marks behind. As soon as we’re out of sight I duck from under Jett’s arm. I can’t believe he made me laugh.

“Thanks for that.”

“Anytime. So where can I take you?”

Now I have to ask him another favor.

“Here’s the deal. I can’t go back to my apartment right now, so could you just, drop me off somewhere and I’ll take a cab home in a little while.”

Jett shakes his head and pulls the car over on the side of the road.

“There is no way I’m leaving someone who looks like you alone on a Saturday night. I know we just met and all, but if you need a place to go, you can come to my place. My roommate is still MIA. Or we could go somewhere else, but I’m definitely not abandoning the girl who guarded my laptop.”

“You really . . . you really don’t have to do that. I can um . . .” I really don’t have anywhere else to go. I really don’t. Unless I want to camp out at the library. Been there, done that.

“I’m not a serial killer, I swear,” he says.

“Um, that’s probably what a serial killer would say. I mean, it’s not like they walk around wearing t-shirts, or carrying signs. ‘Hello, my name is Jake and I’m a Serial Killer’.”

“True. But a serial killer probably wouldn’t bring up serial killers. You know, because that would be too obvious.”
He does have a point there.

“So can I take you back to my place?” he says, putting his hands back on the wheel. “In a completely non-creepy, non-sexual, not-trying-to-pick-you-up-way?”

I sigh, because I really don’t have another choice. Unless I ask him to take me back. No, I can’t do that. I’m following through.

“Sure.”

“Well don’t sound so happy about it,” he says, chuckling as he signals and pulls back onto the road.

“I’m sorry. It’s just been a sucky night. It’s a long story. I’d rather not get into it.” He nods in understanding. It’s also an embarrassing story.

“Well, I’m just going to say that a true friend will never make you feel like shit. Just my opinion.”

I don’t know what else to say, because I’m terrible at small talk and usually say the wrong thing, but Jett appears to be gifted in that area as well. I learn that he’s a graphic arts major and he’s also twenty-one. He asks me about my major and some of my classes. It helps me stop thinking about how angry and hurt I am and I find myself smiling and laughing. Jett is infectious.

It turns out we’d actually had a class together last year and start talking about the insane professor and before I know it, we’re pulling into the driveway of what probably once was a building, but only loosely resembles one now. It had been painted and re-painted so many times that I can’t tell what color it’s supposed to be anymore. The windows look like eyes and they’re sagging so much they made the house look depressed.

“Yeah, it’s a shit shack. But I’m shit poor, so it kind of fits, yeah?”

“No, it’s, um . . .” I struggle to find anything nice to say about it. “Okay, fine, it’s a shit shack. But I’m sure you did the best you could with it. Mine isn’t much better.” I’m being kind. I thought my place was bad, but it’s a mansion with a fountain and a circular driveway compared to this, and the trailer I grew up in was the Four Seasons.

He laughs and comes around to open my door before I can do it. I’m so surprised I can’t stop a look of shock from going across my face.

“Sorry. It’s a habit. My parents were kind of strict.” His normally happy demeanor drops for a minute. Then his smile is back in place and he’s leading me to a door that he has to unlock with two keys and two kicks before it will open.

“There’s also a secret password if the kicks don’t work,” he says as he lets me into the apartment.

“What is it?” I whisper. He leans down and his breath is warm on my ear. In a really nice way. Not a creepy way. He also smells good. Not sweaty or too much Axe-y. Just a hint of . . . deodorant maybe? Something fresh and clean that might have a “rainforest” on the container. It’s delicious. I kind of want to keep smelling it, but he moves aside.

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

“So you are a serial killer then.” He just laughs. I give him a look, but he keeps walking.

“Do you want the tour?” He motions at the living room, which has one of those uglier-than-sin (or, if it’s possible to be uglier than that, this one is) plaid couches that he’d probably picked up at a yard sale, a coffee table covered in cup rings and empty red plastic cups, pizza boxes and other man trash.

“Yeah, sure,” I say, trying not to look down at the floor as he leads me through the living room to the back where there’s a postage stamp-sized kitchen complete with yellow cabinets that are probably from the 1970s and appliances that are at least that old in that ugly green someone must have been high to think was attractive.

Jett rubs the back of his neck and I can tell he’s kind of embarrassed by how messy it is. Dishes in the sink, more pizza boxes on the counter and just a hint of old beer smell.

“Yeah, I gave up on cleaning out here. My roommate just messes it up again. He’s a decent guy, he just doesn’t understand that you have to clean on a regular basis.” He hurries me out of the kitchen.

“Um, bathroom is here. At least that stays clean, because I’m a little obsessive about it.” He points to the door where the bathroom is and I tell my bladder that it’s going to have to hold on for however long I’m here, because there is no way I’m going to use it, no matter how clean he assures me it is. I’d rather pee in the woods.

“And, um, this is my room,” he says, pushing open a door off the living room and right next to the bathroom. I try to prepare myself for it to be disgusting, but it isn’t at all. In order to cover up the horrible dark wood paneled walls (who EVER thought that was a good idea?), he’s hung posters of famous paintings and interspersed in between them are what I can only assume is his own art. Half-finished drawings done in ink on white paper, some with color, some without.

The room is small, but the art makes it feel a little bit bigger. The only furniture in the room is a bed with a bright red comforter on it, a desk covered in paper and stained by various art supplies and a dresser with a lamp on it. The room is clean and orderly, and there even seems to be an order to what’s where on the wall.

“Wow. Did you do this?” I cross the room and point at a half-done picture of a young girl. It’s almost Da Vinci-esque in its simplicity.

“Yeah. That’s my little sister River. She’s nine in that picture.” His voice gets tight and sad again when he mentions her. There’s definitely some family drama there. I know all about that, but I don’t want to seem weird by saying anything, so I just kept looking at his wall.

I also notice that he has several paper cranes made from different materials pinned here and there, and there are some scattered on the dresser.

“Sometimes I freak out and making those calms me down. It’s a habit now, I guess,” he says as I pick one up off his dresser that’s made from what appears to be a test he’d gotten a good grade on.

I turn around and he’s still standing in the doorway. Oh no. This is one of those times when I’m bound to say something stupid.

“Sometimes when I freak out, I imagine what kind of underwear people are wearing based on their personality. You know how they tell you to picture people naked when you’re nervous about public speaking? That freaks me out, so I imagine what their underwear is. Not that I’m doing that right now, because that would be weird—” Thankfully, I’m able to cut myself off there as my face goes redder than his comforter and I drop the paper crane.

He just looks at me like he doesn’t know what to make of me and then shakes his head and starts laughing.

“Whatever works for you, I guess.” I die a little inside and pray that he asks me if I want to go sit in the living room.

“You wanna watch a movie or something?” He jerks his head at the living room.

“Yeah, sure.” Still, mortified, I leave his room and he shuts the door again.

“Oh, yeah. Let me tidy this up first.” The couch is covered in crap, including a few hoodies, takeout boxes and more red plastic cups. Part of me wants to take them and build a fort. If they were clean, I might attempt it.

Jett mutters to himself and cleans the couch off, goes back to his room and comes back with his comforter and spreads it on the couch.

“Um, yeah. You kinda want a barrier between you and the couch. Don’t ask why. Just trust me.” My mouth drops open and he laughs again. It makes his eyes crinkle up and I can’t help but smile, even though I don’t intend to. Are smiles contagious? Like yawns?

“I’m sorry. If you knew Javier, you’d get it, but luckily, you won’t have to meet him.” He sits down on the couch and pats the empty space beside him.

I stop for a moment and assess how weird this situation is. I’m going to sit and watch a movie with this guy I’ve barely met (who smells great and has a swoony smile) so that my friends will think I’m out losing my virginity to said guy. Is this my life now?

“I don’t bite, I swear,” he says and smiles again, and my stomach gets a little fluttery at the thought of sitting next to him, even though I’m terrified of the couch.

I sit down and there’s about a foot of space between us and it feels like it actually has weight and substance. A wall. He grabs the remote and turns on the television, which is a fancy flatscreen that probably cost more than all the other furniture in the apartment combined.

“It’s Javi’s,” he says in answer to my unasked question. “Okay, so we have movies with explosions, movies with robots and explosions and movies with superheroes and explosions, some really weird porn that belongs to Javi, The Hangover, Knocked Up, Superbad, Serenity and, for some reason, Mean Girls. I honestly have no idea where it came from. Sorry I don’t have more choices.”

Actually, those aren’t bad choices, except for the porn. There is no way I’m watching that with him. I like robots and explosions and all that, and I’m a huge fan of superheroes, but my ultimate choice is the last movie he mentioned.

“Have you watched Mean Girls?”

“Uh, no. It looked kind of lame.” Yup, that settles it.

“Uh, no, it is the greatest thing ever, so that is what we are watching.” I take the initiative and get up and grab the DVD box off the shelf beside the television where it’s the lone pink box. Now it’s time to figure out how to work the stupid fancy DVD contraption. I push what I think is the eject button, but nothing happens. This is why I can’t have nice things.

“Here,” his voice says and suddenly, he’s right behind me and he’s breathing on me and I can’t move. I am paralyzed as I hear his voice in my ear and he reaches around me to hit the right buttons and get the little tray that you put the DVD on to come out.

His tattoos go all the way to his wrist. I somehow make my body move and put the DVD in and turn around and I nearly crash into him, but he puts his hands on my shoulders to prevent it. He laughs nervously.

“Steady there.” My body tingles from head to toe, almost like the pins and needles when your arm falls asleep and starts to wake up. Only my whole body is waking up.

“Sorry. I’m, um, not always this uncoordinated.”

His hands are still on my shoulders and the DVD starts to play previews, but neither of us seems to be able to move. And then it’s like Jett shakes himself mentally and goes back to the couch. Takes me a second to do the same.

“Usually I wear heels and I think I’m more coordinated in them than flat shoes. That makes no sense, but it’s true,” I babble as he skips the rest of the previews and goes right to the movie menu, but doesn’t start it.

“Do you, uh, want some popcorn or something? I’m sorry, I should have asked sooner. I suck as a host. I just don’t have people over that often. Or at least, I’m not the one who entertains them. That’s all Javi.” He gets up and it’s like he needs a reason to run away from me. What? I’m completely confused. There is no way that I could have done something to make him want to run away from me. Unless, when he was standing close to me, I smelled bad.

Oh my God, do I smell bad? While he’s searching through the fridge, I do an armpit check. Nope, my deodorant is still working, and I’d sprayed a little perfume and I can still smell a hint of it, so I don’t think I smell bad. Unless, I’m one of those people who doesn’t know they smell bad, because it’s you and you’re so used to your own smell—

“I don’t have anything to drink other than beer, orange juice and water. Sorry, I haven’t bought groceries. You came on the worst night, I guess,” Jett says, interrupting my freak-out about smelling bad.

“Oh, um, water is fine.” He pours two glasses and then puts a bag of microwave popcorn in to pop and then comes back when it’s done.

He hands me the glass of water and our skin touches and I get just the teeniest bit of tingles. I can feel myself blushing, so I turn my head and reach for the remote to start the movie.

“You ready for this?” I say as he rips open the popcorn bag.

“Let’s rock it,” he says holding the bag out to me so I can have the first handful.

I hit play and then grab some popcorn. Since I have crazy small child-sized hands, I only get about four pieces, but I pop them into my mouth.

The movie starts to play and I reach for another handful of popcorn. Jett shifts closer to me, presumably so I can reach for the popcorn, but I can’t really tell. Wouldn’t it be great if boys’ thoughts would just emerge like those little bubbles in cartoons? Or maybe not. I probably wouldn’t want to know ninety percent of what they’re thinking.

“Wow, Lindsay Lohan looks really different,” he says, and I’m a little relieved. I always talk during movies, especially ones I’ve seen before, and I was hoping Jett wouldn’t be a shusher. Those are the most annoying people.

“Yeah, those were the good old days,” I say as both our hands reach into the popcorn bag. We both pull back and laugh nervously.

“Ladies first,” he says, and I grab another handful and then a huge sip of water.

He laughs at something in the movie, and I’m glad I’ve already seen it so I can figure out exactly what he’s laughing at. Let’s face it, I’ve seen this movie enough times that I could do a one-woman show and quote the entire thing.

For the next half hour, ninety percent of my attention is on Jett and the other ten percent is on the movie. He’s much more interesting than Regina George at the moment.

I’m trying to figure out what his tattoos are. His left arm is clearly a dragon’s tail that swoops all around and around and ends where it curls around his wrist. I’m guessing the rest of the dragon is up further and goes across his chest or his back. His other arm looks like it has waves on it like one of those old Japanese paintings. I want to ask him to take his shirt off, but that would be rude and kind of awkward and totally weird. He also has stuff around his neck, but I couldn’t really see what it is because his shirt is in the way. Curse you, shirt.

It’s really hard to watch someone out of the corner of your eye when you’re sitting right next to them. I’m kind of afraid that my eyeballs will get stuck that way, or that he’ll see me, but it seems like his attention is fully on the movie. He doesn’t glance at me once.

Maybe I do smell.

“This shit is funny,” he says, laughing again as I struggle to make my laugh convincing as I check back into the movie to make sure I know what’s was going on.

“Yeah, it’s one of my favorites. Tina Fey wrote it, and she’s a genius.” I have a bit of a heterosexual girl crush on her.

Jett shifts again, and his shoulder brushes mine and he moves a fraction closer to me as I try not to freak out. It’s only an inch closer and our shoulders have barely brushed. Nothing to make a big deal out of. I’ve touched boys’ shoulders before. I’ve had plenty of shoulder-touching experience. I’m not a shoulder virgin.

But still, I shiver as he brushes against me again.

“Are you cold? I can get you a blanket.” Without an answer from me, he gets up and comes back with a fuzzy blanket and places it over me. Then he sits down and pulls part of the blanket over his lap. We are sharing a blanket. This should not be cause for me to get fluttery again, but it is.

“Better?” he says holding the popcorn out again.

“Yeah, thanks.” Not much is left but the half-popped kernels and I don’t like those.

“You can have the rest.” He dumps them into his hand, crunches on them and moves closer to me again. Any moment now, my eye is going to start to twitch, or I’m going to say something dumb. I just know it.

He puts the bag down and then he rests the arm closest to me on the back of the couch, right behind my shoulders. I freeze for a moment and then lean back a little. This is the signal for him to put his arm around me, right? God, I suck at this.

The arm creeps closer to my shoulders and then, there it is. I make sure I don’t look at him, because if I do, I don’t know what will happen. I shift closer and he finally slides his arm around me.

Letting out a shaky breath, I finally look at him.

“Is this okay?”

“Y-yeah,” I say, my voice shaky too. God, I’m a freaking junior in college. I should not be acting like a sixth grader at her first dance who’s wondering if she’s going to be asked to slow dance. This is what happens when you have nearly zero dating experience. If only it was something you could learn from a book. I’d be all over that.

“Good,” he says and he pulls me closer so I’m almost resting on his chest. It’s a very nice chest. Not too skinny, but not too muscle-y. Those guys that have so many muscles that the veins stand out are gross. Hazel thinks they’re sexy, but I think she’s out of her mind.

The rainforest-y smell floods my senses and I swear he can probably hear my pounding heart as the hand that’s on my shoulder starts making little circles on my arm, as if he’s not even aware that he’s doing it.

Wow. I guess I don’t smell. Or maybe I do and he thinks it’s sexy. That could also be a possibility.

The movie keeps playing and I find myself actually relaxing, and before I know it, my eyes are closing and I’m falling asleep against Jett.

“Wake up, princess,” a male voice I only sort-of recognize says in my ear. My eyes are slow to open and I’m staring right at a chest I don’t remember falling asleep on. I lift my chin and meet a set of gorgeous brown-gold eyes.

“Hey,” he says, his voice soft as I realize I’m lying on top of him. At some point during the movie, he’d shifted under me and brought both our sets of legs up on the couch and laid back, pulling me so we’re front to front. My boobs are completely squished into his chest, which is the first thing that makes me try to shift off him.

“Um, hey,” I say as I struggle to get off him, but there’s no place to put my hands, so I end up trying to roll and he tries to help me, but I end up tipping too far off the couch, banging the back of my head on the coffee table and landing on my side on the floor with a crash.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” Is he laughing?

“Ow,” I say. I’m awake now. There’s a sharp pain in my hip, and in my skull. Jett reaches down and hauls me up.

“You’re laughing at me,” I say as I feel the back of my head.

“No I’m not,” he says, while trying to contain his laughter.

“Asshole,” I say, but he’s still holding onto me.

“Where does it hurt?” he says, finally showing some concern.

“The back of my head and my hip banged on the floor. That’s gonna leave a mark.” He walks around me and tenderly moves my hair out of the way to look at my soon-to-be-bumpy head. I go all tingly again, and the pain fades just a little. This guy is better than Tylenol. And then I feel something warm right where the bump is and I swear he just kissed it.

“And your hip?” he says, his voice low.

Is it possible to die from anticipation? Because I think I just did. Jett crouches down and I swear I’m going to have a seizure if he does what I think he’s going to do.

And then he very carefully places the lightest of kisses on my hipbone and OH MY GOD I SWEAR I CAN FEEL HIS LIPS THROUGH MY JEANS AND I’M GOING TO DIE NOW.

He looks up at me from his crouched position and his face is oh so serious.

“All better,” he says and his voice hitches a little and I realize that if I just turned my body, he would be face-to-face with my downstairs. Well, not like my downstairs has a face. It does have lips though . . .

My pondering of my downstairs face is interrupted by Jett standing up and chuckling again. I’m not sure why, but I start laughing with him because, well, I don’t want to be the one not laughing.

“What time is it?” I ask. He leans around me and looks at the DVD player.

“Nearly one.” He stretches his arms over his head and his shirt rides up and I realize four things:

One, he has tats on his stomach.

Two, it is a very nice stomach.

Three, I want to touch this stomach.

Four, I need to resist this urge.

I can’t help myself as my eyes move lower and take in the rim of his underwear that peeks out from under his jeans. I can’t tell if he’s wearing boxers or briefs. Or that weird hybrid thing. Boy underwear is confusing, but I suppose that’s nothing compared to girl underwear. Thongs, bikinis, boyshorts, hi-cut—

“See something you like?” he says when he stops stretching and I figure out that I’ve been staring.

“No. I mean, yes. I mean, what?” I look away from his face and pray to switch personalities with someone with better control over their eyeballs and mouth.

Jett just shakes his head.

I’m trying to prevent myself from saying something else dumb when the door slams open and in barges a guy who looks like he should pose in a calendar with the title “Brawny Beefcakes” or something. He’s one walking muscle and he’s also covered in tats, but his are more of the abstract, sort of black tribal-looking variety. My eyes move up to his face and it isn’t as hard as I thought it would be, but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t cut glass on his jaw.

He sees me, his mouth drops open and I swear I hear Jett groan behind me.

“It’s about fucking time, man!” He crosses the room in three strides and pulls Jett into one of those handshake-manly-hug things that’s supposed to show affection, but not TOO much affection. Because they are men, and they hug like men.

“It’s not what you think, and you were supposed to meet me at—” Jett tries to say, but another voice yanks our attention toward the door.

“Javi, I thought you said we were going out.” A girl wearing a dress so short that shouldn’t even qualify as a dress leans in the doorway, and ignores the fact that Jett and I are staring at her.

“Yeah, babe, we are. I just had to grab some condoms.” Now my mouth is the one that’s dropping open.

“Can’t have my boys going rogue on me and knocking someone up, you know what I mean?” he says to me with a wink as he goes into his room.

No, I don’t know what you mean. I look back at Jett and he just shrugs one shoulder.

“That’s Javier.” Like he needs any other introduction. I glance back at the girl by the door. Yikes. Generally, your dress should be longer than your vagina, but this girl clearly hasn’t taken that advice and is busy trying to pull it down while the dress protests that it will NOT be pulled down. She finally gives up and I quickly avert my gaze. I don’t want to see if her downstairs has a face.

“And what is your name, sweetheart?” Javier finally turns his full attention on me and the girl at the door sighs in irritation that he’s ignoring her.

“Sh-Shannon. I’m Shannon.” Please don’t say anything stupid, please don’t say anything stupid.

“Verrrry nice to meet you, Shannon.” His voice drips with innuendo.

“We didn’t have sex,” I blurt out. “I mean, not that you would think that we had, but we didn’t. I wouldn’t do that here—” I’m stopped by Javier’s hand on my shoulder.

“Whoa there. Simmer down, now.” He pats my shoulder and gives me a wink as I try to swallow my tongue so I won’t talk anymore. I can NOT look at Jett. Or the girl near the door. Javier leans close and whispers in my ear.

“Handle with care, sweetheart.” He hovers for a moment, as if he’s smelling me. I can definitely smell him. He’d pretty much bathed in that douche-y fragrance that half the guys on campus wear. Ugh.

He steps away and licks his top lip like he’s in some sort of erotic film. Dude, seriously?

“Javi?” The girl at the door taps her foot and he finally focuses on her.

“Yeah, babe. I’m coming.” He slips his arm around her and then sticks his tongue in her ear as his hand grabs her ass. She giggles and they stumble out the door.

“Soooo, yeah. That’s Javier. I’m sorry.” I finally raise my eyes and meet his face.

“He’s . . . interesting?” It sounds like a question. And that isn’t the best word for Javier. I don’t really have any words for him, and Jett doesn’t either.

“What did he say to you?” He walks back to the couch, and I can tell he really wants to know but he’s playing it off like he doesn’t.

“‘Handle with care.’ What does that mean?” I sit next to him on the couch again, being careful to avoid the coffee table this time.

Jett puts his head in his hands and rubs his eyes. He looks tired when he raises his head again.

“I have no idea,” he says, but the way he says it means that he has more than an idea. He knows exactly what Javier means, but I can’t begin to figure it out.

“Look, I should go. I can, um, call a cab.”

“No, no, you don’t have to do that. I can drive you if you want to go.” He almost sounds sad.

“I mean, I don’t want to go. I just felt kind of weird, intruding on your life.” I start to stand, but he grabs my arm to stop me.

“You don’t have to go. Stay.” His glorious eyes plead with me.

“Okay,” I say without even thinking about it and sitting back down. Wow, I’m easy.

So, what now?

“I’m really sorry about him. He’s a great guy; his delivery just sucks sometimes. He also has issues with tact. As in he doesn’t know what it is and doesn’t want to learn.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Hazel.” I don’t mean to mention her, but it’s sort of inevitable. “My roommate. She was pissing me off so bad tonight. She’s also my best friend, but sometimes she needs to back the hell off. Tonight she went too far.” And now I feel like I’m going to cry again, but I swallow it. Jett gives me a sympathetic look that I want to hide from.

“Friends can be cruel sometimes, can’t they?” I nod.

“You let them get away with things that you wouldn’t let a stranger get away with.

“I hear you.” And then we start talking. About friends, and roommates and going against the grain, and childhood traumas and random life moments. He gets me laughing again and once I start, I can’t stop.

We talk until I’m starving again, and we go to the kitchen, put a bunch of things together and make the most random nachos ever. Velveeta, black beans, tomatoes, leftover chicken, pepperonis, red peppers, onions, hot sauce.

“It looks both disgusting and delicious,” I say as we shove the concoction in the oven.

“I still think the hot dogs would have added something special,” he says, setting the timer and leaning back against the counter.

“That’s just too much meat.” I make a face.

“That’s what she said.” I roll my eyes at his terrible joke.

“Yeah, Javier is the immature one.” He smiles again and I’m struck with the urge to lick his face. Yeah, I have no idea where that came from. I have never had the desire to lick someone’s face before. Temporary insanity?

“Do I have something on my face?” Whilst I’ve been pondering the face lick, I have, once again, been caught staring.

“Nope. Nothing.” I manage to play it off. Maybe I’m getting better at this. Just requires practice.

Jett’s phone rings when the nachos are almost done. His ringtone is the sound of Darth Vader breathing and it scares the shit out of me until he answers it.

“Hey . . . No . . . No. NO. You’re drunk. Goodbye.” He looks down at his phone and shakes his head.

“I swear if I have to pick up his drunken ass again, I’m going to hogtie him, draw penises all over his face with permanent marker and take tons of pictures.”

“Javier?” I ask.

“Yeah. He’s still in a good place, drunk-wise, but one more drink and he’ll start crying about losing his cat when he was ten. If I have to listen to that again, I’m going to lose my shit.” He groans and stares at the nachos as the timer dings.

“I should probably go get him. He’s already had one DUI and he doesn’t need another.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll just call a cab. No big.” He looks at me and I feel it too. I don’t want to leave. Despite all the stupid things I’ve said tonight, I like being around him. Yeah, sure, I’ve known the guy for only a few hours, but sometimes you meet people and you click. You get each other. And if you get each other’s twisted sense of humor, that’s even better.

“I can go get him and then drop you off, if you want. The least I can do is offer you a ride.” He’d already given me a ride, let me crash at his house, let me force him to watch Mean Girls, kissed the back of my head and my hip and made me nachos. Any more and I’m going to have to owe him, or at least send a thank you card.

“Please,” he says, cutting off my protest.

“Okay, but no more, or else I’m going to owe you.” Am I flirting with him? Was that flirty? I’m a really bad judge on that kind of thing.

“I think I could be okay with that,” he says in a low voice with a half-smile. And the world ceases to spin. Or at least it feels that way.

“Oh, you want me to owe you?” Where the hell did that come from? Whatever, I’m going with it.

He bites the corner of his lip and then his phone rings again.

“Yeah, we should go.”

We pull up to a bar that’s the definition of “seedy”. I don’t really know where that term comes from, but I know it when I see it. This is it. I didn’t even know this bar existed.

Tucked into the corner of an intersection with a tattoo shop on one side and an abandoned building on the other, the brick front is crumbling, and covered in graffiti and a cacophony of neon signs for various beers. The door is propped open by a bucket filled with cigarette butts.

“Classy,” I say under my breath. Jett just pulls over to the side of the bar and parks.

“I don’t know if it’s safer for you to stay in the car, or come with.” I don’t either. A few of the people hanging outside look like lost cast members from Sons of Anarchy. Are there Motorcycle Clubs in Maine? There must be.

“I think I’ll come with,” I say and he gives me a look that says, “Are you sure?”

I fish in my purse and bring out my pink Leatherman tool.

“What’s that for?” Jett says.

“You can never be too careful. Also, it has a bottle opener.” I hold it up and pull out some of the tools to show him before we get out of the car. He automatically takes my hand, and I can’t tell if it’s to keep me close so I don’t get lost in the crowd, or for some other reason.

There’s no one at the door checking IDs, which is probably why there are several girls that barely look like they made it out of high school going gangbusters on the dance floor. Jett scans the room for Javier, but I’m having trouble seeing over everyone’s heads.

The place smells like moldy cigarettes and sticky beer with a hint of puke and sweat. They should call it The Dive. It’s also so hot in here that it’s almost steamy. Jesus, get me out of here. I grip my improvised knife, ready to attack if need be.

“There he is,” Jett says, pointing across the room where Javier has the girl with the non-dress dress shoved up against the wall. Thankfully, there are people in front of them to block my view, or else I probably could see if her vagina has a face.

Jett tugs me through the pulsing bodies and over to Javier and the girl.

“Javi, time to go,” Jett says, clamping his hand on Javier’s shoulder and pulling his face away from the girl with a sound like a suction cup being pulled off the wall. This is why I’m single. Gross.

“Hey, man. What are you doing here?” At least I think that’s what he says. I’m not fluent in Drunkish.

“Time to go home, Javi.” Jett practically spits the words out, and for the first time I glimpse something hard in him. Intense. Don’t-fuck-with-me.

I don’t understand what Javier says next, but then he notices me. I’ve been huddling into Jett because I’d rather huddle with him than with a creepy stranger, especially since my ass has already gotten slapped twice.

He slurs something at me and the girl glares and Jett starts yanking him away while still holding my hand.

Jett tows me and Javier through the bar and back out into the fresh air. Somehow Javier manages to stay on his feet, but as soon as we get to the car, he slumps against it. The girl is MIA. We’d lost her somewhere. I hope she gets home okay, and I ask Jett if he minds if we go back in to see if she’s okay.

We get Javier into the car and lay him down on the backseat. He tries to grab my boob, but I slap his hand away and he sticks his tongue out at me and then falls asleep.

“Good boy,” I say, patting his head as I shut the door.

Jett and I wade back into the bar, but we can’t find the girl with the vagina-showing dress again, even when I go to the ladies’ room and check. She must have slipped out.

“Okay, well I need to get him home and put out the hangover kit for tomorrow. Why do I let him do this to me?” He has clearly done this many times before.

Why had I let my friends hold me hostage?

I give him a sympathetic look. Javier mumbles in his sleep in the backseat as Jett drives me back to my apartment. I don’t want to go back, because I’m still pissed at Hazel, but I don’t have a choice. I’m pissed at all my other friends too, so I can’t crash at their places, and Amelia still lives in the dorms and has a roommate that is very strict about visitors.

I don’t wait for Jett to open my door this time, but he comes around anyway. The lights are on in the kitchen, so either Hazel left them on for me, or she’s still up. I have no idea what I’m going to say to her. I have a tendency to avoid confrontation, but not this time.

“Well, thanks for everything.” This is a weird way to end the evening, but it’s been a weird evening.

“Yeah, anytime. It was great hanging out with you, even if the circumstances weren’t ideal.” They were far from ideal.

“Yeah,” I say and we just stare at each other for a second. Then Jett reaches around me and rifles around in the glove box, pulling out a piece of paper. He folds it on the hood, tears it into a square and then keeps folding it until he has a paper crane. Then he takes one of the wings, writes something on it and holds it out to me.

“I’d really like to see you again,” he says as I take the crane and realize it has his phone number on it.

“The feeling is mutual.” We both sort of smile and then I finally turn to go upstairs.

“Hey,” Hazel says as I unlock the door. She’d been sitting at our tiny dining table and smoking. I HATE that she smokes in the house, but she only does it when she’s seriously stressed.

I don’t answer her. She stubs out the cigarette and pushes my phone across the table. Just being in the same room with her is making me pissed again. I should have asked Jett if I could stay the whole night because I can’t be around her right now.

“I’m so sorry, Shan. Are you okay?”

I snatch my phone and head to my room and slam the door. Being with Jett had dampened some of the rage, but now it’s back full force. I fall on my bed and wait. Only a few seconds later she knocks.

“I know you’re mad at me, but can you at least tell me if you’re okay? I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to you.” Yeah, now she cares.

“I’m fine.” I say, but that’s all she’s getting. “Just go away, Haze.”

“Please don’t be mad at me.” She sniffs and I can tell that she’s crying. “I’m so sorry.”

One of the things that she and I have in common is messed up family situations. But mine is a cakewalk compared to hers. I wait for her to leave, but she stays there, sniffling on the other side of my door.

“We’ll talk about it later, okay?”

“Okay.” She shuffles away from the door and I get up and turn out the lights. It’s been a long night.

I sleep poorly, and am up early the next morning. I go out into the kitchen and Hazel is there, looking like absolute shit. Even worse than I probably do. And she’s crying again.

“Can we talk now?” I’m not trying to punish her, and I can’t bear to see her so broken up. So I grab a paper towel and hand it to her.

“Yeah, we can talk.” I sit down across from her as she wipes her face. “Did anything happen? Who was that guy? Did you . . .” She leaves the rest of the sentence to my imagination and I can finish it. I’m about to tell her that I hadn’t had sex with Jett, but my mouth has other ideas.

“Yeah. I did. We had sex.” I mean it as sarcasm.

Hazel squeals louder than I’ve ever heard her and throws herself at me. I’m engulfed in her perfume and the rank cigarette residue. She’s flipped the switch from devastated to elated in less than two seconds.

“Oh my God! How was it? Was it good? I bet it was good. That guy had some awesome tattoos. Did he use a condom? You should probably go to the clinic now. Are you in pain? Did you bleed?”

“Holy shit, Hazel, do you want me to answer all of those questions?” She peers up at me from her spot in my lap. She’s wrapped around me like a very large koala.

“Were you safe?” I really should tell her that I hadn’t slept with Jett. But instead, I say, “Yes. We were safe.” I think I have a medical condition. My mouth has divorced my mind and is speaking on its own.

“Good. Did it hurt?” And the lies just keep coming out of my mouth. It’s like once I start with one, I just keep going and I build this story of seduction and I try to throw as much realism in it as I can. There are candles and music and multiple orgasms.

By the time I’m done with my completely untrue account of my virginity-losing to Jett, we’re on the couch and she’s playing with my hair. It did get a little messed up when Jett and I were sleeping on the couch, so it very closely resembles sex hair.

“Do you feel different now?”

“Yeah, I do.” This is the one thing that I say that isn’t a lie.

After Hazel attempts to make me breakfast, I head out to the library to study. After all the chaos of last night, I need something comforting and familiar. An hour later I’m totally in the homework zone, so I don’t notice that someone’s standing next to my table until he pushes a little crane made of notebook paper across my textbook.

“Excuse me, but I was wondering if you could watch my laptop?” Oh, hey Jett. Fancy seeing you here. This is the thing I should have said out loud. Instead I say something along the lines of “What are you doing here?” It also comes out more accusatory than I mean it to.

“Well, I heard this is where the books live, so I figured I’d come visit.” Of course his answer is totally cute and appropriate and causes me to smile.

“Are you one of those people who has to study alone, or is this seat taken?” He gestures to the empty seat across from me that I’ve had my feet propped on.

“No, go ahead, sit down.” I realize the non-wisdom of doing this a second later. No way I can focus on macroeconomics with him sitting across from me. He sets his bag down and pulls out his computer.

He smiles and starts it up and I pretend to look at my book so I won’t stare at him. But my curiosity gets the better of me.

“What are you working on?” I say.

“New website design. Wanna see?” His eyes light up even more and I get up and go lean over his shoulder. Now I’m the one doing the back-of-the-neck-breathing. It also gives me a chance to breathe him in without it being hella creepy.

Jett shows me the project he’s working on for a local band. It’s bold and bright, but at the same time clean and he even designed a logo for them.

As he takes me through the different tabs and links he’s added and I can see that the boy has talent. Not that it was ever in doubt. I find myself putting my hand on his shoulder and leaning in further. My mouth is almost level with his ear and if I tilt my head just a little I could lick his earlobe. But that would be completely weird, so I probably shouldn’t. Still, the idea crosses my mind. What is with me and licking Jett?

“What do you think?” Jett turns his head and our mouths are so close and I remember him kissing the back of my head and my hip and I wonder what those lips would feel like on my lips.

“It’s awesome, really.” I’m unable to find any other words to say about it.

“Thanks.” It can’t be my imagination that his eyes flick to my lips and then back up to my eyes. I should stop leaning, but my body doesn’t want to. Jett’s face gets really serious and I can’t stop staring him.

And then someone slams a book shut at a nearby table and I jump like I’ve been caught doing something bad.

“I should, um, probably get back to work,” I say and stumble back to my seat and sit down with a clunk.

Jett’s eyes go back to his computer and mine go back to my textbook.

It takes me two hours to read two pages. Two. Pages. Well, I skimmed more, but I don’t remember any of it. I take notes on things that look important, but I might as well be writing a stream of consciousness. I’m too busy studying the way he types so fast on the keyboard and the way his head turns to the side when he’s thinking about something and how his eyes squint just a little when he reads. Our feet keep touching under the table and we keep apologizing to each other, but it keeps happening. I swear, it’s not my fault.

Jett closes his computer and stretches his arms up, his shoulders popping.

“Do you want to take a break and get something to eat?” he says.

“Yeah, sure.” I’m still really full from my breakfast, but there’s no point in continuing to try to read because nothing is getting into my brain. I kind of regret letting him to sit down with me. But I can’t blame him for my lack of being able to focus when he’s around.

We walk down to the café and Jett orders a coffee and a bagel.

“What do you want?” Is he going to order for me and pay? This cannot stand.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I have money,” I say as the bored-looking barista waits for me to order. She’s also chewing gum and popping it. Yuck. Isn’t that against the rules to chew gum in a place that makes food?

“I’m sure you do have money, but I’ve got this. What do you want?” Jett’s sweet smile is my undoing. I order a piece of banana bread and a pumpkin chai.

“Thank you. Now I do owe you,” I say.

“No, you don’t. This is me paying you back for the help with Javi.” Oh, right. I’d nearly forgotten about him. We move to the side to wait for our drinks.

“How is he?”

“Recovered. That bastard can drink like a fish and be fine the next day. I have two beers and I’m wrecked for the entire weekend.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” The bored girl doesn’t even call out our orders, just pushes them across the counter at us.

“Did everything that you were running from last night turn out okay?” he asks.

“More or less.” I’ve gotten several apology texts from all my other friends. After dealing with Hazel, I kind of just want to be done with it.

We take our drinks and treats and sit down at the only available table. The café is packed, even for a Saturday, and I realize it must be for some sort of sporting event. Sometimes I think that I should be more involved in things like that, but then I remember how my butt feels after sitting on metal bleachers for two hours.

“Sorry about the nachos,” I say.

“Oh, it’s not a big deal. Javi ate the entire pan of them in the middle of the night. Or at least I hope he did. I found the pan empty in the morning and unless we have nacho-eating ghosts . . .”

That sounds terrifying.

“Well, hello there,” a voice I know very well says behind me. I turn and glare at Hazel so Jett can’t see.

Before I can ask what the hell she’s doing here, she speaks.

“I needed a pick-me-up before my study session.” She frequently has study sessions with gigantic books filled with itty-bitty print. She’s going to be blind by the time she is thirty, I swear.

“Oh, um, Hazel, this is Jett.” Jett looks from me to Hazel and back. I hadn’t really told him that we’d made up, but he was smart enough to figure it out.

“Nice to meet you, Jett. I hope you’re being good to her.”

And the love fades.

Jett doesn’t miss a beat.

“She’s easy to be good to, and it’s nice to meet you, too, Hazel.” He half-stands up and holds his hand out. She takes it, while her gaze skips up his arm and takes in the tattoos, and then up to his face. I can almost read what thoughts are going through her mind.

“Hm,” she says, and releases his hand.

His smile never falters as he sits back down. Hazel’s coffee is ready, so she grabs it and says goodbye, giving me a sharp look. Great. That’s going to be fun later.

“You have Javi, I have Hazel,” I say with a shrug.

“Understood. So you made up?” Oh, I don’t really want to get into this.

“Yeah. About that.” I have to tell him that the reason Hazel was being that way is because she thinks we had sex.

“Uh oh. I’m not sure I like the sound of that. It sounds a bit like doom.” Oh, if he only knew.

“So what would you say if I told Hazel that we had sex?” I mean, I’d asked him to give me a ride and pretend that he was taking me home, presumably to have sex, but he didn’t know that it was also my first time. Or would have been if we’d actually had sex.

“I would say that I don’t have a problem with that. I mean, it’s not a crazy thing to think. You’re a girl and I’m a guy and we did spend time alone at my apartment. I’d almost be insulted if she didn’t think that.” He plays it off confidently, but it’s like he’s trying to be TOO casual.

“Are you sure? Because I can set her straight. I mean, I like hanging out with you and she’s my best friend, so if we hang out again, you’re probably going to see her again and we’ll probably have to do this again.”

“It’s not a problem, I swear. It’s an honor to have slept with you. Even if it’s only for show,” he says and his face is a little red and he won’t look at me.

“Okay. Cool.” I don’t know what else to say. I’m definitely not telling him about the virginity thing. You would have to hold a gun to my head, and I don’t foresee that happening anytime soon.

There’s a beat of awkward silence as I try to move the conversation onto different and less-embarrassing ground.

“So you do want to hang out again?” Jett says, not looking at me.

“Uh yeah. Unless you don’t want to. I shouldn’t have assumed. That was dumb.” Ugh, I’ve done it again.

“No! No, I do want to hang out again. I just didn’t know if you would want to. I mean, after the disgusting apartment and Javi and everything. I wasn’t exactly a great host.” This time he looks embarrassed. It’s kind of sweet.

“I want to hang out, too,” I say.

“Okay.”

“Okay. Well, technically we’re hanging out right now. But it might be fun to do something non-academic related. Not that studying with you hasn’t been the height of awesome.” This is flirty, right?

He smiles and meets my eyes again. Wow. He’s got gorgeous eyes. I could stare at them all day. But I shouldn’t. Because that’s creepy.

“Javi thinks that we slept together,” he says, finally blinking.

“What?”

He sighs and leans back in his chair.

“Well, he asked if we had and I didn’t correct him. I’m sorry.” Why is he sorry? I’d done the exact same thing.

“I’ll set him straight.”

“No, it’s okay, Jett. I mean, I’d be a hypocrite if I got upset about it, considering I did the same thing.” And that gives me an idea.

Jett looks at me and it’s like he’s thinking the exact same thing at the exact same time.

“What if we didn’t set any of them straight? I mean, my friends are always bugging me about dating and Javi is up your ass about it. How about we just . . . keep up the charade? Pretend to date.”

It’s the perfect solution without actually dating someone and getting involved in all that. In addition to the fact that most guys make my skin crawl, relationships take time and energy. Time and energy I’d rather put toward school. I also don’t want to get my heart all twisted up and broken, thank you very much. I’ve been through too many of my friends’ break-ups to even want to get close to having my own.

Besides, I like Jett. He’s funny and easy on the eyes and we have good conversations. He’s the ideal Fake Boyfriend.

I sit and wait for the verdict. He’s probably going to think I’m crazy and run away.

“Huh. It’s funny you should say that because I was just having the same thought. Dating is so . . . complicated,” he says.

“And awkward. And potentially messy and heartbreaking.”

“Exactly. But if you’re not dating then you’re basically a social leper and people wonder if there’s something seriously wrong with you.”

“Or that you’re gay.”

“I’m not. In case you were wondering,” he says.

I snort. “Yeah, I think I could have figured that out. I’m not either. In case you were wondering.” This one time, I got drunk with Hazel and we kissed on a dare, but I really don’t remember it, so I’m pretty sure it doesn’t count.

“Soooo, does that mean we’re Fake Dating?” he says.

“Uh, yeah. We are. You are now my Fake Boyfriend.”

“And you are my Fake Girlfriend. Has kind of a ring to it. Speaking of that, I need your number.” I give it to him and he enters it into his phone. He shows me that I’m listed under “FG.”

We both laugh and I drink the rest of my chai. That was easy.

“We should probably have some ground rules, though. Ten Rules of a Fake Relationship,” I say. I pull out one of my notebooks. I always remember things better when I write them down. Except for the notes I took earlier, but that wasn’t my fault.

“Rule number one . . .” I say, writing it out in my tiny handwriting.

“First rule of Fake Dating. You don’t talk about Fake Dating,” Jett says with a smirk. I’d walked right into that one. I give him a look and then he waves that off. “Okay, okay, how about this. First rule of Fake Dating is that if either one of us wants out, we just have to say the word. Like a Get Out of Jail Free card.”

“Or a safe word,” I say before thinking about how that sounds.

“A safe word?” That earns me an eyebrow raise.

“What? I read.” I try not to go a little red and fail. “And how do you know about safe words?” That is the question.

He scratches the back of his head. “Remember that weird porn I told you Javi had? Yeah, that. Plus, I also read. And they mentioned it in Serenity.”

“Okay, then. Pick your safe word.”

“Pick yours.”

I stick my tongue out at him. “I asked you first.”

He looks at the ceiling and strokes his chin like he has a beard.

“Safe word, safe word.” Meanwhile, I’m thinking of my own.

“Perspicacious,” he says. “I wanted to pick a word that I wouldn’t use in normal conversation. So, yeah. Perspicacious.”

That makes me smile.

“Mine is . . . necrophilia. I definitely wouldn’t use that in normal conversation.” He makes a disgusted face. I write down both our safe words. As if we’d forget them.

“Okay, good. We might want to put a time limit on it. Then we can Fake Break Up,” I say.

He nods and starts folding his napkin. “Perfect. One month. That’s a good amount of time. That should be Rule Two.” I write that down as well. Rule Three is that we have to have at least one date per week.

“How about no physical contact unless we’re in public?” I say, still writing.

“No contact? That’s going to be pretty hard. Are you going to punish me if I violate that rule?” He smirks and it makes me all warm and tingly.

“No contact other than incidental contact. How about that?”

“That works for me. I guess.” He shifts his legs under the table and one brushes mine. Before I can say a thing he puts his hands up.

“Incidental contact.”

The next few rules are a little bit easier to come up with. Rule Five is no kiss goodnight unless we’re with other people. Six is no nicknames unless we’re in public, Seven is that a daily text or phone call is required.

“Eight?” I say. I’m a little out of ideas.

“Well. How far do we want to take this thing? We should probably spend the night with each other every now and then. You know, since we’re dating and we’ve already had sex once. They’re going to think something is up if we don’t spend the night together again.” He has a very valid point.

“Okay. So how about at least two nights together each week?”

“Are you serious? How often do your friends who have new boyfriends spend the night at their houses? I think it’s got to be at least four, if not more.” Whoa. This is going to be a huge time commitment. But I guess it isn’t that different than spending a night at the library. I’ve done that a time or two. Or maybe I could just go to his place and then escape to the library. Whatever. We’ll work it out.

“Okay, four nights a week is Rule Eight. Should we alternate?”

“Well, Javi tends to bring a lot of girls home on a regular basis, so unless you want to know what he sounds like when he gets off, then your place might be better.” That is disturbing on so many levels.

“Hazel works nights, so that actually does work. We can hang out, or you can do homework or whatever. Oh, Rule Nine should be no bed sharing. I’ve actually got a spare mattress that I can set up for you.”

“Sounds good,” he says in a way that makes it sound like it’s not.

“Something wrong?”

He shakes his head and then smiles, but it doesn’t look genuine.

“You’re not going to bail on our fake relationship before we even get started, are you?”

“No, I’m good. What’s Rule Ten?”

I write it down and turn the notebook so he can see it.

“Have fun. Yes, that should be a Rule,” he says, taking out a pen and underlining it.

“Okay, there it is: Jett and Shannon’s Ten Rules for Fake Dating.” Jett starts doodling on the title.

“We’ll just have to make sure to hide this somewhere,” he says.

“I’ll put it in my purse with my tampons. No one’s going to go in there.” He’s too busy with his drawing to get my joke.

“So, you in?” I feel like he’s shutting me off, pulling back.

“I’m in.” Without looking up from the paper, he nods.

“I feel like we should seal this somehow. Make it official to start our relationship.” I pull out my phone and put the end date of our relationship in my calendar. Perfect. It’s before finals, so that works out well.

“How about with a kiss? We are in public and we are starting our relationship. People who are dating kiss, don’t they?” He finally looks up from the list.

“Uh. Yeah. I, um. I guess.” So here’s the deal. All the kisses I’ve ever had in my life have been terrible. Either with noses bumping, slobber, teeth knocking or just plain bad. I didn’t see fireworks, or get weak in the knees or anything like that. I just waited until it was over and I could extricate myself from the situation. Also, what is UP with guys eating gross things and then kissing you? I’m sorry, but I do not want to taste your barbecue bacon cheeseburger and onion rings, thank you very much.

Jett gets up, comes around to my side of the table and leans down, holding my face with one hand, his thumb brushing my cheek. I close my eyes and pray that this kiss won’t ruin everything.

“Open your eyes and look at me, Shannon.” His voice is so soft and sweet I have no option but to comply. He’s closer than I thought so I almost jump, but he’s holding me in place.

“With this kiss, I hereby seal our Fake Relationship,” he says, as if he’s bestowing a knighthood on me, or something. Shouldn’t he be tapping me on the shoulder with a sword?

He angles his face and very slowly, as if he’s afraid I’m going to bolt, he moves his lips toward mine. I inhale sharply and he takes that as his cue and presses his lips ever-so-gently against mine. For a moment, he’s still. Like he’s letting me get used to the feeling. So far, it’s not terrible. In fact, it’s kind of nice. More than nice. I lean forward and he opens his mouth, deepening the kiss.

THIS is what kissing should be. I hear myself making a little moaning sound and opening my mouth as well. What is supposed to be a kiss to seal our Fake Relationship feels . . . like the first real kiss I’ve ever had. Before it can go any further, I take my hand and push on his chest and he withdraws, licking his lips as if he’s savoring the taste of me.

Sexy.

“And so it begins.”

“And so it begins.”

I make up with the rest of my friends via text. I was more pissed at Hazel because she instigated the whole thing. I know I should make a bigger deal about how hurt I’d been, but fixing things with Hazel had been bad enough, and now I just want to put it behind me and get going with my Fake Dating.

Jett and I decide that we’ll have our first “date” for the following evening.

“Something public,” I say.

“Well, there’s a party over at Kappa Sig. Javi’s going and he asked me to go with. Seems pretty public to me.”

A frat party? I’ve only ever been to one and it was Hazel’s fault. I’d ended up with getting beer poured in my purse. But it might not be so bad with Jett. He could probably protect my purse. And the rest of me.

“Hazel’s going to be so pissed she can’t go. She’s always begging me to go to those things. But maybe I can get one of the other girls to come.” I send out a mass text to the rest of the girls and get responses immediately. Daisy and Jordyn are in, Cass can’t, and Hazel has to work. Jordyn’s boyfriend, Tanner, is also in. They’ve just gotten together, so I haven’t really assessed him as a person yet. But he seems sweet (from what she says) and she is happy (from what she says), so that’s all that matters.

“Okay, we now have a party of five. Or six, I guess. This should be interesting,” I say when I tell Jett about who all is going.

“Your friends are my friends. If you’re good with them, I’m good with them.” Yeah, we’ll see about that.

“You haven’t really met my friends, so you’ll probably change your mind after tomorrow night.”

We both walk out to our cars and I’m not sure how we’re going to say goodbye. Do we kiss again? We are in public. Can I take another kiss standing up? I’d been sitting and that had been bad enough. My knees aren’t strong enough for Jett’s kind of kisses.

“Call you tonight?” he says as I lean against my car.

“Yeah, sure.” He leans forward.

“We’re in public,” he says as I sort of pull back. “There’s a guy, right over there.” He points and I see a guy with dreadlocks smoking right outside the library. He’s also on his phone so I’m pretty sure he’s taken no notice of us. But still. You never know who’s gonna walk by.

“Yes, we are.” This time I put my hand on his shoulder and lean in. Maybe this way I can control the kiss. I give him the quickest of quick pecks and pull back as fast as I can before he can turn it into something more.

“See you tomorrow,” I say, turning away and opening my door before he can do anything to stop me. I hear him sigh behind me, and his fingers brush my spine before I get in the car. I look back at him once and he gives me a little wave.

Bye, Fake Boyfriend.

“So Jett and I are officially together,” I announce when I get home from the library. Hazel’s at the dining table, reading one of her gigantic textbooks and taking notes. It takes a minute for her eyes to focus and for her to drag herself out of the thrilling world of case law.

“You have a boyfriend? My Shannon has a boyfriend?! Are you serious?” She squeals and jumps on me as if I’ve just announced I’d won Miss America.

“Jesus, let me go,” I wheeze. I get a flaily hug, and I pat her on the back and try to get her to stop before she chokes the life out of me. She finally lets go and smacks me on the ass.

“God, I’m so glad I don’t have to worry about you becoming a weird old lady with a houseful of cats,” she says.

“Well, I’m still young. I’ve got plenty of time for cats.” She grabs my face and squishes it between her hands. I nearly swallow my tongue.

“Don’t even think that thought. I will not let it happen. Plus, now that you’ve had sex, I don’t see you going back anytime soon. My first time definitely was NOT that good.” I know about all my friends’ first times and they range from terrible to not-so-terrible. I’d probably gone a little too far with my story, but I blame that on the fact that I read too many sexy books.

“Um, so I might have told the rest of the girls about you and Jett,” Hazels says, bracing for me to yell at her. I’ve known her long enough to know that she would share this kind of juicy information.

“It’s fine. I pretty much told them that I was with him when I asked them about the Kappa Sig party.” She sighs in relief.

“Oh, good. I didn’t want you to be mad at me. Again. So, did you get a lot of work done?”

I don’t elaborate on my non-studying or that I’d met Jett at the library, because that would lead to the Fake Dating conversation and I’ve only been Fake Dating him for a few hours. I have to get through at least a week. Then a few more.

One month. What was I thinking? How can I lie and pull this off for a month? I’m not a good actress. I grab my tea and dash to my room to call Jett.

“Hey. I can’t do this. Why did we decide to do this? This is Shannon, by the way. In case you didn’t figure that out.” I hadn’t even given him a chance to say anything before I’d launched into my ramble.

“Yeah, I know. You’re having second thoughts already?” I hear him close a door and then sit down, probably on his bed. “Shit, we’ve only been Fake Dating for like, a few hours.”

“I know. I’m bailing.”

“Why? Talk to me.”

“Because I’m a terrible liar. And I just don’t think I can handle it. Four nights together? What if you get sick of me? What if you think I’m crazy? Or gross?” He cuts me off there.

“Whoa. Slow your roll, Shannon. We can talk about the Rules. We can adjust them if need be. And if you keep making me laugh and being adorable, I’m never going to get sick of you, I promise you that. And I like crazy. Good crazy. And you’re not gross, I promise.” I can hear him stifling laughter. This is not funny.

“Do not make fun of me. I’m in a delicate condition.”

“I’m not making fun of you, princess.”

“Hey, you’re breaking Rule Six.”

“Sorry.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all. Not even a little bit.

“What point are Rules if you don’t follow them? See what I mean? This is hopeless and pointless.” I lay back on my bed, my head bouncing on my pillows.

“I don’t think it’s either of those things. You’re just a pessimist. But fortunately for you, your Fake Boyfriend is an optimist. So, I don’t accept your reasoning. Also, you didn’t use the safe word, so who’s not following rules now?”

Crap, I’d forgotten about the stupid safe word. I’m about to utter it, but then I pause. Jett waits.

“Okay, so maybe I’m a little pessimistic.”

“I think that’s a bit of an understatement, Shan.” At least he hadn’t called me princess again. “But if you seriously don’t want to do this, then all you have to do is say the word and this is done.”

“I know.”

But ending this would mean I probably wouldn’t get to see or hang out with Jett anymore. Yes, I’ve only known the guy a couple days, but I want him in my life. He’s easy to talk to and he’s fun and he’s also easy to look at. Tattoos are sexy. I never knew how sexy until I met him. Plus, he’s got really cool hair.

And I can’t go back and tell Hazel and the rest of the girls that I lied to them about this. No way. The humiliation would kill me.

No going back now.

“No. I’m okay.”

“We’re on?”

“Yeah, we’re still on.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Okay, then. Goodnight, Shannon.”

“Goodnight, Jett.”

We hang up and I toss my phone on the bed. There’s a knock at the door.

“Yeah?” I say.

“Can I come in?” Really? Hazel is asking if she can come into my room? I’m immediately on edge.

“Sure?” It sounds like a question. She opens the door as if she’s afraid something on the other side of it is going to leap out and strangle her.

“Something wrong?” God, I hope she didn’t hear any of that phone conversation. Especially the first part.

“I just wanted to see how you are. I mean, you just had sex for the first time. I feel like we should sit down and talk or something. See if you had any questions. Be your best friend. That kind of thing.” Aw, that’s sweet. If I’d needed it.

“I’m good, I swear. We were safe and all that jazz. And now we’re dating. So it’s good. I’m good.” How many times in the past two days have I used the word “good”? I’ve probably reached my quota.

“What about the pill? Condoms aren’t 100 percent effective.” Really? She’s playing this card with me? How many times have I bugged her about having random sex with guys? Now I’m pissed.

I just give her a look and she has the decency to look embarrassed.

“I’ve got it covered,” I say.

“Good. I just want you to be safe. I know I haven’t set the best example in the past.” *cough* Understatement *cough*.

I suppose I have to give her credit for trying to make sure I’m not going to get Fake Pregnant from the Fake Sex I’m going to have.

“Thanks, Haze.” I put my arms out for a hug.

“Okay, show me what you’re wearing when we go out.” I haven’t even thought about it yet. Whatever is clean? I get up and find some jeans and a cute t-shirt that makes my boobs look okay, and covers what it needs to cover.

“Oh, hell no.” How did I know Hazel wasn’t going to approve? She tears through my drawers, going straight to the clothes that I tend to avoid. Pulling out a low-cut tank top with lace across the front and straps that will barely hold my boobs up, she grins at me. I’ll definitely be busting out all over.

I wonder if Jett is a boob or a butt man. I’ve got both.

I take the tank top from Hazel. I can always put a sweater on over it, I suppose. She approves of my jeans, but grabs some boots from her own closet. Having the same size shoe as your roommate is really the best situation to ever find yourself in. Plus, her shoes are fancier than mine.

“These will make your legs look longer,” she says, handing me a pair of her classic black BBs. I can rock those. I hope.

“So you’re happy?” she says as I put the boots on to check to see if I can walk in them.

“Yeah, I am.” I may be lying to her about the fact that I’m dating Jett, but I can’t lie about that. He does make me happy, and I love being around him.

“Good.”

I dress in the tank top, jeans and boots the next night and leave my hair down and wild. I always feel sexier with my hair down. Hazel’s already at work and the other girls will be over soon. And Jett. Jett is coming to pick me up.

I’m just fluffing my boobs to make sure they’re secure and not going to jump out of my bra, or do anything else unexpected when there’s a knock at the door. I take one last look at my boobs and go to answer it.

Jett’s standing on the other side, illuminated by the light on the porch. Damn.

His hair is sculpted up into a mohawk and he’s got a distressed shirt with a tie printed on it under a leather jacket, torn-up jeans and Chucks. It’s an effortless cool that makes me question my own outfit and lack of coolness factor. I finally look up at his eyes and see that he’s staring at me. Or, he’s staring at me, but his eyes keep skipping over my boobs. In all fairness, it’s not his fault. They’re pretty obvious and you can’t miss ‘em.

“See something you like?” I say, using his phrase.

“A few things.” His eyes go back to my face and he smiles.

“You wanna come in, Fake Boyfriend?”

“I would love to, Fake Girlfriend.” I let him in and give him the grand tour. I’d spent most of the afternoon sprucing up the place as much as it could possibly be spruced. I’d lit a few scented candles to make it kind of romantic.

“I set up the bed for you. The sheets are clean and I hope that’s enough pillows.” I may have overdone it.

“Yeah, looks great,” Jett says, picking up one of the pillows and then tossing it down again on the spare mattress.

“So you ready for our first outing, Fake Boyfriend?”

“I am, are you?” Oh, isn’t that the question? He turns around and his eyes automatically go to my boobs and then back up to my face, as if he has to force them.

“I’m ready. And I’m not going to punch you for staring at my boobs. I’m not one of those girls how throws them out there and then gets pissed when people stare at them. I mean, isn’t that what you want?” I put my hands on my hips and he clears his throat and looks away.

“Well, it’s good to know that I’m not going to get punched for staring at my Fake Girlfriend’s chest. Now if someone else does, I’m going to have a problem with that.” There’s that smile I adore. “Don’t worry, I know the Vulcan nerve pinch.”

“What is the Vulcan nerve pinch?” I’ve never really seen a lot of Star Trek. I’m more of a Star Wars girl.

“Here.” He comes to stand behind me so my back is right up against his chest. Oh. Hello there.

“So you’re supposed to go unconscious when I do this.” One of his hands pinches right at the base of my neck where it meets my shoulders.

“Are you sure you’re doing it right? All I feel is pinching.” It feels kind of nice, actually. A bit like a massage.

“I guess we’ll just have to practice,” he says in my ear, sending shivers down my spine. He removes his hand from my neck, but doesn’t step away from me. He’s really warm. I lean back a little bit and he sighs.

And then the front door opens and voices invade my apartment.

Jett jumps away from me as if I’m on fire.

“Hello?” Jordyn’s sweet southern voice says and I turn around to face Jett.

“You ready, Fake Boyfriend?” I hold up my hand for a high five.

“I’m ready, Fake Girlfriend.” We slap hands and walk out into the kitchen.

“Hey, I’m Jordyn.” Raised with Southern Values, she always acts like she’s working a garden party. She also likes to shove things under the rug and pretend they never happened, which is why she makes no mention of what happened the night I went home with Jett.

Jett shakes Jordyn’s hand and then she introduces Tanner. He’s got a Harley Davidson shirt on and looks kind of stoned. Or maybe that’s just how his face is all the time. He’s cute otherwise.

Daisy comes in behind them, looking a little bitter that she doesn’t have a guy, but then Jett mentions Javier and her eyes light up. Lovely.

“Hey, will you help me with something?” Cass says, grabbing my arm and dragging me toward the bathroom as Daisy and Jordyn follow.

“What do you need ‘help’ with, Cassandra?” I say as they shut the door and all round on me.

“Okay, so we all feel like shit about what we did, but we wanted to make sure that you’re being careful with this guy,” she says. The other two nod.

I’m pissed. I’m about ready to blow, but then that would cause drama and the guys are waiting. My parents constantly fought when I was growing up, and I think that has affected my ability to have normal relationships. Or maybe I’m just screwed up. At any rate, I’m not doing this. I will not engage.

“This conversation never happened,” I say, and push past them and go back to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, we all pile into Jett’s hunk-of-metal-that-tries-to-pass-as-a-car.

“Are you sure this thing is a car?” Daisy says, trying to put her seatbelt on without much success.

“You never insult a man’s ride,” Tanner says, slinging his arm around Jordyn. I love the girl to pieces, but she’s got a fetish for men who treat her like crap. Ironic, considering the speech I just got in the bathroom. At least Hazel had stayed out of it this time, but maybe only because she’s at work.

“She’s a good girl,” Jett says, patting the dashboard. What is it with guys and their vehicles? Not that I can talk. I’m crazy attached to my collection of used books. I have them on a special shelf in my bedroom and I sometimes talk to them. That’s not weird, right?

I’m in the front seat with Jett and everyone else is squished in the back. Javier is already at the party.

“He’s probably wasted enough for two people already,” Jett mutters to me.

“Oh, that should be fun.”

“We’ll see.”

Finding a parking spot anywhere near the frat house is nearly impossible. Yes, it’s a weeknight, but that’s not going to stop anyone from getting their drink on.

We finally find a spot on the side of the road and pile out of Jett’s car. I make sure my cardigan is pulled tight in front of my boobs.

The two guys have their hands full of us trying to walk in our wobbly heels on the shoulder of the road. Talk about dangerous.

“Who knew walking was a full contact sport?” Jett says, practically carrying me as the heels of Hazel’s boots sink into the gravel and I keep stumbling.

“We girls just like to make things complicated,” I say with a laugh as his arm comes around me and hauls me out of a hole. We finally make it to the house without any major incident.

The party is in full swing when we walk in. The beer is flowing, the music is loud and I’m pretty sure they’d bought out an entire Sam’s Club’s worth of red plastic cups. There’s even a pyramid of them along one wall. They must be glued together, because that’s the only way those things are staying up with all the bodies banging around in front of it.

Jett spots Javier on the other side of the room. He’s at one of the kegs, filling up people’s cups.

“Is he even a member of this frat?” I yell over the music.

“Uh, no. He’s sort of an honorary member of, like, every frat. His minor is in keg tapping.” I don’t doubt it.

Javier waves us over and shoves cups at us as he keeps filling. Jordyn goes off with Tanner when he spots some of his friends, and Daisy flirts with Javier a little bit before another guy comes over and steals her away.

“Be safe,” I yell as she gives me a little wave over her shoulder.

“You can dress them up, but you can’t take them out,” I say to Jett as we find a corner where we can stand without being in the midst of the insanity. Jett reaches for my hand and I twist our fingers together. Then he pulls them up to his mouth and kisses the back of my hand.

It makes butterflies start banging together in my stomach like the dancers that are grinding together near the speakers.

“You look great, you know that?” He swings our joined hands back and forth and I have an almost irrepressible urge to giggle like a little girl.

“Compliments aren’t part of the Rules, but they should be,” I say, squeezing his hand.

“Why are you losers over here?” Javier says, finally leaving his post at the keg.

“Just admiring this lovely lady,” Jett says with a wink.

“Stop it,” I say, turning away.

“So, you two together now?” Jett just holds up our hands and I try to giggle like a girl in love. It comes off sounding a little bit crazy, but no one seems to notice.

Javier just shakes his head.

“Keep drinking.” And he walks away.

“That’s his usual advice,” Jett says, taking a sip of his beer. I take a sip too. At least it’s cold. That’s about all I can say in its favor. A few people come over to say hello to Jett. He’s not Javier, but he’s still popular. I kind of feel like I’m hanging with someone famous. He makes the point to introduce me as “his girl” every time someone stops by, and the butterflies in my stomach start moshing every single time. This relationship might be Fake, but the butterflies feel pretty real.

I shake hands and am brought more drinks and try to memorize names and faces until my head is spinning from that and the amount of alcohol in my veins.

“Do you want to get some air?” Jett says a little while later. It’s definitely stuffy in the room with all the bodies bumping into each other.

“Sure,” I say. We walk out behind the house and back to where there are a few trees that separate this house from the one next door. The sound of the party dims, but we can still hear shouts of revelry in the night. It’s dark, but I walk with purpose until I stop and turn to face him. He almost crashes into me.

“Sorry,” he says.

“It’s okay.” He leans up against a tree and I lean next to him. It’s chilly, and the air hurts a little bit to breathe, but it’s better than being inside.

“It’s times like these when I wish I had a cigarette.” What? I didn’t know he smoked.

“I wouldn’t care if you did.” My family all did and I grew up with my house smelling like an ashtray.

“No, no. If I start again, I won’t want to stop. You cold?” I’m shivering and any minute now my teeth will start chattering.

“A little. But we can stay out here if you want.”

He shakes his head. “Let’s go back in. Hey, it’s probably good we came out here. They’ll probably think I dragged you off for a quickie against a tree.” I wonder if that was his master plan.

“Well if we’re going to play it that way, then we should make it believable.” I motion for him to lean down and I shake my hands through his hair, making it a little messy. Then I do the same with my hair. I make him take his jacket off, and I muss both of our clothes so it looks like we put them on in haste. As one last little touch, I reapply my lip gloss and then smear a little on Jett’s mouth. My fingers brush across his lips and he stays still as I do my work, but I want him to kiss my fingers. For a guy, his lips are surprisingly soft, but still firm. Sculpted.

“What do you think?” I say, putting my arms out to show my dishevelment.

“Perfect.” He brushes my hair back from my face and his hand lingers for a second on the side of my face. Then he slides his hand into mine and I lean against his shoulder as we walk back toward the mayhem.

Pretending we’d had a little nature nookie is the best thing we could have done. Jett gets pats on the back and knowing looks and I hear a few guys whispering about me being easy. Whatever. I don’t give a shit what a bunch of drunken frat boys think of me. They aren’t going to remember tomorrow, anyway.

Javier, on the other hand acts like I’ve done something that’s worth celebrating. He “buys me a drink” (meaning he gets me a new cup and fills it from the keg) and says that if I ever want to ditch Jett and “come over to the dark side” he’d be more than happy to “show me the ropes.” I feel like he should put air quotes around everything he says.

Jett just keeps his hand in mine and I lean against him. It’s getting late and the beer is getting to me and all I want was to curl up under some blankets and sleep.

“You ready to go?” Jett says as I finish the drink Javier had “bought” me.

I nod and we round up the rest of our group. As I assumed, Daisy is nowhere to be found and when I text her, she sends back a terse response that tells me she’s going to be staying here. Tanner is absolutely trashed. Like, can’t-even-focus-his-eyes-or-lift-his-head-or-remember-his-name. Somehow, between me, Jett and a not-quite-so-trashed Jordyn, we get him back to the car.

“Dude, if you pee or puke in my car, I’m going to beat the fucking shit out of you,” Jett says as we lay him across the backseat and Jordyn gets in, pulling his head onto her lap. I feel guilty for foisting my friends off on him. I should have known this would happen.

“Mgussshh gusshhss uggissshhh.” Or at least that’s what I think he says.

“Shh, it’s okay baby,” Jordyn says, stroking his hair back. “We’ll get you McDonald’s in a little while.”

“Is that what he said?” I ask.

“I think so,” Jordyn says and I get in the front seat as Tanner starts wailing about something. Great. An emotional drunk. But Jordyn wipes his tears, shushes him like a baby and rocks him.

I’m relieved when I give him the directions to Jordyn’s place. Her car is at mine, but I don’t think she should be driving and neither does he. She can come and get her car tomorrow.

Jett helps her get a now sobbing Tanner up the stairs and safely into the apartment.

“I do not envy her at all. He looked like he was about to blow chunks everywhere when I shut the door,” Jett says.

“I’m sorry for making you drive, and for having to deal with them.”

“You have to stop apologizing, Shan. It’s okay. I can handle it.” His voice is soft, but his tone tells me to drop it. So I start thinking about something else, and then I start panicking.

Jett is spending the night. In my house. On the floor, but still. He’s going to be sleeping, one of the most intimate things you can do with someone. What if he snores? I don’t think I snore. Hazel would have told me about that, right? She has no problem telling me about things like that. Yeah, she would have told me.

“You sure you want me to stay?” He turns off the car and turns and looks at me full on. His eyes glitter in the dark under the automatic light of the porch, like stars.

“We’re doing this all the way, Fake Boyfriend,” I say with more confidence than I feel. We walk to my front door and I unlock it, no password required.

“Did you bring anything to stay over?” I say as I put my purse down on the table.

“Shit, yeah. In the car.” He goes out and comes back with his backpack. God, I hope there are sleep clothes in there.

I pour us both glasses of water. I know I definitely need to hydrate. I also go and grab a bottle of aspirin, shake a few out and toss them back with a swig of water.

It’s nearly two in the morning and I really just want to go to bed, but I’m also strangely wired. Like I’ve had too much caffeine.

“I think I’m going to brush my teeth,” he says, taking his backpack with him to the bathroom. While he’s gone, I go and get my pajamas. Definitely going with a bra, even though it’s going to be crazy uncomfortable. I also add a t-shirt and pants set that has smiley faces all over it and had been a present from my parents a few Christmases ago. I know they love me, but they have no idea who I am, or what I would want on my pajamas.

I’m putting the top on over my head when I hear Jett in the kitchen. I pull the shirt down and make sure my nipples aren’t showing through the combination of the bra and the shirt and then go out.

For the love of all things holy.

“Hey, do you have any tea or anything?” I’m momentarily struck silent. My eyes are too busy staring at his arms and collarbone. He’s wearing a black tank and grey sweatpants that are pretty damn tight. Hot. Damn.

It’s hard to tell, but I think the tattoo on his arm is actually one of two dragons, one red, one blue. The one in red goes across the front of his chest, and the second in blue across his back, with the tail wrapping up and around his neck. The waves on his other arm are beautiful, and I catch a detail that I hadn’t seen before. There’s a little boat bobbing in all the chaos of the storm. I wonder what it means. My eyes finally unglue themselves from staring at his tattoos, and when they finally make it back to his face, I realize he’s looking for an answer from me about . . . something. I sift through my brain until I find it. Tea. He’d asked about tea.

“Yeah, there’s some in the cabinet on your left.” He turns around and I get a glimpse of the blue dragon on his back. I really want to ask him to take off his shirt.

Jett gets out two mugs and fills them up and sticks them in the microwave. He hasn’t commented on my attire and I suspect it’s because I look like a dork. Great.

I like honey in my tea, so I go to the cabinet to grab the honey, just as the microwave beeps and Jett moves to get the mugs out, and we crash into each other.

“Sorry!” we both say at the same time and move away from each other, but his hands are still on my waist. He laughs and I laugh as well, but all I can think of are his hands on me.

The microwave is still beeping, but it’s distant, even though I’m standing right next to it.

“Sorry,” he says again, his voice low. I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“It’s okay,” I whisper. His eyes really are exceptional. There are even bits of blue and green in them if you look really close. Like they’re sprinkled with little bits of different colors of glitter.

And before I can say a word to stop him, he’s bending down and kissing me. My hands go to his chest to push him away, but I can’t find the strength. Warmth flows through my veins, and my lips are on fire. Of their own volition, my hands slide up and around his shoulders, pulling him down so he’s closer. His hands are gripping me so hard that I know there will be marks. I can’t find it in me to care.

Breathing becomes secondary to focusing on the intricate dance our mouths are doing with each other. His tongue licks the seam of my mouth, asking me to let him in. Yes, Jett, you may come in. I open my mouth, and he takes full advantage.

Wow.

But just as soon as the kiss starts, it’s over. His lips and tongue withdraw from my mouth, my eyes open and I find him, breathing hard, while he too blinks as if he’s just come out of a trance.

“You just broke Rule Five. No goodnight kiss unless we’re in public,” I say, licking my lips. He tastes really good.

“And four, technically,” he says, his voice rough. He clears his throat and his hands finally leave my hips. “But I like to think that was incidental contact. My lips were drawn to yours. It was against my will. I couldn’t help it.” He laughs a little breathlessly as I find myself biting my lip. I back away from him and he does the same.

“Well, I don’t know what I can do about that, Fake Boyfriend.” I open the microwave and pull out the two mugs of tea, then shove one at him, and it sloshes on the floor, nearly burning his feet.

“Sorry!” He just shakes his head and then grabs a roll of paper towels off the counter and starts mopping up the water. I decide the best course of action is to commence with making the tea, so I do that as Jett straightens, and then tosses the wet paper towels in the trashcan.

The apartment feels too quiet, so I take my iPod and put it in the speakers Hazel bought. “Can I Stay” by Ray LaMontagne comes on, and Jett looks at me with recognition. Can it be possible that we listen to the same music? It’s also a little ironic, this song being the first one that comes on. We both laugh a little.

“You know this song?” I say as we sit across from each other. My lips are still buzzing from the kiss.

“Yeah. I do.” He stirs his tea and I know there’s more to it than that.

“I love this song. It’s also appropriate, given the circumstances,” I say. He just answers with a smile and we both sip our tea.

I thought the music would make things better, but it’s actually made this awkward again. Somehow.

We’re silent as we listen to Ray’s glorious voice and then the music shuffles to “Only You” by Ellie Goulding. I’ve got all kinds of stuff on there, but it feels like my iPod has ulterior motives tonight.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” I say as Jett takes his mug to the sink and starts washing it out. I join him and he moves away from me, as if he’s afraid to get close to me. I try not to pout.

“If you want to. Aren’t you tired?”

“Yeah, it is late. What time do you have class?”

“Not until ten.”

“Oh. Good. I don’t have one until eleven.” I wipe my hands on a dishtowel and I just don’t know what to do here.

“I should go,” he says, backing up.

“No, stay,” I whisper. I want him to stay. I like being with him, and I don’t want this to be the end.

“Do you want me to stay?”

“I do.” The words hang in the air between us, like they’re real and have taken on weight. He breathes out slowly.

“Okay.”

We decide to watch a movie, and it’s déjà vu from when we’d been at his place, only I had a lot of girlie movies that were Hazel’s. My collection is a little different.

“You have two copies of Willow?” he says, his head sideways as he looks at my collection.

“Yeah. One is a special edition.” He smiles and keeps looking. And then he grabs a box and hands it to me.

“Labyrinth?” Unexpected choice.

“I haven’t seen this movie in so long. All I remember is Bowie with the insane hair.” It is pretty insane.

We settle ourselves on the couch, with enough space between us there’s no chance of incidental contact. I start the movie, and I try to watch it and not Jett.

“Wow, I never realized how bad that CGI owl is at the beginning.” My eyes may be on the screen, but my focus is on Jett and all the exposed skin.

“Yeah, I know,” I say, even though I’m not sure what he’s talking about. I give myself a mental slap and focus again on the movie, but then I feel Jett’s eyes on me. He’s probably thinking how unattractive my pajamas are. Sigh.

“Jesus, there’s a lot of glitter in this movie,” I say. It’s also been years since I watched this too. It’s even more awesome than I remember. Jett and I laugh at the same parts, and talk the whole time. My eyes start getting heavy and I lean on the arm of the couch and before I know it, my body is moving.

For a moment, I don’t know where I am. Then my eyes open and I realize I’m being carried. I look up and panic until it clicks in my brain that Jett is carrying me.

He sets me gently down on my bed and then pulls back the covers.

“Hey,” he says when he sees my open eyes.

“Hey.” My voice is thick with sleep.

“The movie ended and you fell asleep,” he says by way of an explanation for the carrying. He doesn’t need to justify it to me. It’s not like he did something completely outrageous. If I were naked, then he’d have some explaining to do.

“Thank you,” I say, and his face is still really close to mine. He seems like he’s waiting for something. A kiss? I don’t think I can take another one tonight.

And then he stands and walks around my bed and to the mattress I’d made up for him. He sits down and I roll onto my other side so I’m facing him. I’m awake again. Jett props his hands on his knees. Our faces are almost level. At this point, it’s almost morning. I am going to be so “hung over” from this night. Hopefully both of us can sleep in. But my experience with Hazel tells me that might not be the case. She likes to make a lot of noise when she comes home.

“We should probably get to sleep,” I say, adjusting my pillow.

“Yeah, you’re right. Goodnight,” Jett says, reaching out and touching the side of my face. It’s not incidental contact, but I’m going to let it slide.

“Goodnight. Sleep well.” He smiles and then moves onto his side, facing me, and closes his eyes. I do the same, but open my eyes a moment later. His are still closed. In the dim green light of my clock, I can study him without it being weird.

Or maybe watching someone while they sleep is weird. Yeah, it’s weird. I close my eyes again and try to get to sleep.

I’m awoken by a bang in the kitchen and then a loud voice cursing. Hazel is home.

I open my eyes and the first thing I see is Jett. Usually when I fall asleep, I stay in that position and don’t move. The boy on my floor, however, is no longer on his side. He’s on his back, with all of his limbs flung out. Almost like he’d fallen backwards onto the mattress with a splat. I lean over and watch him for a minute, then run my fingers through my hair to fix it because it’s probably fabulous right now. But it’s nothing compared to Jett’s. His is all over the place, just like his body.

There’s another crash and I glare at the door, as if I’m glaring at Hazel. It’s only seven in the morning. So much for sleeping in. I hate to wake Jett, but if we’re going to put on a performance of post-coital bliss, we’ve got to get cracking.

“Jett? Jett.” I touch his shoulder gently and the reaction I get isn’t what I’m expecting.

One of his hands flies up and punches me right in the eye.

“Oh my God!” I fall back against my pillows and grip my face. He missed my actual eye and sort of got my cheekbone. After I open and close my eye a couple times, I decide it isn’t that bad. I just hope it doesn’t bruise.

“What happened?” Jett’s face pops up from behind the edge of my bed.

“Uh, you punched me. What a way to wake up. I’d rather have coffee,” I say, poking at my cheek. “I think it startled me more than anything.”

“Shit, I am so sorry. Let me see,” he reaches for my face, and at first I want to pull away, but I stay still so he can see it.

“It’s a little red, but I don’t think it’ll leave a mark. Good thing I didn’t get you in the eye, or you might have a shiner. I am so sorry. I should have warned you that I have a tendency to lash out if you try to wake me. But I guess you know that now.”

“Yup.” I think he’s making light of it, but his hands are gentle as he probes the side of my face to make sure he didn’t do any damage.

“I’m sorry, princess.” I’m about to tell him he just violated a rule, but he uses the edge of my mattress to pull himself up and plant a quick kiss on my cheek.

“There. All better.” He grins at me and then springs to his feet. Ugh, I hate morning people.

“Rule violator,” I say as I glare at him. He comes and sits next to me on my bed.

“Your hair looks fabulous right now, Shan.” He ruffles my hair and I dive for his mohawk, mussing it with my fingers. Then he goes for my ribs and starts tickling me. Oh hell no.

“Stop it!” I shriek.

My door bangs open and from my vantage point, I see Hazel’s jegging-clad legs.

“Well, hello there.” She says as Jett and I freeze mid-tickle. He recovers quicker than I do and springs up to introduce himself to Hazel.

“Nice to see you again,” she says, and it reminds me of meeting Javier. “Can I get you some breakfast?” None of us have an early class today, which is good, and means we have time to eat and take a little nap beforehand. I’ve only got two classes, but then I have to work tonight. Why had I decided to go to the party last night?

“Yeah, thanks. That would be great. Do you need any help?” Hazel gives me a quick look and then focuses her attention back on Jett.

“She needs all the help she can get,” I say, getting up and moving past both of them to see what Hazel is pretending to make.

Just as I suspected. Frozen waffles.

I shake my head and take the waffles and put them in the toaster, then go to the fridge. I may or may not have bought a ton of food just for Jett, so he didn’t have to deal with any of Hazel’s cooking, or our normal fare of Ramen and boxed macaroni and cheese. I also may have blown my budget for two weeks on said food. Fake Dating is expensive.

I get the eggs and bacon started and realize that Jett and Hazel have been gone for a really long time. I turn down the burners and sneak back to my bedroom.

They’re talking, but their voices are too low for me to hear properly. I lean closer and it hits me, far too late, that the door isn’t closed. I lean too far over and lose my balance, crashing headfirst through the door and onto the floor.

“Oh my God!” Hazel shrieks, and clutches her chest as if to keep her heart inside it.

Jett is a little more quick on the uptake. He’s down on the floor immediately, helping me up.

“You okay there, princess?” The nickname is allowed in this situation. I struggle to get back on my feet

“I, um, just wanted to see if you wanted, uh, bacon.” I sound SOOO convincing.

“Yeah, I love bacon. Who doesn’t?” he says, not letting go of me when he’s got me on my feet again. This contact is also allowed, and I’m kind of glad for it.

“My feelings exactly,” I say, my skin tingling from every place it’s in contact with his. Hazel clears her throat.

“Bacon,” I say to remember what I’d been thinking about a second ago.

“Bacon,” Jett says.

Hazel goes to sleep for a few hours and Jett heads back to his house to shower and so forth. I’ve got to do the same, and get going on some more homework.

Thanks for breakfast. Next time it’s on me. See you tonight?

I get giddy just from those few words. I can’t hear his voice or see his face, but I can still feel him. I find myself biting my lip and wanting to skip and frolic and twirl like Julie Andrews.

See you tonight. Figuring out what to say in the return text takes me at least ten minutes. I know. Ridiculous.

I’m almost disgusted by myself. I am not this girl. The Fake Dating is really getting to my head.

I’m grateful to go to class. The minute my feet step into a classroom, I feel like I’m home. When the professor asks a question, I know the answer almost before he’s done asking. I lose myself in facts and history and figures and lines and things that I know. Things I am good at. I never feel more confident and sure of myself than when I’m answering a question in class.

Yes, I’m a freak. I don’t know anyone else who actually gets giddy about tests, or papers. I am a certified weirdo.

Jett texts me throughout the day, and every time, my heart leaps a little, and the butterflies start rocking out in my stomach.

“Wow, you are in a good mood today,” Amelia says when I come into work. I put my hand up to my face and find that I’m smiling.

“Just had a good weekend.” I decide not to go into the Fake Dating with Amelia. It seems almost wrong. We don’t talk that much about our personal lives, but we’re still really close.

I get to work on the stack of files I hadn’t finished the other day. Normally when I’m working on something mundane, my mind wanders and I think about all kinds of things. Today, I have a one-track mind.

Jett, Jett, Jett. Jetty-Jetty Jettson. Leaving on a Jett plane.

A hand taps me on the shoulder and I nearly jump out of my skin. It’s my boss, Gillian. As in with a hard G. She definitely isn’t my favorite person in the world, but she leaves me alone for the most part, so I haven’t ever had a confrontation with her.

“Hi, how are you?” I say, quickly glancing at my desk to make sure it’s clear. I’m a little obsessive about my workspace being organized, but Gillian is worse. People have gotten nailed for having inappropriate signs on their desks, and one woman had a picture of her husband shirtless and had gotten in BIG trouble.

“I’m well, Shannon, how are you doing?” We exchange the traditional office small talk, but I know she’d sought me out for a reason. Either I’m doing something bad or something good. I can’t imagine what I could get in trouble for, but who knew with Gillian.

“So how are things going?” she says, and there’s more behind the question.

“Things are going great. I’m hoping to get to the midway point with the loan files by the end of this week.” Which is ahead of schedule, but I don’t say that part.

“Well, that’s wonderful. Keep up the good work. When you get through that, come and find me and I’ll get you set up with another project so you don’t get too burned out.” With a quick and insincere smile she’s off. I breathe a huge sigh of relief and then Amelia peeks her head around the edge of my cubicle.

“What did she say?” she whispers. I motion her into my cubicle. I’m not going to say anything that anyone could run back to Gillian and use against me. These walls have snitchy ears.

“Oh nothing, she just wanted to tell me to keep up the good work and that she’s going to give me another project when I get halfway done with the loan files.”

“Sounds like fun.” Yeah, fun is exactly what it’s going to be. It’s probably going to be awful, which is why she came and told me about it ahead of time. More often than not, the projects that I get handed are things other people don’t want to do, so they get passed off to the bottom of the totem pole. Luckily, there are more than a few of us, but it’s a huge bank and there are ALWAYS new projects that the higher-ups don’t want to do.

“So I also came over because I was wondering if you maybe wanted to go out to dinner tonight?” It’s astounding, but Amelia doesn’t have a lot of friends. I think it’s because they think all her happiness and positivity are fake, but they’re really not. I don’t understand why anyone wouldn’t want to be around her, but what are you gonna do?

“I’d love to. Want to go to Tony’s?” It’s our favorite Italian/Greek pace to eat in Deermont. Okay, so it’s the ONLY Italian/Greek place to eat in Deermont. But even if there were a hundred such places, it would still be the best.

“Ooohh, it’s been at least a week since I’ve been there. I need some baklava. Like, right now.” She claps her hands and does a little twirl.

“Cool. We’re on.” I give her a thumbs up and she bounces back to her cubicle. I don’t take out my phone and text Jett because using your phone during working hours gets you an invitation to the snake pit below Gillian’s office, so I sneak into the bathroom and send him a quick text that I’ll be late.

“Aw, poor thing. You’ve been hit by smitten.” It takes me all of five minutes to cave and tell Amelia about Jett. I don’t tell her about the Fake Dating, of course, but I end up gushing about him. It’s kind of impossible not to.

“It sucks,” I mumble before I snatch a piece of garlic bread and dunk it in marinara and shove it in my mouth.

“Poor baby,” Amelia says with a little smile as she eats a stuffed grape leaf. Amelia doesn’t currently have a boyfriend and doesn’t seem all that interested in finding one. I ask her about it and she just sighs and says, “Someday my prince will come.” Which, inevitably, turns us into a Disney Movie Quote-Off and then I’m too distracted and forget to ask her about it.

Amelia and I spend the rest of our dinner talking about classes, and crazy professors with unrealistic expectations, and horrible landlords, and cars that don’t like to work when they’re supposed to. We have baklava and tea and then she drives me back to my car, which is still at the office.

“Call me if you need to freak out. You know I’m here,” she says, giving me a hug. “See you on Thursday.” I hug her back and then drive as fast as I can back to my apartment. I only have about ten minutes to get myself presentable. Yeah, that’s not enough time. Well, he might as well get used to how I look every day. No sense in keeping up any delusions. Seriously.

“You’re wearing that?” Hazel says when I’m just about to walk out the door.

“Yeah, why?” My jeans are clean and un-holey and my shirt makes my boobs look fantastic and doesn’t do that weird stretchy thing across the front that always plagues us larger-chested gals.

“It doesn’t look very date-like. You should still be trying to impress him. Lull him into a false sense of sexiness.”

“Are you saying I’m not sexy?”

“No, I’m just saying that you should hooch it up a little. Especially in the beginning.” I’m going to take that advice and let it go in one ear and out the other. Actually, I don’t even want it in my head, or near my ear. I’m just going to duck that advice so it sails over my head.

I dash out to my car, toss my bag in, say a prayer and start it up. VICTORY.

Jett’s apartment seems scarier the more times I come here. It almost goes all the way into haunted house territory. Yikes. People live here? I actually do a quick scan to see if there’s one of those NO TRESSPASSING THIS BUILDING IS UNSAFE AND MAY BE FULL OF ZOMBIES AND/OR GHOSTS signs. Nothing.

I knock on his door and it takes him three tries to open it from the inside.

“Hey,” I say, and I can’t fight the smile that spreads on my face. He grins back, and then moves aside to let me in.

“He’s gone,” he says to my unanswered question about Javier.

“Oh, good. Not that I wouldn’t have minded hanging out with him.”

Jett laughs.

“You don’t have to pretend to like him for my sake, Shan. I know Javi’s not everyone’s taste. Or anyone’s taste.” Yeah. Javier flavor is not my favorite thing. But maybe I haven’t given him enough of a chance? I mean, Jett likes him, obviously, so he must have some redeeming qualities. Right?

“I brought you some baklava,” I say, holding up a bag from Tony’s.

“You are my favorite Fake Girlfriend,” he says, grabbing the bag from my hand and flopping down on the couch.

I set my bag down near the door and join him.

“I hope I’m you’re only Fake Girlfriend.” He pulls out one piece and holds it up. I dive forward and take a bite before he can bring it to his mouth.

“Hey, hey! You said you brought this for me.” I smile through my mouthful and he glares at me before turning his head and taking a bite. Guess he’s not worried about sharing my germs.

I chew and swallow and then clear my throat. He rolls his eyes and holds the baklava up for me to take another bite.

“Fanks,” I say through another mouthful. He shakes his head and finishes the last of that piece.

“Are you going to hate me if I tell you that I have to do homework?” Jett says, setting the bag down on the coffee table.

“Yes. I hate you. You’re a terrible Fake Boyfriend. You’re the worst. Fuck you, asshole.” I cross my arms and turn my head, but I can’t stay like that for long.

“No, I have homework too, dumbass. I was hoping you weren’t going to hate me for needing to do mine.” I pick up my bag and bring it over, dropping it with a thud.

Jett’s pretty lucky because a lot of his work can be done on his laptop. Not that it makes it any easier. I can’t imagine staring at a graphics program for hours at a time and tweaking images just a teeny tiny bit at a time to get them right. That might make me crazy.

I spread my books out and line up my pens and stack my notebooks. I have a different one for each class, in addition to little sticky note flags for each one. I also have my assignments typed out and I’m ready to cross those bitches off.

“I like doing my homework to music. If you like silence, I’ll put my earbuds, but I usually just play it,” Jett says.

“No, I listen to music as well.” But probably not the same kind of music. “I usually go with classical. Or something mellow.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of the opposite of what I listen to when I’m working. If techno is the opposite of classical.” I have no idea if it is or not, but I don’t think I can do homework to techno.

“Can we compromise? What’s in between techno and classical?” We both think about that for a moment and then Jett pulls out his phone.

“Got it.” He set his phone on his speaker dock right near the television and “Bohemian Rhapsody” by Queen blasts through the apartment. I can’t help but giggle.

“Close enough,” I say as Jett turns it down a little bit and comes to sit down again.

With Queen belting it out and Jett beside me, I start working. Let’s hope it goes better than last time.

I set up a reward system for myself. That’s the only way I’m going to get anything done. Read two pages, glance at Jett. Read two more. Look at Jett. I allow myself a stare when I finish one chapter. He’s so focused on his work that he doesn’t even notice me.

Or maybe he does? He keeps shifting in his seat and his hands aren’t doing a whole lot with the keyboard. Lots of scrolling and squinting a little at the screen. Something tells me that’s not part of his assignment. I check the first item off my list and do a little internal victory dance. Is there ANYTHING better than checking an item off a list? I don’t think so.

And then Jett props his head on his hand and leans to the side and I decide that lists aren’t that great after all. Still, I pull my second book over, along with my second notebook. Jett sighs. I almost let it go, but I can sense that he wants to talk, but doesn’t want to interrupt me. All the while Queen is singing about girls with big butts making the world go around. We do, in case anyone was wondering.

“What’s up?” I open my book to the designated page, and pretend I’m not interested in the curve of his spine and neck and head as he sort of leans forward. I’m also not interested in his ears, which are . . . beautiful. Can ears be beautiful? I’ve never really noticed ears before. Unless they stick out. But his don’t. They’re graceful and perfect. Huh. Who knew ears could be so seductive?

“Nothing, just stuck on this project.” He shuts his computer and scrubs his face with his hands. “Best thing to do is leave it and try something else.” He pulls an artist’s pad out from under the couch and grabs one of my pens. I almost get mad at him for taking one of my pens, but I’m too curious to see what he’s going to do with it and the paper.

He turns to a fresh page and leans back against the couch so I can’t see what he’s doing.

I lean forward and he chuckles and leans back even more.

“Just go back to your homework, Shan. Don’t mind me.”

“But I want to know what you’re working on.” Shoving my textbook aside, I lean even more until I’m nearly on top of him. He holds the pad of paper out of my reach, and I struggle to get at it, but his arms are longer than mine so I give up.

“You suck.” I throw another pen at him and he ducks.

“All’s far in Fake Dating and war,” he says with a shrug and goes back to drawing. I try to go back to my studying, or at least giving him the appearance of it. I don’t want him to catch me being so distracted by him. It’s embarrassing if you’re the only one who can’t focus.

The sound of his pen on the paper is a soothing undertone to the Queen music. The words on the page in front of me are just lines and dots and curves. There are also charts and pictures, but none of them mean anything to me. I dive back into taking notes and hope that something penetrates my brain. This time though, I catch Jett glancing up at me from the pad of paper. Just little flicks of his gorgeous eyes up to me and then back to the paper.

“Stop looking at me,” I say, keeping my eyes on my textbook.

“You wouldn’t know I was looking at you if you weren’t looking at me,” he says. He makes one long stroke of the pen and then readjusts himself. I shake my head and turn the page of my textbook even though I wasn’t done with the previous page.

“You’re still doing it.”

“Is this another Rule you want to add to the list? No looking?” More pen strokes.

“Whatever.” I decide to drop it and turn myself so I’m leaning on the arm of the sofa and my back is three quarters of the way toward him. He sighs again and folds the cover back over the pad and drops it on the floor. Then he pulls something else out from under the couch.

“My God, how much stuff do you have under there?”

“I have to hide my stuff in weird places. Javi has a tendency to take my stuff and move it around when I’m not here. Funny, but he never looks under the couch.” He opens the wooden box he’d gotten from under the couch and pulls out a few squares of bright paper. He starts folding one of them and I can’t help but watch.

“Who taught you how to do that?”

“My dad.” That’s all I get. I figured out a while ago that his family is a sore subject, so I’m actually surprised I get this much. “It mellows me out. Helps me focus on other things.” He makes a crease in the paper and presses his fingers along the new crease to make it sharper. Then he folds again, and again. It’s almost hypnotic. I can see how this would be soothing. Jett keeps folding and turning and I have no idea what he’s making. It takes dozens of folds before he holds up another crane, but this one is different. He pulls on its tail and its wings flap. I resist the urge to clap with glee like a little kid as he makes it flutter.

“You’re really talented.”

“Yeah, if only origami could pay the bills. There are some people who do insane stuff, but that takes years of training and a shit ton of paper. I could make you a whole zoo if you wanted, but these are my favorite.” The crane he made is out of red iridescent paper, and he starts making one out of blue. I watch him do that one, and then there are two little cranes. I move them so their beaks are touching, like they’re kissing.

“Want me to teach you how to make one?” Jett says. Hm, learn something from my sexy Fake Boyfriend or read about business ethics? That’s a really hard decision.

“Yeah,” I say, shoving my book away, where it falls on the floor with a clunk. I didn’t mean to be that enthusiastic, but it just kind of happened.

It’s not like I’m not already ahead on my homework.

Jett and I spend the next hour going through more of Queen’s greatest hits while he teaches me to fold paper cranes. It’s an odd combination of things, but somehow they all make sense.

It takes me about twelve tries to get it right, and I ruin quite a few pieces of paper. And my crane’s head is a little wonky in comparison to its tail, but at least it’s bird-shaped.

I yawn, even though I’m wide awake.

“Are you tired?” Jett says, arranging our little family of cranes on the table. So much for homework.

“No, but I’m definitely hungry. Should we make some more insane nachos?”

He smiles and stands, holding his hands out to pull me up. Wow. Strong. Deceptively strong. I mean, he’s not a walking ad for steroids like Javier, but he’s definitely not a wimp. In fact, he’s so strong that it pulls me off balance and I smash into his chest. He catches me of course, because he’s graceful and I am not. I used to be. I definitely fell a lot less before I met him.

He holds me, pressed against his chest, our hands between us. Totally squished into my boobs. Jett has had more contact with my boobs than even my doctor. To be fair, they do kind of get in the way. They’re a little hard to avoid if you’re near me. No joke, I’ve actually smacked people in the face with them.

Because they have a mind of their own, my nipples harden under my shirt and I take a step back so Jett can’t feel them. Nipples are a bit like the female equivalent of getting a boner. Only on a smaller scale. Still, it’s embarrassing when you’re flashing your headlights for everyone to see.

Jett’s hands are still linked with mine and he leads me into the kitchen.

“Nachos?” he says.

“Nachos,” I agree.

This time the nachos have leftover steak, more Velveeta (I really need to buy that boy some actual cheese) jalapenos, cilantro, olives, some pearl onions, and I cave and let him add the hot dog pieces.

“We should open a restaurant where it’s just nachos. We could do breakfast nachos and desert nachos. It would be a hit,” he says, taking a huge bite after the thing has melted in the oven. I wipe some cheese from his chin and stick my finger in my mouth. It feels like a natural thing to do now. Then I grab a chip that’s loaded with the mess of ingredients and pop it in my mouth.

Wow, what a . . . cacophony of flavor. I chew and try to figure out if I like it or not. It takes a while to get used to the texture and the taste because it’s such a shock.

“The other ones were better,” Jett says, taking some more and shoving them in his mouth.

“Bummer.” I go for another mouthful and I decide that I like them. I mean, they’re not my favorite thing in the world, but they’re pretty good.

“How would do you desert nachos?”

“If you could figure out how to maybe make pie crust into chips, then you could have chocolate and whipped cream and so forth. And you could do fruit nachos.”

“That would be really great for the obesity epidemic in this country,” I say, raining on Jett’s nacho parade.

“You’re no fun,” Jett says, cramming about five chips in his mouth at one time. I have to admit that’s impressive. I take one, since I don’t think it would be very sexy to cram my mouth with chips and everything else.

“Hold still,” Jett says and I freeze. With one hand, he holds my chin steady as he brings his face forward. I would ask what he’s doing, but I’ve sort of lost the ability to speak. Or breathe. Is my heart still beating?

Ever so slowly, millimeter by millimeter, Jett brings his face closer to mine. His tongue reaches out as well and licks something from my face.

And I’m dead. He puts his tongue back in his mouth and smiles at me.

“You had some cheese on your face,” he says in a quiet voice that stirs something deep inside me and makes tingles break out all over my skin.

My mouth goes dry and I try to swallow, but it seems that my body is unable to move at the moment. If someone busted into the apartment with a gun, I doubt I would move from my present position.

Jett finally lets go of my chin, and my skin burns with the memory of his touch. He moves back and grabs some more chips from the plate.

I’m still trying to unstick my body from being stuck. Finally my lungs expand and I take a shaky breath.

“I’ll be right back,” I say, and stumble for the bathroom. I just . . . need some air.

I lock the door and take a deep breath. Jett must have cleaned recently, because it smells lemony fresh. There’s a tiny window next to the shower, so I push it open. Or at least I try to. It only opens about an inch and then gets stuck. Oh well. I lean down and rest my face on the windowsill, inhaling some of the sharp outdoor air. Even though it’s spring, the air still has a winter bite to it at night, and it’s just what I need to clear my head. After several deep breaths, I think I have myself back together.

Jett licked my face. I never thought someone licking my face would be anything but nasty, but Jett turned everything sexy. Like he was a wizard and could transform anything and sexify it. Wizard of Sexy. With his magic . . . wand.

Thinking about Jett’s magic wand causes me to start giggling and I have to turn the water on in the sink just so he won’t hear me.

I think I’m losing it.

I try to pull myself together. Before I leave the bathroom, I double check my face to make sure there isn’t any more cheese on it. I’m good, but I look like I’m on crack. My eyes are all wide and crazy and my face is flushed. My hair is also looking really special. I comb my fingers through it and grab the hair elastic that I always have around my wrist and pull my hair back into a low ponytail. There’s not much I can do about the crazy eyes and the flushed face. Hopefully Jett thinks they’re cute.

When I get back out into the kitchen, the nachos are almost all gone. Jett must have inhaled them. Where does it all go? He must have the metabolism of a supermodel. Damn him.

“I saved you some,” he says, holding out the pan where there are three small, sad chips lying there with barely any toppings. But his face is so sweet, and it’s a real struggle to make my face angry and glare at him.

“New Rule: No eating of all the nachos while your Fake Girlfriend is in the bathroom.”

“You’re putting addendums on the Rules now?” I almost giggled at the word ‘addendum’. For some reason it always made my mind go to the gutter.

“The unwritten Rule of the Rules is that the Fake Girlfriend can add things on when she wants.” I shove the last of the chips in my mouth.

Jett sputters, but I grin with my mouth full, chew and then swallow.

“The other unwritten Rule of the Rules is that the Fake Girlfriend is always right,” I add. It’s Jett’s turn to glare, but he can’t keep it up for long and ends up shaking his head instead.

“Okay, Fake Girlfriend. I’m going to take a shower and get ready for bed, if you don’t mind. I’ve got my bed all set up for you, so if you want to go in and get comfortable, you can.” What? I made him sleep on the floor, and I am fully fine with doing the same. Anything but his couch.

I start trying to protest, but Jett puts one finger on my lips and that shuts me up real quick.

“Unwritten Rule Three is that the Fake Boyfriend will never make the Fake Girlfriend sleep on the floor when she’s at his house, and there will be no arguing from the Fake Girlfriend about it. She will nod and agree and let him go take a shower.” The whole time he’s talking, he keeps his hand on my mouth, and my lips are all burny and tingly. His skin is so nice. Not too soft, but not all calloused and nasty like so many other guys. I swear, if a guy touched me and his hands were dirty, and his nails all chewed and broken down to stubs, and they had dead skin bits hanging off them, I’d probably run away screaming. Jett has nice hands. In addition to all his other bits.

“Okay,” I say against his finger and he uses his finger to make my head nod up and down.

“Good enough.” He leaves me in the kitchen and a few seconds later the shower turns on. That boy. I swear.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m sitting on Jett’s bed in my pajamas and freaking out. I know he’s taking one for Team Fake Relationship by sleeping on the grungy couch, but I still feel shitty about it. Maybe this is to make up for taking all the nachos. Guess there’s a give and take even in Fake Dating.

I’m twiddling my thumbs, waiting for Jett to come back from the shower and then the door opens. I freeze, not sure if I should dive under the couch, or scream, or run away.

I do none of the above.

“You again,” Javier says. He looks tired, but actually sober. Not that I know him enough to know the difference, but it’s pretty easy to see that he’s not falling down drunk like last time.

“Me again,” I say as Jett walks out of the bathroom, a tank top covering his chest, and a towel around his waist.

“If you want—” he starts, but doesn’t finish when he sees Javier.

“What are you doing here?” Jett looks like he’s just walked into the room and found a dead body on the floor. I’m not quite as horrified as he is, but it’s definitely not the ideal situation. Hopefully he’s just going to be in and out.

“Apparently, I live here. Or at least that’s what I’ve been led to believe. Wait, is this some sort of conspiracy? Are you a robot? Am I a robot? IS THIS EVEN REAL?” Javier’s eyes go wide and he looks from me to Jett and back, as if we’re going to attack him.

Jett is first to recover. He picks up a pillow from the couch and flings it at Javier who ducks to get away from it.

“Asshole,” Jett says.

“What? You can never be too careful. I, for one, will welcome our robot overlords and serve them with all of my heart and soul.”

Is this Javier sober? Because he kind of seems drunk.

“Once again, I’m sorry. There is no excuse for him,” Jett says, raking his wet hair back out of his face. It keeps flopping attractively in his eyes. If Javier weren’t here, I would have gotten up and run my hands through it. Or maybe not. I might not be daring enough to do that. But in my mind, I’m that daring.

“Just came to change my clothes. Relax. It doesn’t look like I was interrupting anything anyway. Dude, why are you wearing a shirt? It’s weird.”

It is a little weird. Jet’s shirt is wet from his skin and almost see-through. Totally pointless. Plus, I really wanna see him shirtless. RIGHT NOW.

“Why don’t you mind your own fucking business and get the hell out?” Ooohh, Jett is mad. I can’t tell if it’s fake, but it looks pretty real. Javier just shakes his head and goes to his room, bangs around for a minute and then comes back out, in a pair of new pants and a new shirt.

“Madam, Sir. I hope you have a splendid and sex-filled evening. I’m off to have one myself. May all your condoms be resilient and hole-free. Farewell!” He salutes us and then leaves.

“Is that Javier sober?”

“Surprisingly, yes.”

“Wow.”

Jett sighs.

“I know.”

Jett and I have another little fight when it comes time to go to bed. I just feel so bad about making him sleep on his couch.

“It’s more comfortable than the floor. I don’t have an extra mattress. Please stop making a big deal out of this. I’m not trying to be chivalrous.”

We both sit on the bed, him with his tank top and shorts, me in my dorky pajamas.

“We could share,” I say without looking at him. My mouth is a little dry as I suggest it, but it’s the only solution I can think of that will make me feel okay.

“There might be incidental contact if we do that,” he says, his voice just as soft.

“That’s . . . fine. I’m okay with it. Plus, if Javier comes back, there won’t be any more explaining to do.”

“I might knock you out again,” he says, pretending to punch me again in slow motion, but stopping just short of hitting my face. I make myself laugh.

“I’ll be careful.” I finally look up into his eyes. They almost swirl like a kaleidoscope. I could sit and watch the turning colors for hours. But he would have to blink eventually.

I stand up and Jett turns down the covers.

“Do you want the inside or the outside?”

“Outside.” So if I have to pee in the middle of the night I can do so without waking him. Or if I decide to run away, it’ll be easier and stealthier.

He gets in and I quickly realize that he takes up a lot of room in the small bed. We’re going to get pretty intimate. Well, we might as well if we’re going to play off this Fake Dating.

I get in with my back to his front and pull the covers over. Jett is as far away from me as he can get; practically plastered up against the wall. I scoot forward, until I’m almost falling off the edge.

“You can touch me. I’m not going to break,” I say and he moves a bit closer. I can feel the heat coming off his skin as it warms the air under the blankets.

I shift myself until I’m comfortable and close my eyes, inhaling the clean scent of his pillow. He sighs behind me and moves a tiny bit closer, and I can feel his breath stirring my hair. And then his arm encircles me, coming over the blanket. My eyes fly open, not that he can see, and my stomach muscles clench. The arm moves just a little more until it’s completely around me.

Jett is holding me. In his bed.

“Goodnight, princess,” he says in my ear.

“Goodnight,” I somehow say, and close my eyes. It’s going to be a while until I fall asleep.

At least, I thought it was going to be hard to fall asleep. But Jett’s breathing behind me, and his warm arm around me make me feel safe and not alone. It’s nice and cozy, and my body likes it. All of me likes it.

In fact, I like it so much that the next time my eyes open, I’m not looking at Jett’s wall of art. I’m looking at Jett. His chest, specifically.

His arm is still around me, and somehow during the night I’d pulled my hands under my chin, one grabbing onto his shirt. My legs are so warm that I’m almost hot. My pajama pants have ridden up, so we’re skin to skin from my knees down. His legs are hairy, but guys’ legs are supposed to be. If they were hairless, I’d be worried. I turn my head ever so slowly and I can see part of the red dragon across his chest. His heart beats against my hand and his chest expands as he breathes. It’s fascinating. I feel like a disgusting love song should be playing in the background.

He makes a noise and shifts a bit, pulling me closer.

“Your hair smells good,” he says, his voice rumbling against my fingers.

“Good morning,” I say because that’s what you say in the morning, even though you’re in a situation you don’t know how you got yourself into.

“How did this happen?” I assume he means how we’re currently positioned.

“I have no idea.” I let go of his shirt and his arm loosens from around me so I can roll back a bit and look at his face. His eyes are a little puffy, and his hair is all over the place. He’s adorable and disheveled and I hope I look the same, even though I’m sure I don’t.

“This is an interesting turn of events,” he says.

“Uh huh.”

Please don’t let my breath stink. Please don’t let my breath stink.

I want to cover my mouth so he can’t smell my funk, but there isn’t really a way to do that, so I just turn my head so I’m looking up at the ceiling. I also close my mouth. Jett props his head on his hand and I can feel him looking at me.

“Stop it,” I say, grabbing the covers and trying to pull them over my head.

He won’t let me.

“Why?”

Do I really have to explain?

“Because.”

“Because why?” Oh, we’re doing that routine? I feel like I’m three again.

“Because it’s weird and creepy and it makes me uncomfortable.” It also makes me very aware of my flaws and how much I wish I was someone else at the moment.

“Silly girl,” Jett says, stretching his arms above his head, his shoulders popping. “We should probably get up. How about we go out for breakfast? I really don’t have much here.”

“Sounds good,” I say. Ugh, I have to get up first and I don’t want to, but I roll sideways and get my feet under me. Jett is right behind me, with his hands on my shoulders. He leaves them there for a second and then lets go and I dash to the bathroom to make myself somewhat presentable.

Integrating Jett into my life has been almost seamless. I thought I would have to move things around and take things out, and compromise, but it’s like my life changed to fit him in it. Like he needed to be a part of my life, so he is. That sounds strange, after knowing him for such a short time, but it’s like he’s always been there. I’ve also saved all of the cranes he’s made me, which are all living in my sock drawer. At least I’ll have them when this is over.

Not to say that everything is smooth and bump-free. Oh, there are plenty of bumps. He almost walks in on me changing once, and I’m terrified to fart or burp or anything else like that in front of him. We’re just not ready for that stage yet. I think it takes a while to get there, even with friends. Jett has also had some mornings when he’s woken up, um, with a little issue in his pants, but he turns over and I pretend not to notice. I just can’t deal with that. I just can’t.

Our Fake Dating charade seems to be working, and everyone appears to be buying it, at least so far. Jett and I hold hands and give each other adoring looks and use stupid nicknames and part of it makes me want to hurl and the other part of me adores it and wishes it were real. I keep the wishing on the down-low, though. I don’t let myself do too much of it, because this isn’t real. I’m playing a part and he’s playing a part and that’s it. One month. We’re a week down and everything is going good. I can’t ruin it by wanting something that I can’t have.

“You’re going to be fine. I think you over study and psych yourself out. Have you ever gotten less than an A on anything?” he says when we’re in the library and I’m stressing out about my next test.

I stick my tongue out at him. “Yes, I have.” Twice. Once in high school and once in college. It will never happen again. I won’t let it. Even if I get a 90.01, it’s better than an 89. Always.

Jett should be one to talk. I happen to know that his grades are impeccable. He’s one of those assholes that learning comes naturally to. People think my good grades come easy, but they don’t. It’s a lot of blood and sweat and tears and massive amounts of caffeine and lost sleep to get where I am. I simply want this more than I want anything else. More than drinking, or having sex, or watching another episode of The Real Housewives of Bitchtown.

“Don’t diss my study methods. Not all of us can be as academically gifted as you are, babe.” I’m trying out nicknames for Jett. I’m not sure if I like this one.

“Whatever, princess,” he says, flicking one of the cranes so it lands in the middle of my open textbook.

“I’m starving. Wanna get something to eat?” I move the crane and then close my book. I’ve still got some more to do, but it can wait. I want to stare at Jett’s eyes for a little while. I deserve a reward for a job well done.

“Brilliant plan from a brilliant girl.” The butterflies start rocking out in my stomach again. They do it whenever he says something like that. I thought it would get old, but it hasn’t yet. I kind of want to get used to it, because it’s hard to deal with the ups and downs of this Fake Relationship. Almost as if it was a real one.

Jett blows his straw wrapper at me, and it hits me before I can duck and gets stuck in my hair.

“Jerk,” I say, and then I do the same to him. Of course I miss. He sticks his tongue out at me and I want to kick him under the table.

“Well, if isn’t the happy couple,” Javier says behind me. Oh, Javier. I really can’t get a read on him. I’m still trying to figure out if he’s serious most of the time, or if he’s putting on a show for my benefit. From what Jett has told me, he’s like that all the time.

“Hello, Javier,” I say, turning and meeting his grinning face atop his jacked up shoulders. I’ve been dying to ask Jett if he’s on steroids, or if he just works out a lot. He must also be naturally gifted.

“What are you nerds up to?”

“Just because we study, doesn’t mean that we’re nerds. Besides, nerds are the ones who run this country. Who could bring the world to its knees? Computer hackers,” Jett says. He does have a point.

Javier just shakes his head.

“Believe what you want.” He’s wearing a t-shirt and those swishy workout pants that make noises when you walk. He’s also glistening with sweat. Must have just come from the gym.

“You’re so full of shit, Javi. I happen to know that you have good grades.” Javier’s eyes go wide and he looks around and then leans on the table.

“Shh, don’t let that spread around. It would ruin my reputation.”

“Haven’t you heard? Smart is the new sexy,” I say. I think smart has always been sexy, but the rest of the world has taken a little while to catch up.

Javier just laughs and shakes his head.

“So, I was wondering if you book whores would like to maybe go out and do something fun for a change. They don’t look too closely at IDs at the bowling alley and they have great Jell-O shots.” Ugh. I detest Jell-O. It makes me gag. Nothing should ever be that texture, no matter what it tastes like. And I also suck at bowling. But I don’t want to alienate Javier, and we did say that we would go out in public. So it looks like this is our chance. Hopefully I can get one of the other girls, or even a few, to come with me as a buffer. I wonder if Javier is going to bring the girl with the non-dress dress that I met that first night. I’d rather not see her again.

“Yeah, sounds great,” I say.

“I’m in,” Jett says without his normal enthusiasm. Javier doesn’t notice.

“Fantastic. Now if you could bring a few of your lovely single friends, that would make it even better. I’ll find a few friends and we’ll all have a great time.” He turns his head as a similarly buff/sweaty guy calls his name and waves to him.

“Gotta go. I’ll see you two later.” Jett gets a slap on the back and I get a wink.

“Are you sure you’re up for that?” Jett says after Javier leaves.

“What, are you afraid of my mad bowling skills?” I am so full of shit, but Jett doesn’t know that.

“Oh, princess I’ve got bowling moves you’ve never seen.” Cocky much?

“Whatever. I’m going to wipe the floor with you, Fake Boyfriend.”

“Whatever you say, Fake Girlfriend.”

It turns out that all of my friends want to come. Who knew bowling was so popular? With the pre-worn shoes and the sticking your fingers in a ball that other people have stuck their disgusting fingers in. It is NOT my idea of fun, but go along to get along, I suppose. Plus, I really want to see if Jett could deliver on all his talk. Apparently, he’s competitive. Yet another thing to add to the list I’ve been compiling, Things I’ve Learned About Jett. It’s odd for such a laidback guy, but I’m thinking it maybe has something to do with Javier. Like they have a secret bet that I don’t know about. Who knows? Boys are a mystery.

I agree to be the Designated Driver so I can use it as an excuse to turn down any and all Jell-O shots. Jett’s in the passenger seat, and I’ve got Hazel, Cass and her boyfriend, Boyd.

Like most other things in a college town, the bowling alley has been taken over by college students. I kind of feel bad for any residents of Hartford who aren’t college students, but they had to know what they were getting into when they moved here.

We have quite a huge group between me, Jett, Hazel, Cass, Boyd, Jordyn, Tanner, Daisy, Javier and the two guys he’d brought, Marty and Skye. The first thing I realize after we got our shoes sorted out and pay for our lanes is that we are LOUD. Not that there aren’t other groups of students blowing off steam, but we take the cake in terms of volume. By far.

The biggest culprit, no surprise, is Javier. He seems to like an audience. He’s always “on.” Taking it upon himself to get us all organized, he decides we’ll play boys against girls, which I don’t know how I feel about. Javier’s friends are clearly fans of pumping iron, but that might work against them. Or so I’m hoping.

Once we get ourselves set up and plug our names into the computer, Javier organizes a party to go get food and drinks. Jett just looks at me and shrugs.

“You’d better not throw this and let your boyfriend win,” Hazel says. “Boys are horrific when they win.” The rest of the girls nod knowingly. Yeah, I know. Just because I’ve never really had a boyfriend, doesn’t mean I am ignorant of the opposite sex. I mean, I have a Fake Boyfriend right now. I know this.

“No mercy, ladies. NO MERCY.” We all put our hands in and then do a cheer. The boys scoff, but they don’t know what they’re in for. It. Is. ON.

I can add “Jett is an amazing bowler” to my Jett List. Like, seriously good. He’s gotten three strikes in a row. I have gotten two gutter balls and two spares. Nothing to write home about.

But the other girls are picking up the slack and we’re ahead by a narrow margin. Javier’s strength has gotten him two strikes and a spare, but he has a tendency to throw too hard and miss the mark. Same with Marty and Skye. In addition to the points that are being traded back and forth, there’s a hell of a lot of smack talk. Most of it is designed to be inflammatory, and we’re definitely getting some looks from the other more-subdued parties.

Hazel gets up and bowls a strike and then does a seductive walk over to the boys, turns slowly and walks back over to high fives and fist bumps from the rest of us.

“We can’t let that stand, can we boys?” It’s Javier’s turn. He gets up, picks up his ball and kisses it, which I think is the height of disgusting. Who KNOWS where that ball has been? Then he whispers something, holds the ball in front, steps forward and throws it with a flick of his wrist.

The pins clatter to the floor and Javier raises his hands in victory. Lots of whooping follows as he celebrates. We all boo and throw things at him. We’re even louder now that several trays of Jell-O shots have been consumed. I swear, I’m like, contact drunk. As the game wears on, the alcohol flows, the yelling gets louder and the flirting and trash talking get more obvious.

Marty and Skye are both gunning for Hazel, but she’s not giving them the time of day, or maybe she’s playing hard to get. I’ll have to ask her later. She’s so good at it, sometimes it’s hard for me to tell if it’s genuine. Jordyn can’t stop giving Tanner googly eyes, but he’s a little distracted by a girl in the group who’s been giving him the eye. That’s a disaster waiting to happen. Cass keeps looking at Boyd, and he looks back at her, but he’s pretty quiet when it comes to the smack talk. In fact, he’s barely said three words. Strong and silent.

And Jett. Oh, Jett. If anyone could make bowling sexy, it’s the boy with the dragon tattoos.

“You have got it bad,” Hazel says in my ear as I watch Jett smoothly get another strike. I’ve been so distracted by him that her voice makes me jump.

“I can’t help it.”

“He is pretty sexy, if you like that kind of thing. I like a guy with a little bit more meat on him, if you know what I mean.” I turn away from Jett as he sits back down.

“He’s got plenty of meat. There is nothing wrong with his meat.” Granted, I haven’t seen his meat, but I’m sure it’s fine. At least I hope it’s fine. I’m sure it’s lovely meat, as far as meat goes.

Hazel laughs.

“But his meat is the only meat you’ve had. You have to sample lots of different meat to find out which is the best. How can you judge meat if you’ve only had one kind?”

“I’m fine with his meat.” This conversation is getting a little too convoluted for me.

“You say that now . . .” she trails off.

“Okay, can we stop talking about meat?” I say.

“What about meat?” Jordyn says, finally taking her eyes off Tanner. She has got to purposely be ignoring Tanner and his wandering eyes.

“How’s Tanner’s meat? Nice and juicy?” Jordyn looks scandalized and then smiles.

“It’s perfectly juicy.” Ugh, this has become a disgusting conversation that I want to work my way out of.

Fortunately, the end of the game and the victory of Team Vagina ends the meat talk. We decide we’re done with bowling (since the boys are nursing their wounded egos), but we’re not ready to leave, so we head to the bar, where the bartender doesn’t seem to notice if anyone is of age. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. It’s probably bad business to card anyone. He wouldn’t have any customers. Whatever, it’s not my problem.

I order a drink and nurse it along. By the time we leave, I should be good to go.

Javier is smashed again, and he’s started singing along with the song that’s playing in the bar. I can’t really tell what it is because he’s so loud and he’s mangling the lyrics so much. He climbs up on a table and stands, much to the disgruntlement of the bartender who yells at him to get down before he breaks something on his property. Javier reluctantly gets down and Jett’s arm snakes around my shoulders.

“Hey, princess. Having a good time?” I turn and kiss his cheek. I’m feeling extra affectionate right now.

“I am, are you? Even though you lost and we handed your manhood to you?” Oh, snap.

“Behave,” he says, pinching my nose. “We’ll get you next time. Now we have a score to settle and reputations are on the line. We’re coming for you.”

“Is that so?”

“I never joke about bowling. Bowling is serious business.”

The only reason we leave the bowling alley is because we get kicked out when they close at 2 a.m. Everyone but me (and Jett) is completely toasted and ready to pass out. Well, everyone except us and Javier. He hasn’t passed out yet.

Jett and I drive everyone back to their respective apartments because everyone is too drunk to drive and then we head back to mine. Hazel mumbles two words and heads to her room. Jett didn’t have anything to drink, and for some reason, I’m not tired at all. I think I’m on my second wind, or something. I’ll probably be up all night and then crash tomorrow afternoon.

“You want to just go to bed?” Jett says, stretching his arms. He does that a lot. I like it because it makes his shirt ride up and then I get to see some of his stomach. I just wish I could see all of it.

One of these times, I’m going to catch him. We have an unspoken rule that shirts and shorts are required when sleeping. If it wouldn’t have been a double standard, I’d have said that Jett should be shirtless, but then he’d say that I should be shirtless and we wouldn’t get anywhere. I could play that argument in my head without even doing it out loud.

“I’m not that tired, but we can go to bed if you want to.”

“No, if you want to stay up that’s fine. Watch a movie or something?” This is one of our favorite things to do when we’re together. We seem to have the same tastes in films.

“I might fall asleep. How about something we’ve watched before so I don’t miss anything?” he says as we go into my room to get our pajamas. I’ve stopped wearing the ugly ones. Okay, so I went out and bought some. Shorts and matching t-shirts. Cute ones with the Batman logo on them, or with funny words all over them, and even a pair with bacon. I thought Jett would like those, so I’m wearing them tonight.

“You get to pick.” We’ve been trading who gets to pick what movie we watch. I got to choose last and I made him watch Crazy, Stupid, Love. I said it was because it was really funny and had Steve Carell in it, but really, I wanted to see Ryan Gosling with his shirt off. If I can’t see Jett with his shirt off, Ryan is the next best thing. Hubba, hubba.

“Uh, Mean Girls.”

“Wait, you’re choosing Mean Girls? Did you really like it that much?”

He just shrugs and grabs his pajamas and heads for the bathroom. “What? Tina Fey is a genius.”

Yes, he is the perfect guy. Be jealous.

An hour later, I’m in my bacon pajamas, Jett is wearing a tank top and shorts and we’re semi-snuggling on the couch. He keeps trying to tickle my feet and I keep threatening to kick him in the face. So much for trying to be quiet. Poor Hazel. Hopefully she’s intoxicated enough that she’s already passed out.

“Seriously, stop it,” I say when he goes for my feet again.

“Can your boobs tell when it’s raining?” he says, quoting the movie as I shift so he can’t get to my feet.

I look down at my boobs. They’re awesome, but they’re not quite that awesome.

“No. I don’t think I have ESPN.”

“Tragic.”

“It’s my cross to bear.”

His hands start playing with my hair, twirling it around his fingers. It feels really, really nice, and I realize that this is the most physical contact I’ve had with another person in a long time. My parents were never really into hugging, and my brother would punch me sooner than hug me. Hazel is hands-on, but it’s different with Jett.

I close my eyes and his hands start massaging my scalp.

“I’m not going to get in trouble for this, am I?” he says quietly.

“Only if you stop.”

Screw the Rules for the moment. I’m enjoying this.

Jett ends up carrying me to bed again when I fall asleep as he’s stroking my hair. But this time he climbs in beside me, and pulls me into his chest. We spoon every night now, because we end up wrapped together like a twist tie by the morning anyway. Every. Single. Time.

This morning (or almost afternoon, if I’m being honest) I wake to find something pressing into my stomach and when I realize what it is, I almost shove Jett away. Poor guy. It’s not his fault. He’s wrapped around me, and extricating myself from this situation is going to be worse than defusing a bomb. The key is to move slowly and carefully enough that I don’t wake him.

First I pull my arm out from under his, and then start slowly pulling my legs away. If I can get myself on my back, then I’ll be good. I think.

But as soon as shift even the slightest bit away from him, his eyes snap open and lock with mine.

Hello, most awkward moment ever.

“Good morning,” I say, fluttering my eyes as if I’ve just woken up. I stretch my arms up and yawn. Jett’s jaw is clenched and I know that he’s wondering if I know about his little friend.

“Good morning, princess,” he says warily. I just smile at him and hope it looks natural.

“I’m starving. Want some breakfast?” I’m never this perky when I wake up, but I hope it doesn’t set off any warning bells. When I get up, I make sure that I don’t pull the covers too low as I dash to the kitchen.

I hear nothing from Hazel’s room. She’ll probably be passed out for at least a few more hours.

I get breakfast going and it’s a few minutes before Jett joins me. I can’t look at him as he goes to the coffeemaker to get it going.

“I hate staying out so late because then it throws off my whole day. It takes me at least two days to recover from going out. I swear, I’m like a little old lady. I wish I didn’t need sleep.” I’m babbling as I start mixing batter for waffles.

One of my favorite Christmas presents from Hazel last year was the waffle iron that made waffles shaped like penguins, and I use it as much as possible.

Since I don’t like just plain waffles, I’m making caramel apple waffles. Jett hasn’t had them yet, and I kind of want to give him something delicious to make up for the fact that he couldn’t control his penis this morning.

I have got to stop thinking about it. Thank God I don’t have to deal with crap like that. I’d seriously be walking around all day with a hard-on. A very tiny part that is getting louder and louder wants to ask him if he was thinking about me. But that’s weird. And very self-centered. I mean, back in the day, they used to cover up table legs because they were thought to arouse men, because they would then think about women’s legs. How ridiculous.

“Do you need any help?” I’m so busy thinking about Jett and table legs that I kind of forget about Jett.

“Could you spray the waffle iron and plug it in?” I whip the batter in the bowl to get the lumps out without over mixing it. Doing that is a sin that cannot be undone.

Jett is cautious of touching me, trying to keep at least a three-foot bubble around me that he doesn’t violate. It’s very different from last night when he’d been so far in my bubble that he couldn’t really get any closer. Unless he was . . . well . . . in my bubble.

I gotta stop thinking about this.

He pours me a cup of coffee, adding cinnamon and nutmeg, which is something that I only get to do at home. I love that he knows how I like my coffee.

“Thanks,” I say taking the cup from him. Our fingers touch and he flinches away.

“Something wrong?” This can’t go ignored.

“No. Just tired from last night.” He gives me a tight smile that almost looks painful, and goes to get his own cup before sitting down at the table.

“Yeah, me too.” Things are a little tense, so I turn on some music, but keep the volume low so I don’t wake Hazel. “Everything Has Changed” by Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran comes on. I almost laugh at how ironic it is. Jett’s eyes aren’t green like the lyrics, but pretty much everything else is spot on. Creepy.

I hum along a little bit as I wait for the first set of penguin waffles to be done. Jett sips his coffee and seems lost in thought. I don’t want to bug him, so I get out the plates and so forth myself.

The waffles are done and I dish them out. Jett drenches his in syrup, but I’m a little more conservative than he is. I like to actually taste my waffles. We eat in silence, except for the music, and I almost can’t stand it. I’m trying to think of something to say to start a neutral conversation, but I’m coming up empty. Jett ends the silence for me.

“I don’t know if I can do this anymore.” He’s looking into his coffee, and swirling his fork in the leftover syrup.

“Are you going to safe word?” My heart clenches in panic. I’ve only been this scared a few times in my life.

He opens his mouth and the closes it, then picks up his cup and takes a sip. Not knowing what to say, I just sit there and wait in terror. This can’t be happening.

Can your heart stop beating? I think mine does for just a moment.

Jett is looking at me and I can’t help but meet his eyes. They’re looking, searching, trying to find something in me. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but I desperately want him to find it. My heart stops again before he says, “No. Nevermind.” And then I get a genuine smile.

My heart starts going at warp speed, like it’s trying to make up for the times it stopped.

“Do you want some more waffles?” I get up and take both our plates over. I hadn’t put any more batter in the iron in case he didn’t want any more.

“Yes, more penguins, please.” I want to release some of the tension, so I do a little penguin walk after I put the plates down. I’m rewarded with a whoop of laughter from Jett and then I hear a groan from Hazel’s room. Jett clamps his mouth shut and I stop acting like a penguin.

“Crap,” I whisper as Hazel emerges from her room.

The term “hot mess” was coined for the look she is currently rocking. Smeared mascara, crazy hair, clothes that she didn’t bother changing out of all askew, pillow mark on her cheek.

“You . . . suck . . .” she says slowly stumbling into the kitchen with her arms out, as if she’s begging for something. I quickly pour a cup of coffee and hand it to her. She stands over it, as a caveman must have stood over a fire when he first lit one. For a moment, she just breathes it in, and then she starts sipping.

“Better?” I say, going to the waffle iron and pouring in a second batch. I’m going to be making a lot more if Hazel wants some now.

She slumps down in the only other chair, so I’ll be forced to lean against the counter. Or I would have, but Jett gets up and motions to the chair.

“I have to deal with the waffles. It’s fine.” He sits down again and Hazel is still enthralled with her coffee. It’ll take at least one more cup for her to be human. And then she’ll probably still go back to bed for a few hours to sleep the rest of her hangover off.

“You know, I think we need to get you a chair,” I say as Jett drowns his penguin pancakes in more syrup.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says, but I’m not making him stand every time he comes over.

We finish the rest of the waffles and Hazel goes back to bed. Since I’m destitute from buying Jett food, and splurging on the pajamas, we go to the local thrift store to get Jett a chair, despite his protests. As a compromise, he drives.

“Okay, so since you’re the one who’s going to do most of the sitting in it, I think you should get to choose.” I make Jett wait while I assemble the three candidates for him to judge.

“Here, we have chair number one. It is a lovely . . . mahogany chair with lots of . . . chair-like features. Plus, it has four legs, so you don’t fall over.” I present it to him with a flourish of my arm.

“Well, that is a stunning prospect,” he says, clapping.

“And here we have chair number two. It is from the early . . . psychedelic period and is pre-rusted for added style.” He takes in the second chair and claps again.

“Another solid choice. This isn’t going to be easy,” he says.

“Oh, but wait. There is one more choice.” I present the third chair. “This little beauty comes all the way to you from the exotic location of Topeka, Kansas and features a lovely finish, that has been delicately chipped to give it that rustic feel.” In case you couldn’t tell, the third chair is my favorite. It will go best with the other two we already have, and it’s the least beat-up of the three.

“Well, these are all solid choices.” Jett walks up and down in front of the chairs. “You make very good points on all of them.” He taps his chin, thinking.

“But I think I’m going to choose chair number three.” He puts his hands on it and this time I clap.

“Good. That was the one I was hoping you’d pick.”

“Yes, your hints were very subtle.”

“Well, what are you doing? Try it out. You can’t really pick it unless you sit in it.” He agrees and sits down, sighing.

“Yup. This is the one.” I decide that he can’t really try it out without me, so I sit on his lap.

“Perfect. I like this chair.” I lean down and give him a kiss.

“Me too.” I hear a woman sigh about “young love” not that far away from us. Yeah, I’m sure we’re disgusting. I wouldn’t be able to stand me either.

After picking the chair, we go through the rest of the store, picking out the weirdest and wackiest items. Jett forces me into the ugliest sweater ever born from a knitting machine. It’s dingy army green with orange balls on it, and a giant ugly cat face on the back. I force him into an equally ugly sweater that looks like one Bill Cosby might have worn if he was on acid. We take pictures on our phones, and actually end up buying them for potential Ugly Sweater parties that people are always having.

Jett also talks me into buying a ceramic cup that is shaped like a bear that’s running. It doesn’t sound bad, but it’s poorly painted, and the eyes are so big and crooked, it’s cross-eyed.

“Don’t you feel bad for him? He’s just sitting here with no one to wuv him,” Jett says, picking up the bear and pouting. He could get me to do anything with that pout. Anything.

In retaliation, I make him get an umbrella stand with pigs frolicking in mud puddles on it.

“Everyone needs an umbrella stand. You know the saying.”

“What saying?”

“That everyone needs an umbrella stand.” He shakes his head, but buys it anyway. Before we can spend any more money we don’t have on anything else we don’t need, Jett gets the sweaters and the stand, and I get the chair and the bear mug and we pay at the counter.

Wedging the chair into his car is interesting, but we finally get it. Jett’s smiling as we shut the back.

“What is it?” I say.

“Nothing. I’m just . . . happy.”

“Me too.”

“You make me happy.”

“Same here.”

Something in my stomach drops, and it’s a bit like fear. But I’m not scared. I’m telling the truth about the happy part. I haven’t laughed so much, or been so . . . free since I can’t remember when. That probably isn’t a good thing.

I try to ignore it as Jett turns on the radio, looking for a good station. He finally settles on the “we play pretty much everything” station that’s currently playing “Punk Rock Princess” by Something Corporate and pulls out of the parking lot. I adore this song, and it seems Jett does too, since he’s tapping the steering wheel to the beat.

Once we get back to my apartment, Jett carries the chair in and I find a spot for the bear mug. I can’t wait to hear Hazel’s reaction. She’s probably going to tell me to get rid of it. She has this weird fear of inanimate objects that are made to look like real things. As in, she’s terrified of dolls. Like they’re going to come alive and kill her while she’s sleeping or something. Yeah, I know, but we all have our quirks.

Jett sets the chair down and then sits in it.

“Perfect.”

I grab some of the hundreds of pens we have just lying around and throw them into the bear mug. Hopefully it won’t freak Hazel out too much.

“Ugh, I have homework to do,” I say. I still have some studying to do for my test.

“Homework is lame,” he says, patting his lap. I sit down and he puts his arm around me. I used to be concerned that I was going to break him by sitting on him, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“I agree. But it has to be done.” He sighs and buries his head into my shoulder.

“I should probably go home and check on Javier. Make sure he made it to bed and didn’t pass out on the hood of a car in the driveway.” I almost pout when I realize that we’re going to be separated, but I pull it back.

“So I’ll see you tonight?” I say, pretending that it’s no big deal that I’m going to be without him for a few hours. Really, it shouldn’t be a big deal. I can function without him. I just . . . don’t want to.

I don’t know who I am anymore.

“I’ll text you before I come over. I’ll bring pizza.” He gives me a quick kiss and I want more, but I pull back and let him go.

As Jett predicted, I get a 94 on my test the next week, and after only being in the kitchen with the bear mug for an hour, Hazel makes me put it in a cupboard and promise to never bring it out at night. She’s been having a rough time, and when she gets back from class one day, she looks so exhausted that I can’t help but notice.

“Can I get you some coffee?” She drops her bag by the door and slumps down in a chair, lying on the table and smashing her head down.

“Remind me why I wanted to be a lawyer?” I push a cup of steaming coffee at her and she lifts her head.

“Because you look fabulous in a pencil skirt and you like telling people what to do.” She gives me a look and sips the coffee, sighing in pleasure.

“Both of those things may be true, but they’re not the only reason. I’m just so fucking tired that I don’t remember what it was like to not be tired.” She’s treated me not so great lately, but she was there for me when no one else was, and nothing can change that. And I can control how I treat her. Kill her with kindness.

“Drink. Then I’m making you dinner and we’re watching a movie. You pick. I will rub your feet and you can tell me about anything you want to tell me about and I will not bring up the guy I’m seeing or anything related to it. This is a penis-free evening.” Hazel finally cracks a smile and drains the rest of the coffee.

“Thanks, Shan.” She gets up and gives me a hug. “You’re the best.”

“So I feel like I’m surrounded by morons. They seriously just don’t care. I doubt they’ll ever pass the Bar. Probably just using Daddy’s money to kill some time before they get shoved into the family business. Ugh. I hate people.” She takes her right foot out of my hands and gives me her left. I squirt some more moisturizer on my hands and start rubbing. Some people have issues with feet, but I’m not one of those people.

“Most of them are pretty terrible.”

“Yeah, sometimes good people can be terrible, though,” I say, giving her a look.

“Sometimes they can.”

Hazel finishes the bowl of chili I made for her and sets it down on the coffee table as Anchorman plays in the background. She lights a cigarette, promising me it’s “just one to take the edge off.” It’s her night, so I let it go. I also don’t ask her if she knew anything about the girls confronting me about Jett. That conversation never happened.

“I really need to have sex,” she says out of the blue. “You having sex all the time is making me want to have it all the time.” Right. Because I’m having sex all the time.

“Is this a hint for me to buy you a vibrator? I am not letting you borrow mine. We are close, but we are NOT that close.” That’s just nasty.

“No, I am not asking to borrow your vibrator. Plastic doesn’t do it for me. I need a hot, sweaty man. Just some guy to grab me and have his way with me. Some good old-fashioned animalistic fucking. You know?” Yeah, because I’m doing that all the time.

“Why don’t you just go pick someone up at the bar?” If it’s good enough for me, it’s good enough for her.

“I’ve done that. A lot of the guys are too drunk to perform, or just bad at it. I want a man to satisfy me. Someone who knows the art of lovemaking and how to push all the right buttons. I guess Jett knows all your buttons by now.” She kind of glares at me when she says the last part.

“Yeah, he’s good.” I manage to make it sound both secretive and dreamy, as if I just don’t want to share any details because it would ruin it. “But I’m not talking about him. This is supposed to be penis free.”

“I can’t help it. I need some penis in my life. Although, this is really nice. I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever. Who knew when I took your keys and told you to get laid you’d find a guy like Jett? I’m really happy for you, Shan. He seems like one of the good ones, but I’m so sorry about the way you met him.”

“He is one of the good ones.” She has no idea. I let the other comment go.

“I want to find one like him. With more meat.” Oh, here we go with the meat talk again.

“I’ll be on the lookout.”

“What about Jett’s roommate? Javier. Gah, I just love saying his name. It sounds so sexy when you say it. Javier. Javier.” I give her a look. She can go ahead and hook up with whomever she wants to, but I would advise her to stay away from Javier, despite his sexy name. Boys like him are nothing but trouble. I don’t need to have any dating experience to know this. Boys like Javier come into your life, tear it apart and then leave as quickly as they arrive, and all you’re left with is broken pieces. Or at least that’s what I can surmise based on my interactions with him so far.

He reminds me a bit of my brother, and I remember what he used to do to his girlfriends. They were destroyed afterwards. Not saying that Javier is a bad guy. It’s just who he is. A human wrecking ball.

“He’s a possibility,” she says, sighing. “But I think I’m going to be more selective this time. I’ve been burned too many times in the past.” Isn’t that the truth? Last year there had been a parade of guys in and out of our apartment. One night I even saw one guy come in and a completely different guy leave in the morning. I’m still trying to figure that out.

“That’s probably a good plan.” We start talking about other things, and pretty soon Hazel is asleep. I extricate myself from under her, cover her with a blanket and go and do the dishes. God, I hope she stays away from Javier.

“Did you miss me?” I ask like a needy, clingy girlfriend when we’re in bed that night. Jett chuckles.

“Just a little. Javier isn’t nearly as pretty as you are, and his hair isn’t as nice.” Well, that is true on both counts.

I tell him about Hazel.

“Well, she’s not the only one who’s interested. He’s been asking me about her as well. But the thing about Javi is that his attention span is pretty damn short. About as long as it takes for him to get off, and then he’s looking for the next one.”

“That’s kind of disgusting,” I say as Jett strokes my hair.

He sighs.

“I know it’s not the best way to live, but he’s not a bad guy, really. He’s done a lot for me, and I don’t know where I’d be without him. He was my only friend for a while when I didn’t have anyone else, and I feel like I’ll always owe him for that, so I stick by his side. His softer side he keeps pretty well hidden. His persona is very important to him.” Big shock.

“Do you have to work tomorrow?” Jett just started a job working in the cafeteria. Apparently website design is not paying enough for him to put himself through school.

I’ve never asked about his family, other than that first time when he showed me his sister’s picture. I can only assume from the fact that he doesn’t talk about his parents, that they’re dead. Probably some tragic accident. It makes me so sad I can’t even think, and I want him to share it with me so I can hold him and care for him. But he doesn’t want to talk about it, and I don’t want to push him. It’s not really my business. I’m only his Fake Girlfriend. Not his real one.

But I want to ask him something personal, so I choose something else.

“What do your tattoos mean?” I stroke the tail of the red dragon on his arm. It’s been killing me not to know about them, but I don’t want to pry.

“They mean a lot of things, and I’m not sure if I can really put into words what they mean, specifically. My body is mine and I can do what I want with it. So I choose to cover it with ink and dragons and all sorts of things. Does that make sense?”

Yeah. Yeah, it does.

“Can I see them?” I’m not asking to see him naked, but it almost seems like I am. Jett looks at me for the longest moment ever and then lets me go, sitting up so he can pull his shirt over his head. I almost hear a drumroll in my brain before he sets the shirt down and turns so I can stare at him. I lean back so I can get the full effect.

Breathtaking. He’s breathtaking. My breath has been taken, and I don’t know how to get it back.

The red dragon covers almost his entire chest, curling around on itself, all claws and fiery scales. The swirling water starts behind the dragon on the left side of his shoulder and then covers the rest of his arm. My eyes follow the rest of the waves, finally landing on the little boat that’s bobbing in that restless sea. Tentatively, I reach one finger out and trace it, tossing about in the chaos, and I understand what it means, even without him having to tell me.

He’s tense, waiting for my verdict, or approval. He doesn’t know he already had it.

“It’s beautiful.” He’s beautiful.

I keep following the swirls of the waves, and he turns, so I can see his back and the blue dragon. It’s less intense than the red dragon. More peaceful and calm. Fire and water. Yin and yang.

I could sit and look at him all day, but I feel bad ogling him.

“You can put your shirt on if you want.” It seems like a weird thing to say, so I look away from him when I say it. He’s still gazing at me over his shoulder.

After a beat of silence, he pulls his shirt back on and I say goodbye to the dragons and waves in my mind. Jett is very modest for a guy, or maybe he’s just trying to keep the Fake Dating boundaries clear. He’s better at it than I am.

The boundaries, even though we wrote them down, are becoming increasingly blurry in my mind. I mean, we’ve pretty much thrown out the Rule about incidental contact, because we sleep together every night. And I like it when he calls me princess when we’re alone. There are a million other little Rule violations each and every day that I totally ignore because I don’t care anymore. I’m having too much fun being a Fake Girlfriend.

“Thank you for sharing that with me. I feel like I should show you my tattoos, but I don’t have any.” He lies back down next to me, but on his stomach, propped up on his elbows.

“So tell me something. Something no one else knows.” I look away from his face and up at the ceiling. Well, there’s one thing I could tell him, but all my friends know about my virginity, so that actually doesn’t count. Thankfully.

So what can I tell him? Not something embarrassing. Something that will make him think I’m adorable and might want to take off his shirt again. The first is possible, but the second probably isn’t. Ah, got it.

“Okay, when I was seven, I was completely in love with Batman. I used to watch the cartoons and movies, even more than my brother.” I don’t think I’ve mentioned my brother to Jett yet. Oh well.

“Okay, so I’m obsessed with Batman. I wanted, more than anything, a Batman shirt to wear with the Bat Signal on it. My brother had one, but he would hide it from me, and lord it over me and I was so jealous. So I begged my mom for it, but she told me that girls weren’t supposed to wear Batman shirts. Yeah, I know. There’s a reason I don’t talk to my parents. She bought me a Disney Princess shirt, which was fine, but I wanted a Batman shirt. So I decided that I was going to get one, no matter what. The next time my mom took me clothes shopping, I ended up hiding in a rack and waiting for her to get distracted so I could run to the boys’ department, grab a shirt, run to the bathroom, tear the tags off with my teeth, put it on under my other shirt and walk out like nothing had happened. They didn’t have those tags that would set off the alarms back then. Or maybe they just didn’t have it in this store. I wore that shirt under my other clothes for the next month. Every day. No one ever noticed, but I couldn’t put it in the wash, so I hid it at the back of my drawer. It’s probably still there.”

It’s a stupid story, and not that great, but it’s one of those things that I think about sometimes that no one else knows.

“So there. Now you know about my history as a Batman t-shirt klepto.” Jett grins wide and grabs my face and gives me a kiss.

“You’re the sweetest klepto I’ve ever met. And I won’t tell anyone. Your secret is safe with me, princess.”

“Cross your heart?” I say.

“Cross my heart,” he says, making an X on his chest. Right on the red dragon. Hopefully the dragon will also keep my secret.

“To the halfway mark,” Jett says as we have lunch on the exact day it’s been two weeks. I thought I was the only one who was obsessively counting, so I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.

“To two weeks of successful Fake Dating. How’s it been for you?” I say, clinking my plastic glass with his.

“I think it’s been great so far. Javier is off my back and your apartment is much nicer than mine. Plus, you’re also better at cooking.”

“Not when it comes to nachos.”

“That is true. I am really good at nachos.”

“And art. You kick my ass at art. And folding paper. You’re the best at that too. And I think you’re a better liar than I am.” He’s definitely a better liar than I am. That’s been proven several times.

“But you’re the best at waffles. And picking chairs. And stealing Batman shirts. Speaking of that, I have something for you as sort of an anniversary present.” He pulls something out of his bag. It’s a present wrapped in the school newspaper.

“Sorry about the wrapping job. The only paper that I have is tiny origami paper that wouldn’t work. I was going to tape it together, but . . . Anyway. It was this or toilet paper. I figured you wouldn’t want toilet paper.”

“You got that right.” I take the present from him and open it slowly. I don’t want to act like a kid and tear it open. Something black and soft emerges, and I realize what it is fairly quickly.

“You are such a dork,” I say as I pull out the Batman t-shirt. It’s exactly my size. He must have either gone through my drawers, or he’s looked at the tags in my shirts.

“Do you mean to tell me that you didn’t get me a present to celebrate our anniversary? Don’t chicks love that stuff?”

I look up from the shirt and I can see that he’s joking. He’d better be.

“I didn’t know we were doing presents. You should have informed me beforehand. I think we need to add that to the Rules. When presents are going to be given, the other should be informed so they can reciprocate.”

“But that takes all the spontaneity out of giving presents. Besides, I don’t want anything.” That’s silly. Everyone loves presents. “And you got me a chair. That’s all I need.”

That is true. I got him a chair. So maybe that makes up for the shirt.

“Do you like it?” he says.

“I freaking love it. I’m never taking it off.”

“So you have a shirt that has Batman on it and you’re going to wear it under all your clothes?” I know he’s paraphrasing a quote from Mean Girls and I love it.

“This one time, Batman punched me in the face. It was awesome.”

We both laugh and I hug the shirt into my chest. I’m totally putting it on as soon as I get back to the apartment, and I’m sleeping in it tonight.

“On a less fun note, I was thinking we should start talking about how we’re going to end this. I think it should be public, for maximum impact and finality. Don’t you think?” The topic shift leaves me with my head spinning.

I don’t want to talk about the break-up. I want to wait until the last possible moment, but I know deep down that we have to plan this out. There’s no point in going through this whole charade if we can’t end it convincingly.

“Yeah. That sounds great.” No. It sounds terrible. I hate confrontation. I avoid it at all costs, even if that means I get treated like crap. But this isn’t real. It’s Fake Fighting. I can handle that.

“I’m thinking I could say something stupid, and you get upset and then we yell and then you get to be the one to end it. I want you to come out on top.” In the midst of my sudden depression about our Fake Break-up, I have another little moment of swoon. How can I say goodbye to him?

“You don’t have to do that. I could say something awful. Blame it on PMS and then you could call me out on it, and then I still get to break up with you. Because of PMS.” This will actually work, cycle-wise.

“No, I think it should be me who is the asshole. I want to give you plenty of things to bash about me when you get together with your friends. I probably should start being an asshole now, so it doesn’t come out of the blue. We should have at least one or two fights beforehand. You know, make it convincing.” He’s thought about this. A lot. I’ve been trying to avoid it as much as I can. I know he’s making sense, but I don’t want him to be making sense. I want him to be talking about the Batman shirt, or his tattoos or anything else.

“Sounds— sounds good,” I say, swallowing because my mouth is dry. “So when do you think our first fight should be?” We should schedule it now and make sure all our fights are in public. Should we write a script, or just let it flow? Or should we say normal things and just make it look like we’re fighting? I have no idea how to do this. I suck at Fake Dating. I’m that girl who gets to foster a puppy, and then can’t let it go when it’s time to give it back to its forever family.

Except Jett is a lot sexier than a puppy. Puppies aren’t sexy. Well, they shouldn’t be if you’re a normal person. But there probably is some weirdo out there who’s into them—

“Should we rehearse?” Jett says, bringing me back to what we’re supposed to be talking about.

“Like, right now?” I don’t want to do this.

“Yes, right now. Why do you always have to be so difficult?” He gives me a wink, even though his voice is loud and the tone is anything but playful. Swallowing a lump in my throat, I play along.

“Why are you always trying to control things?” My voice echoes through the room, and a few people turn and stare.

His voice rises. “I’m not trying to control everything, I just think we should talk about this in a calm and rational manner.” Wow, he’s good. If I didn’t know better, I would think we were really fighting.

“Here we go again, you always treat me like I’m the crazy one.” I grab my tray and stomp off to the trashcans, making sure to separate out my silverware and my cup and leave them on my tray so they can get washed.

Jett is right behind me.

“Don’t you walk away from me!” he yells so loud that nearly all conversation ceases. Hearing Jett’s stern voice is a little scary.

I whip around and decide that it’s go big or go home.

“I’ll do whatever I want! You don’t own me!” With that, I storm back to the table, grab my bag, and storm out. It feels kind of good, even if it’s not real. I’ve never yelled at anyone in public before. It’s kind of empowering. I want to do a leap or something. So I do.

“What was that?” Jett’s voice says behind me.

“My leap of victory over finally giving my douchey boyfriend what he deserves. And in public, no less. That was a victory leap. I should have done the Breakfast Club fist pump.”

“You should. He sounds like an asshole. I hope you’re going to dump him.” He leans against the front of the building.

I nod seriously.

“I plan to.” And then we both smile at the same time and burst out laughing.

“I think we did pretty good, don’t you?” I say.

“I’d give us an Oscar. Meryl who?”

“Never heard of her,” I say. “But really, we shouldn’t diss Meryl. She’s awesome.”

He agrees quickly, changing his tune. “I feel like it could send us to hell. I take it back Meryl!” he calls to the heavens. That gets me laughing again, and I only stop when Jett kisses me. Most of our kisses lately have been sweet, tame, timid. This, however, is not.

Jett takes control of my mouth, his lips and tongue demanding more of me, all of me. Oh, well, this is new. And it’s over as soon as it starts. He pulls back as if he’s shocked about what he’s done. I’m . . . I don’t know what I am at the moment.

“I should get to class,” he says, and then he’s gone and I’m left with burning lips and his taste in my mouth and a hell of a lot of confusion.

Was that make up kissing? Could that be a thing?

I really need to fight with him more often.

I’m heading back to the parking lot to get my car when someone snags my arm. My first thought is that I should have listened during orientation when they talked about pepper spray and rape whistles.

And then a voice says, “Hey, blondie. Let’s have a little chat,” and I come face to face with Javier.

“Losing circulation,” I say, because I’m pretty sure he’s making my arm into a new shape with his grip. He looks down at his hand and releases my arm, but nods for me to follow him. I roll my eyes but follow him around the side of the building where there aren’t so many people.

“Can I help you with something?” I say as he stops walking and faces me again. He pulls a cigarette and a lighter out of his pocket and lights up. I didn’t know he smoked. I’ve never seen him do it before.

“I’ve tried to quit, but it won’t stick. Anyway, I just wanted to talk to you about Jett.” I cross my arms. I really don’t know where this is going.

“What about him?” It’s not really his business, but maybe it’s a best friend thing. Hazel would probably do the same thing. In fact, I know she would.

“I just thought we should have a talk, since you two are getting pretty serious now. Jett is . . . look, he’s been my best friend for years, and I’m always looking out for him. He might not be my biological brother, but he’s my brother. I just wanted to make sure that you knew that.”

“Is this some sort of weird threat?”

“No, no. Not a threat. Just letting you know that I’m looking out for him, and if something happens, I’m taking his side. And just . . . be careful with him. He’s been through a lot and I would hate to see him get hurt.”

Now that last part sounds a bit like a threat.

“It’s not my intention to hurt him.” Oh, this is going to be bad. I’m definitely scared of Javier. He could crush my skull with two of his muscular fingers. This is probably why Jett wants to play it that it’s his fault that we break up. I’m not going to argue with him on that.

“I can see that you mean that. Honestly, I’m glad he found someone like you, Shannon. You seem like a nice girl, and he’s been really happy.” He stubs out his cigarette in the bucket and then grabs some gum from his pocket.

“Just don’t screw it up,” he says around his gum before patting me on the shoulder and walking away.

I slump against the building. This is a fucking disaster.

I stress out the entire time I’m at work that afternoon, and I don’t have Amelia to talk to about it. But when I leave, someone is waiting by my car, leaning on their car. Or what he refers to as a car. I think the jury is still out on it.

“What are you doing here?” I say. I haven’t seen him since we “fought” and “made up” earlier. I also haven’t told him about the conversation I had with Javier. I’m not sure if I should tell him. I’ve been going back and forth about it. I mean, Javier didn’t tell me not to tell him, but it did seem like a thing that he might not want Jett to know.

Ugh. Dilemma.

“I thought I would take my Fake Girlfriend out for a real dinner. Come on,” he opens the door for me. He seems serious, which kind of scares me.

“Wow, Batman t-shirt and taking me out to dinner. What did I do to deserve this?”

He shrugs. “I just felt bad about the fight. Even if it was fake. I didn’t know it would feel that real.”

“I know. It’s going to be really weird when we have to do it in front of everyone and it’s real.” Or . . . whatever.

Jett turns on the radio and seems really quiet.

“Something wrong?” I say, my stomach twisting. Between the talk with Javier and Jett being weird, I sense that something is up. But I don’t know if he’s going to tell me about it.

“No, I just wanted to see you and I was hungry and figured we should go out. That’s all.” Not buying it.

“Yeah, I would believe that if you weren’t acting so weird, and because Javier came and talked to me today about you.”

Jett swerves a little, and I can tell that he didn’t know about Javier. Huh. There really was only one way to find out if he knew about it.

“What did he say?”

“He just told me that if I hurt you, he would find me, eviscerate me and feed me my own organs,” I say seriously.

“Shannon, be serious. What did he say?” Great, I just ruined everything. I should have kept my mouth shut.

“He just said that he hoped I wouldn’t hurt you, and that you’d been through some stuff and that he was looking out for you.”

“But he didn’t tell you anything specifically?” He’s freaking out. This whole thing has backfired.

“No. He was very general.” Clearly, Jett has something that he doesn’t want me to know. Or maybe a few somethings he doesn’t want me to know, but that’s nothing new. I can’t be upset that he won’t open up to me, because I’m not his girlfriend. “It’s okay, Jett. I know you have things that are personal, but don’t worry about me. If you want to tell me, you tell me, if you don’t, you don’t. I’m not going to beat it out of you, or get pissed at you. I’m not that kind of girl.”

He sighs and pulls into a pizza place.

“I’m sorry about everything.” I’m not sure what he’s sorry about. Keeping secrets? Javier? The “fight” earlier? He’s going to have to get specific.

We go in and get a table and order drinks before Jett starts talking.

“I know you don’t get along with your parents. Most people mention at least talking to theirs, but you never do.” Wait, now we’re talking about me? I’m lost, but I’ll go along with it.

“No. I don’t get along with my parents. I mean, I love them, that’s a given, but I don’t like them all that much. We have next to nothing in common. They enjoy drinking beer and watching NASCAR and gossiping and starting stupid fights with other people who are old enough to know better.

“Neither of them even graduated high school, and they used to make fun of me for doing my homework. My brother is the same, except he got into growing pot, which they weirdly encouraged. He lives in their basement, if you can believe that, and grows pot and watches a lot of Will Ferrell movies. None of them have any idea why you would want to go through more school than you have to, or even why anyone would read. I can’t deal with being around them, so I just don’t. As soon as I could get out, I did, and I only go back when I have to.”

Okay, I did not mean to tell him all that stuff, but it sort of came out. The waitress comes back and we both realize we haven’t even thought about what to order. Jett tells her we need a minute. I think he’s going to start talking, but then he asks me what I want. The suspense is killing me.

“Um, I don’t care. Whatever you want.”

“Large pizza with bacon sound okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” Jett is absorbed in the menu. He’s avoiding talking about whatever it is, which must mean it’s something bad. I don’t know what my issues with my parents have to do with it, but I’m ready to find out.

The waitress comes back and he orders the pizza, and I also order a salad. I should at least eat something that is remotely healthy. When she leaves again, I fold my hands on the table and take a sip of my soda.

Jett stares at the table, closes his eyes and then looks at me.

“My parents were strict growing up. Like, really strict. The opposite of yours. Even though they came over to this country, and they love it here, they pretty much think everything American is evil. From the shows to the clothes, to everything. They even homeschooled me and my sister to try and prevent us from getting ‘influenced.’ I understood that they were trying to teach us traditional values, but they just went about it in a completely wrong and controlling way. I used to have nightmares that if I watched an American movie my brain would rot and turn to liquid and come out my ears.” He shudders and I really don’t know what to say. This is completely different than I thought, and now I have to process it.

“So that was how I lived for most of my life, but then I turned sixteen and got my driver’s license. I was still homeschooled, but I was allowed to take the car out and get groceries, and do other errands. They would time me, they knew where I was going and how long it should take, so there was no way I could really get out. But I’d started thinking that I didn’t want to live that way anymore. They called it “teenage rebellion” and “acting out” and “dishonoring my family” but all I wanted was to go to the movies and do things that everyone else did. I love my culture, but I don’t see why I couldn’t be Japanese and be American, too. Anyway, fast forward and I was sitting at my window long after my parents had told me to go to bed and there was a party up the street. The kid’s parents had gone out of town, so he was taking advantage of it. I was sitting there, hearing the music I wasn’t allowed to listen to, and the people laughing and having a good time, and then I snuck downstairs and went right out the front door. That was the night I met Javi. He was the one throwing the party.”

Yeah, I could believe that.

“And fast forward to more rebellion, listening to Something Corporate and other banned music, seeing forbidden movies, and things got bad. I screwed up, a lot. Nothing illegal, or at least nothing I got caught for and I blew of school. That’s one of the reasons I put up with him. He was always there to bail me out, and when my parents found out about everything I’d done, they threw me out. They said that I was a bad influence on my sister, and a disgrace to the family name. So I moved in with Javi.”

Holy. Crap. My parents had said some awful things to me, but I couldn’t imagine a parent saying that to their child. And to Jett, no less.

“And fast forward to me getting my shit together, including getting my GED and then coming here and there you go. God, they would probably both have heart attacks if they knew I was telling you anything about this, but I haven’t seen my parents or my sister in four years. Not a phone call, not a card, no contact. They told me that I was never welcome in their house again, and that was before the tattoos. I’ve driven by there a few times, because when I go back for holidays, I stay with Javi’s family, but I don’t have the balls to knock on my own family’s door. I just . . . I wish I could see my sister. I don’t want her to feel like I abandoned her.”

And the waitress chooses that exact moment to bring the pizza and set it down. I stare at it as if it’s going to give me the answers I need. Maybe there isn’t a right thing to say in this situation. Jett’s waiting.

“That’s not what I thought, at all. I don’t know what to say. I thought I had it bad, but at least I can go home and see my parents. I escaped them, but not like that. I’m so sorry for you, and I think you are so, so brave for doing what you did.” I reach across the table, avoiding the burning pizza pan and grasp his hands. I’m bummed that we have the stupid table between us.

“I’m not that brave. I rebelled against my parents. Not a whole lot of people would think that was brave.” What a load of crap. I get up and slide into the booth on the same side with him and put my arm around him, kissing his cheek.

“You’re awesome, Jett Nguyen. Don’t ever doubt yourself.” He puts his arm around me and pulls me as close as he can get and gives me a return kiss on my hair.

“I’m so glad I met you, Shannon Travers. They say things happen for a reason, but I always thought that was crap, because terrible things happen all the time that don’t make any sense. But I think I was meant to meet you in that café.” I feel the exact same way.

“Thank you for sharing your story with me. You didn’t have to, but I’m glad you did, and you don’t have to worry about me sharing it with anyone. Your secret is safe with me.”

“It never crossed my mind that you would tell anyone. I trust you, princess.” He finally smiles and my heart gets all fluttery again.

The more I learn about Jett and the more time I spend with him, the more I fear what it’s going to be like after this is over.

“Can we still be friends? After? I mean, after a suitable time has passed, during which I will grieve for your loss and also curse your existence?” I’m also supposed to tear up pictures and curse him with genital warts. Or so I have learned from movies.

“We still have some time. Let’s not throw in the towel just yet.” He pushes my hair over my shoulder.

“Less than two weeks. Not that long.” He seems reluctant now to talk about that. He keeps stroking my hair, but the closeness I felt moments ago when he was telling me about his parents is gone. He may be physically close, but emotionally, he’s shut down. Now it’s my turn to sigh. I get up and go back to my side of the booth and we start eating in silence.

The next time we talk is when we fight over the bill, and I let him win.

“You have to wear that for Jett tonight,” Hazel says back at the apartment. We’d gone shopping with the girls and I’d picked up a mint lace tank top with matching boy shorts. It was better than the crazy leather outfit that they’d tried to get me in. Shudder.

“Maybe I will and maybe I will,” I say with a wink.

“You’ll have to tell me how he likes it. I want details. You’ve been very stingy with details about your sex life, which either means you’re into something weird and you don’t want to tell me, or it’s not that great.” Or, I could just want to keep it private? Why isn’t that an option?

“It’s not either. Maybe I just don’t feel like sharing something that’s so intimate and it’s just between two people.”

She narrows her eyes at me.

“That means it’s bad. Is he too small? Does he finish too fast? Is his thing crooked?” I have no knowledge of any of these things. Except for maybe the first. From having his, um, member, pressed into my leg on several occasions, I know that it is not small. I haven’t had a whole lot of penis experience, but I know it’s not small. Actually, It feels kind of terrifyingly big. I’m glad I don’t have to fit it inside me. God bless the lucky girl who gets it.

That sounds so weird.

I’m also pretty sure about the crooked part. I think I would have felt that as well.

“There is nothing wrong with his equipment or his performance. He’s fine. We’re fine. I am satisfied.” Actually, since I’ve spent so much time with Jett and he gets me . . . riled up, for lack of a better term, I’ve been kind of pent up in that area.

I steal my time in the shower when I can, but my poor vibrator has been very neglected of late. I hid it under my bed in the very, very back so unless he actually dives under my bed and searches, Jett won’t find it. That would be a lovely and awkward conversation that I really don’t want to have.

“If you say so,” she sing-songs. Whatever. My Fake sex life is none of her business.

“So what about yours? Found anyone you want to bang yet?” I’ve got my fingers crossed she’s not going to say “Javier.”

Rolling her eyes, she goes to the coffeemaker and puts a new filter in.

“Now that you’ve had sex, you can understand how much it sucks when you don’t have it. I swear, I’m going to go crazy and kill someone if I don’t get laid soon.” She puts a new filter in and then fills the water container up.

“Well babe, I can’t help you. I don’t think the roommate and friend requirements go that far.”

She gives me a look.

“I would never ask you to do that. I don’t swing that way.”

Neither do I.

“Just take care of it yourself.” That’s what I have to do. Or what I used to do before I had a boyfriend . . .

“It’s not as good. I need another person. I need visual stimulation.” Well she could always watch porn, but I know she’s just going to come up with another excuse.

“So why don’t you go out and do something about it, if it’s such an issue for you?” I’m kind of tired of her whining about it. But at the same time, I don’t want to see a parade of losers in and out of the apartment. It’s kind of a dilemma.

“Maybe I will.” That sounds like both a threat and a challenge. Great. I ignore the comment because I really don’t want to keep talking about this, so I mumble something about homework. I do actually have to do some, so I head to my room and turn my music up and throw myself into writing a paper. Hazel brings me some coffee with nutmeg and cinnamon later, and I’m grateful for it.

The time between now and when I get to see Jett again goes too slow, and I’m done with my paper with an hour to spare. I could start something else, but I really want to get out of the apartment.

An idea strikes me so I grab my keys and dash out to my car and drive back to the mall. Right next to it are a few stores that cater exclusively to college students, including a music store-slash-coffeehouse that also hosts open mic nights and afternoons. Man, add beer to that and it attracts pretentious hipster college students quicker than you could say, “I liked it before it was cool.” I tend to avoid it, but there’s something I need, so I braved throng of people who have five hundred dollar phones pontificating about the water shortage in third world countries and keep my head down as I head for the CD section.

There isn’t anything romantic about giving someone an iTunes gift card, so I flip through the CDs until I find what I want. I get out of there as quick as I can and then head back to school. It takes forever to find a parking spot, and then I have to wrap my present with what I have in my car, which is either a Dunkin’ Donuts bag or a cell phone bill. I choose the former and then head to the coffee shop in the library to get both of us coffee and baked goods. They have cannolis; JACKPOT. I get six of them, because I’m definitely going to want at least three, and if I have three, it only seems fair to give three to Jett. Or maybe I’ll eat four and Jett will get two.

Okay, I eat one two seconds after I check out, so there are only five left. Then I have to eat another to make it even. Crap, time to meet Jett.

“You have something on your face,” Jett says even before I get a word in. Crap. Busted with cannoli all over my face. I wipe, but he shakes his head.

“You missed. Here.” He steps close to me and raises his hand to wipe away the cream from the cannoli (eww, I can’t help but make that sexual) and then his tongue darts out and gets it instead. I can’t help the gasp that escapes my mouth as he smiles at my shock, gives me a quick peck and then says, “I hope that was frosting or something.”

“Well, you should have asked before you licked my face, idiot,” I say, sounding breathless.

“Maybe I should have. Should we add that to the list? No licking of the Fake Girlfriend’s face unless you ask her what is on her face first?”

“I think that’s a plan. Hi.” I pop up on my tiptoes and kiss him again. Can’t resist.

“Hi,” he says, holding my face and stroking my cheeks with his thumbs. Boy, I am glad to see him. The feeling seems mutual.

“I got you something,” I say, rustling the Dunkin’ Donuts bag with the CD in it. My other hand has the bag with the cannolis and so forth. I had to set the coffee cups down on the table next to me.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, letting go of my face and backing up so I can give him the bag. I sit down and pull out another cannoli.

He pulls out the CD and turns it around. It’s Leaving Through The Window from Something Corporate. I noticed how much he liked them when they were on the radio and then he mentioned them again when he told me about his family.

“I figured you should be able to listen to freedom. Even if freedom sometimes sounds a little emo.” He stares at the CD and I can’t read his face. Uh oh.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. I start eating my cannoli, waiting for him to emote.

“You’re welcome,” I say with my mouth full before grabbing a napkin. “It’s not much, but I just thought you should have it, even if you already do.”

“This is . . . really special, Shannon. I love it.” He looks up from the CD and gives me such a heart-shattering smile I almost can’t stand it.

“You really like it?”

“I do. I wish my car had a CD player.”

That’s right. I forgot the thing he calls a car doesn’t have one of those. It doesn’t even have a tape deck, that’s how awesome it is.

“You really need to get a new car, and not just to play that one CD,” I say, finishing my cannoli as Jett puts the CD down and starts sipping his coffee.

“Can’t afford it. When my parents cut me off, they really cut me off. If I didn’t get scholarships, or have a lot of help from Javi and his family, I would be living in a box on the street.” God, I can’t imagine. He’s so young to have to deal with shit like that. Yes, I deal with a similar situation, but at least if I had a real crisis, my parents would bail me out. My brother would give me some of his pot money, and mom would offer to get me a job at whatever fast food joint or restaurant she’s currently working at, and Dad would tell me that’s what I get for going to college and not getting a job right out of school before he would start hiding dollar bills in my purse, or in my jeans pockets.

“You wouldn’t have to live in a box on the street. I wouldn’t let you. You could just move in with me.” As soon as I say it, I realize it’s true. He’s practically living with me already, so it wouldn’t be that big a deal. Except he’d have no place for his stuff. That would be an issue.

“Well, barring any disaster with Javi, we won’t have to think about it.” He smiles, but it doesn’t feel genuine.

“So I think we should fight tonight,” he says after I hand him a cannoli. Ugh, I was afraid of that. For some reason, Javier has hatched this plan that we should all go over to his and Jett’s apartment and have a big lovely non-family dinner.

I think this is just an excuse to grill me in front of Jett. Or maybe hit on Hazel. Or maybe get someone to make him a home-cooked meal, since I have “volunteered” to cook. I kind of have to since they’re hosting it at their house, so I feel obligated. Sigh.

It’s only going to be me, Jett, Javier and Hazel, but I am adamant that it is NOT a double date and Hazel agrees. She doesn’t date. Like, ever. Her feeling is that dating is serious, that you use it to get to know your future mate, and she’s not even close to doing that, so for right now she’s just “being young and having fun.” I do not judge.

I’ve decided to make lemon garlic tortellini with chicken, a Caesar salad and an éclair cake for desert. Javier better like it, because that’s the best that he’s getting. Jett has also agreed to help, even though he said he has never cooked tortellini in his life. At least he’s willing to try.

“That would probably be a good idea,” I say as my heart twinges in despair. “It will be broadcast to all my friends by the time we’re finished saying ‘Fine!’” If there is one thing you can count on Hazel for, it’s spreading relationship drama around to all our other friends, so they can discuss it and decide what to do about it and how to intervene and somehow make it better, while also making it worse. She means well. I think.

“So what should we fight about?” he says.

Okay, so despite not wanting to fight, I’ve actually made a list of topics we could fight about, and I bring it out of my bag. I work on it whenever I have in between time, or I’m insanely bored in class.

“You have a list?”

“Well, we did make a list when we started this. I thought we should end it with a list. Okay, first: you don’t like my hair.” Yeah, I know it’s lame.

“But I love your hair.”

“Two: we disagree on whether women belong in the kitchen.”

Jett puts his hands up as if I’ve held a gun to his head.

“Whoa. I am not touching that. There is no way I can say the right thing.”

“Three: you think I’m fat.” This one makes him burst out laughing. Not sure what’s so funny about it. I glare at him over the list.

“And that is funny because?”

“Because I would never, ever, call you, or any woman, fat. Not even if she was. That’s the first rule of dealing with any woman. Besides, it’s an asshole thing to do. So no, what’s the next one?”

I grab another cannoli. Who knew we were going to disagree about what to fight about?

“Four: You don’t like it when I talk in my sleep.”

“But you don’t talk in your sleep.”

“I know that, but I might. And you could have a problem with it. And then I can freak out and then it can be one of those things that starts small and explodes into something else and we just start yelling random things and boom. Fight.”

It’s been my experience that fights almost always start with something small that is a symptom of something larger that we just don’t want to talk about.

“Okay, I think I can go with that one. What else did you have?” I hand over the list and we both laugh about it for a while as we finish the cannolis and then the rest of the stuff that I’d bought.

“You have too much time on your hands, Shan,” he says, handing the list back to me.

“Well, we can’t spend all our free time taking over the internet and making paper masterpieces.” I toss a balled-up napkin at him, and he ducks.

“Oh, I was also thinking about something else. If we fight then that means you don’t get to stay tonight.” Shit, I hadn’t thought about that. I can’t sleep alone! Not that I didn’t spend nearly twenty-one years of my life sleeping alone, but I didn’t know what I was missing.

“Or, maybe I can wait until Javi is asleep and then sneak over, and then out in the morning before Hazel gets up.” Oh, bless him.

“Oh, OR, you could come over and we could make up during the night. If you know what I mean.” I’m pretty sure he does.

“Yes. That works perfectly. Okay, it’s on. Listen, I have to get back to work, but I will see you in two hours? Are you sure you don’t need me to get anything?”

“No, no. I’ve got it. Hazel’s going shopping with me and then the both of us will be over. Fun times,” I say with both thumbs raised.

“Exactly,” he says as he gets up and gives me a kiss. “Thanks for the cannolis, princess.” Rule breaker. I kiss him back and say goodbye.

I don’t know if I’m going to make it through this Fake Fight, but at least I have Jett coming over to “make up” afterwards to think about. That’s the only okay part of it. Besides, this will prepare me for the actual thing. Only then I won’t be able to crawl into bed with Jett on the same night.

Yeah, not going to think about that.

“Am I doing this right?” I move away from the steaming pot of water that I’m about to toss the tortellini in, but Jett is grating cheese for the salad, and acts like he’s never seen a grater before. Poor guy.

“You’re such an amateur,” Javier says from where he’s mincing garlic like a pro. I’m thrilled he agreed to do it, because I HATE chopping garlic. It always gets on your hands and then you smell like it for days. Disgusting.

“No, you are not doing it right,” I say, abandoning the pasta water and going to rescue Jett.

“Martha Stewart would totally take you behind the garden shed and beat you with a mezzaluna.” I take the cheese from him and reposition it to show him the proper way to grate it.

“What the hell is a mezzaluna?”

“It’s a kind of curved knife that you can use to chop things. It’s shaped like a half moon. Mezzaluna means half moon in Italian,” Javier says before I can get a word out. What the crap?

“What? Sometimes I watch cooking shows.” This is a HUGE shock because I’ve never seen him cook.

“Javier is a man of many talents,” Jett says, looking at the grater as if it’s going to bite him. Well, it isn’t called a knuckle-buster for nothing.

I shake my head and go back to the pasta. Hazel has run out to get parmesan cheese because I completely forgot about it.

A bang on the door announces her return. She comes in holding the cheese aloft like Rafiki with Simba in The Lion King. We all clap and bow to her greatness.

“Thanks, Haze.” I say, taking the container of cheese and setting it on the counter next to all the other stuff.

“What can I do?” Hazel comes and puts her chin on my shoulder and peers at the pots and pans, etc., I have going on the stove. I’m pretty sure the last time it was cleaned was circa WWII. Yeah, I’m going to take care of that later. Or someone will, because Jett and I are going to fight.

“Um, could you get the chicken going? Just throw some olive oil in that pan and make sure it doesn’t burn.” This is a task for Hazel. I used to think that people who couldn’t cook were just lazy, and wanted other people to do it for them, but then I met Hazel and realized cooking is a skill like anything else, some people are good at it and some people aren’t.

Somehow, with my help, Hazel manages to not burn the chicken and the pasta is perfect and has just the right amount of lemon and garlic, but not too much. The boys keep working, and sooner than I know it, the dinner is assembled and we’re sitting down to mismatched plates (including some that have beer logos on them) and everyone is eating.

Halfway through dinner, Jett nudges me under the table as Javier and Hazel flirt disgustingly back and forth.

“You were talking in your sleep last night,” Jett says casually, as if it’s a throwaway comment.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say, as agreed on.

“You were going on and on. Haven’t you ever thought about going to see someone about it? It’s kind of a pain.” To my ears, I can tell he’s lying. God, I hope Javier can’t tell.

“Well, I’m so sorry that my uncontrollable sleep talking is disturbing you. Maybe you shouldn’t come over if you don’t like it.” I try to throw as much venom into my words as I can, and it’s almost like I swallow some of it myself. This sucks.

“Look, you don’t have to freak out about it, I was just pointing it out.” Hazel and Javier are silent, watching the verbal Ping-Pong match of words between Jett and me. I’m not sure who’s winning. Seems like no one does in this situation.

“Whatever. I’m just so sick of you criticizing me. If you don’t like the way I sleep, THEN DON’T SLEEP WITH ME.” I get up and throw my “napkin” (it’s really just a paper towel) down and storm to grab my purse.

“I’m sorry, I can’t deal with this right now,” I say, my voice cracking, which I don’t actually have to fake. The tears that are gathering and growing in my eyes are also very real. I cannot look at Jett as I grab my coat and slam the door. I hear Hazel running behind me, trying to catch up. I get to my car and take a shaky breath.

My GOD that was harder than I thought it would be, and it was minor. Fighting with your Fake Boyfriend is horrible, let me tell you. Even when the fight is Fake. All of it feels real. Very real. Breath-stealing, cry-makingly real.

“What the hell, Shan? What was that? Are you bipolar and I just never noticed? Or do you have the most severe case of PMS in the history of the world?”

I wish.

“I just can’t deal with him right now. He was being a jerk, and I didn’t want to put up with it.” I pull the door open and toss my purse in. Time for my acting skills to really kick in. It’s one thing to Fake Fight. It’s another to make your best friend and roommate believe it when she knows you so well.

“Well, I’m going to give it to you straight and tell you that you’re being an asshole to him. He was just making a joke and you’re taking it completely wrong. By the way, why hasn’t he come after you?” She glances back at the apartment building, squinting at Jett’s door and windows.

“Whatever. Are you coming with me or not? I just want to go home.” I jingle my keys.

“Yeah, sure. We can go. Just, um, I’m just going to grab some of the leftovers, if that’s okay.” Well it does kind of suck leaving all that pasta and salad behind. And the cake. Dear God, the cake.

“Grab the cake,” I say. “I’m going to need it.”

An hour later, Hazel and I both have forks and are plunging them into the éclair cake. It sounds a lot fancier than it is. Basically, you layer graham crackers with vanilla pudding and then slather the top with chocolate frosting. It’s delicious, and perfect when you’re depressed about Fake Fighting with your Fake Boyfriend.

“I thought you guys were doing so well. You seemed happy. I just don’t get it.” I stab at the cake and shovel it into my mouth. I want to eat it, but I also want her to stop talking. I don’t want to talk about it, so I tell her.

“Okay, fine. Don’t talk about it.” She puts her fork down and turns on the television. Good. Something to distract my attention.

Or maybe not. The first channel she turns to is playing Mean Girls. What are the flipping chances of that?

“Change it,” I snap, and she gives me a look before she does. After skipping all of the news and sports networks (I just wasn’t in the mood) she gets to a channel that loops old television shows. Leave it to Beaver is on. Hazel stops channel surfing without me even having to say anything. We may be very different people, but we both share a weird fascination with shows like this. The moms with the perfect hair who wear heels to vacuum the house, the perfect children, the meals, the subtle misogyny. Ah, good times.

“I think her hair is tornado proof,” Hazel says as Mrs. Cleaver sets out yet another perfect dinner.

“You know, I always wonder if Eddie Haskell and Mrs. Cleaver were secretly banging each other. He’s always complimenting her and she kind of flirts with him back. But then no one had sex in the 1950s, so that never would have happened.”

“That would have made the show so much better. I bet there’s fan fiction out there with them.”

“Agreed.”

We demolish half of the cake as the Beave tries once more to get himself out of a situation. The episode finishes and all is well. Big shocker. There’s something comforting about a show like that. You know exactly what’s going to happen and at the end of the day, everything turns out fine.

“I want an apron,” I say as another episode starts.

“I’ll get you one for your birthday.” I set the cake tray back on the table. I’m full, but I still feel like shit. The cake was supposed to fix everything.

“You still don’t wanna talk about it?” Hazel says.

“Nope,” I answer. She shrugs and goes back to watching the show.

Hazel goes to bed early, which is great for me. I stay in the living room watching random television, waiting for Jett. I’ve been staring at my phone every few minutes, waiting for a text. I guess I could text him first, but I’m scared.

I’m scared that he’s going to safe word. There is no way that this is worth it for him. He might as well just end it here.

Finally around 11, I get a message.

Is the coast clear?

I dash to Hazel’s room and put my ear to the door. Her soft deep breathing greets me, but I listen for a few minutes just to make sure. Yup, she’s out.

Come on over.

I go to the kitchen and make two cups of tea, one of which is in the bear mug for him. I also change into the mint green outfit, but I put a robe I’d also bought at the store over it so I’m not wearing a lace getup while lounging in my kitchen. That would be a little weird. And cold.

I’m here.

I rush to the door and open it ever so slowly. My heart goes frenetic at the sight of Jett in a sweatshirt and shorts.

“Hi,” I whisper, leaning against the door.

“Hi,” he says, his hands shoved in the pocket of the sweatshirt. “Can I come in? It’s kinda cold out here.”

“Oh, yeah.” I move back to let him in and then shut the door as quietly as I can behind him.

“I think Hazel is asleep, but we should probably go to my room.” I grab the two mugs of tea and tiptoe to my room. Hazel’s room is off the living room, and mine is off the kitchen, so they’re far enough away that most sound doesn’t carry. Thank God.

I shut the door and Jett sits down on my bed. I hand him the bear mug and sit down next to him, pulling my knees up and setting my tea on them.

Jett’s the first to speak. “That sucked, Shan.”

“Completely. What was it like after I left?” He sips his tea before he answers.

“Javi wanted me to go after you, and I had to pretend that I didn’t want to. Then he called me an asshole and left and hasn’t been back to the apartment. And then I came over here. I’m really, really sorry about what I said. I know it was fake, but I’m still sorry.” I bump his shoulder with mine.

“It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it, and I’m not that sensitive.” God, I’m such a liar.

“Good. So can we make up now? The bear really wants to know.” He holds the mug up and I laugh.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Yes, we are made up.” I set my mug down on my dresser and take the bear from him.

“Good,” Jett says, and then he pulls me forward for a soft kiss. Or at least it starts with the intention of soft. But then my mouth opens and somehow our tongues get involved and before I know it, the robe is falling away from my shoulders and my lips are swollen and throbbing and my head and my mouth are filled with Jett.

He breaks away from me and pulls back to look at my outfit. I’m still standing and he’s sitting on the edge of my bed with me between his legs.

“What are you wearing?” Until this point, all of my nighttime attire has been pretty modest. This is the most skin of mine he’s ever seen at one time.

“I got it today. Do you . . . do you like it?” His hands move down my shoulders, barely touching me. They move down my sides, skimming just over the lace and then skip across my stomach.

“Yeah,” he says, swallowing, not taking his eyes off me. “Yeah, I do.” His hands are big and warm and they make me throb everywhere. And judging by his shorts, I’m not the only one affected.

“Jett—” I start to say, but he interrupts me.

“Perspicacious,” he whispers.

He takes his hands away from my sides and stands, moving around me. I grab his arm to stop him, but he gives me such a pained look that I let go.

With one final look, he shuts my door and then I hear the front door close as well.

I crumple and luckily find my bed before I fall to the floor.

Oh. My. God.

One moment I thought we were going to . . . and then he . . .

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. My phone vibrates, startling me.

I’m sorry.

Just two words. They don’t explain anything. Not what had happened between us, or why he had left. Or why he had used the safe word.

So I answer his text with three letters.

Why?

I set my phone on the bed and wait for an answer.

I wait for twenty minutes. The tea is cold by now and the bear mug is glaring at me, so I turn it around so it will stop judging me.

I wait another half hour and realize that he’s not going to answer me. So I turn off the light and go to bed.

Cold and alone.

“Wake up!” Something soft smashes me in the face, and I open my eyes.

“Are you awake yet?” Hazel yells. Jesus Christ.

“I am now,” I moan. I’d spent most of the night tossing and turning and reaching for something, but not finding it. Doesn’t take a genius to know what that’s about.

“Get up. The day is a-wasting.” What the crap is she talking about? It’s Sunday. We don’t have to be up for anything on Sunday.

“You’re insane,” I say, trying to pull the blankets over my head, but that causes Hazel to rip them away from me. She jumps on my bed and sticks her face in mine.

“We’re going to get your mind off your boyfriend issues and it starts now. Come on.” I listen and realize there are voices outside my door. Seriously, what the hell is up with this?

“Is she up yet?” Cass yells through the door.

“Almost,” Hazel calls back. This is unbelievable.

“Come on, rise and shine. Or at least rise. You don’t have to shine. You can be as non-shiny as you want, but just GET UP.” She smacks me with the pillow again and that’s it. I grab it away from her and smash her in the face with it.

“That’s my girl,” she says, taking my arm and pulling me upright. I’m still wearing the lace number. Looking down at myself makes me remember last night and I don’t want to remember last night. Hazel hands me the robe and I put it on, making sure everything is covered. Then she drags me out into the kitchen, where the rude awakening continues. A Styrofoam cup of coffee is shoved into one hand, a donut in the other.

The whole gang is here, and they’re all painfully perky, but they’re all wearing concern on their faces as well. God, it’s like someone died.

“Chop, chop,” Hazel says, clapping her hands in my ear. I am going to KILL her. Instead, I sip my coffee and munch my donut.

Either they all decided to get together and randomly cheer me up, or Hazel called all of them and hatched this plan. When, I have no idea. Maybe she was busy texting on her phone last night when I thought she was sleeping.

I finish my breakfast under the watchful eyes of my friends. It’s a little like being in a zoo. I just want them to act normal, but I suppose that is too much to ask.

“Okay, someone has to say something or else I’m going to go back to bed,” I say tossing my coffee cup.

“Since this is your first fight with your boyfriend, we thought you would need a little cheering up,” Cass finally says. The rest of them nod like bobble heads.

“We just had a fight, guys.” Or at least that was what happened before the safe word happened. I have no idea what’s going to happen now. I mean, is this THE END, the end?

I need to talk to Jett. I don’t think texting is going to work. I’ve got to do this face-to-face. I guess it will have to wait, though, until after whatever shenanigans these bitches have planned.

“Oh, honey,” Jordyn says, her drawl even thicker than normal. It seems to come out more when she’s comforting someone. She wraps her arms around me and gives me a hug. I have to hand it to her, she’s a really good hugger. Must be a southern thing, along with the comforting voice.

I hug her back, but I am not breaking down. Not until I know for sure, for sure.

Apparently, the way to get over heartache is to go to a salon, and steep yourself in chemicals while you get your nails done, followed by seeing a movie with the most shirtless guys per minute, followed by a most fattening lunch. Not that I don’t like any of those things, but when they prevent me from seeing Jett, I resent them, just a little.

I try to have fun, but it’s kind of miserable. They do their best, making me laugh and looking for new guys to help me “get over him.”

“The fastest way to get over someone is to get under someone else. Especially since he was your first. You know. If it doesn’t work out,” Daisy says.

“We just had a fight,” I repeat. They all give each other sad faces, like I’m delusional.

“Well, you didn’t start dating him under the best circumstances,” Cass says. Yeah, and whose fault is that? I glare and they all have the sense to look guilty.

“We,” Hazel says, motioning to the collective and then sighing. “We’ve been talking, a lot, and we feel like assholes. For taking your keys at the bar and pressuring you into getting with Jett. It wasn’t right and we’re sorry. All of us. You were so upset when you fought with him and we feel responsible.” They all nod like one person.

I cross my arms. This should have been said a while ago. It’s kind of a little too late. Now that they’re apologizing, I realize how much this has been bothering me lately, and how much I’ve been brushing it off, and trying to be non-confrontational about it. This is what happens when you let things fester over time.

And then I lose it.

“Oh you’re sorry now? Fuck you very much for that. I’m so glad that you are sorry NOW, WAY after the fact. It should have never happened in the first place! You’re supposed to be my fucking friends and you treated me like shit. I’m done.” The rage that had been quietly simmering since that night erupts and if I don’t leave, I’m going to say a lot of other things.

So I storm out, grabbing my keys and purse on the way. I’d made them let me take my own car, with the hope I could escape and go see Jett.

“Don’t fuck with me right now,” I say to my car as I turn the key and it roars to life.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” I peel out of the parking lot and realize I have nowhere to go. Again. My stupid fucking friends have done it again. My hands shake on the steering wheel and tears blur my vision. I pull over before I kill someone and then I grab my purse and make sure the little present I made for Jett is in it. It’s not much, really, but I hope it will mean something to him.

When I finally get to Jett’s apartment, I knock on the door and Javier answers it, narrowing his eyes at me.

“Well, you’re back.” Jesus, I’m afraid he’s going to punch me. He must see the horror on my face because then he ducks his head and I swear, he’s laughing.

Um, what? That’s the last reaction I thought I would get. He stands back up, still laughing.

“Did you really think I was going to buy that performance last night? Come on in.” He holds the door wide and I stumble past him.

“What? I don’t know what you mean?” I don’t sound convincing at all.

He puts his arm around me.

“Seriously, you can drop the act. Nice try, but I know Jett and I know that he would never talk like that, especially in public. So nice try, babe.”

“Where is he?” I say, ignoring what he just said.

He finally seems to register that I’m gross and snotty. I should have grabbed a box of tissues when I stormed out. Didn’t think of that at the time.

“I just needed a place to go.” I can feel the tears trying to start up again, but I fight them back.

“Of course.” He pats my shoulder and leads me into the living room and sits me down on the couch. Good thing I’m not afraid of it anymore.

I’ve never seen Javier so serious. For the VERY first time, he’s at a loss for words. Huh, who knew crying girls render Javier speechless?

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to do anything. I’ll just sit here until Jett gets back. Go about your business.”

“Fuck that,” Javier says and dashes to the bathroom, coming back with a box of tissues before running to the fridge and bringing back a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass.

He pours a shot and holds it out to me.

“Drink it,” he says when I look at him as if he’s grown an extra limb from his head. My hands are still a little shaky as I take the glass from him. I’ve never done a straight whiskey shot before, but there’s no time like the present, so I tip my head back and down it in three gulps.

Of course I choke on it. God, it’s like drinking gasoline. I sputter and Javier hands me a tissue to wipe my face. I hack up a lung and gasp and he bangs my back.

“Burns so good, doesn’t it?” Not really. But when I’m finally able to breathe, I do feel a tiny bit better. Just a tiny bit. Then he gets me a glass of water and I chug that down.

“Do you want to talk about it? Because I’m a terrible advice giver, but I can listen.” Welp, he seems to be my only option. I could text Amelia, but that would mean explaining the whole Jett situation, and Javier already knows about it.

“My friends are assholes,” I say, blowing my nose again. That pretty much sums it up. Javier pours another shot, but this time he takes it himself. He knocks it back in one gulp and doesn’t even cough.

“Yeah, Jett filled me in on the whole thing.” Well, Jett doesn’t KNOW the whole thing, but I’ll go along with it.

“I’m just tired of being treated as their pity friend. They should want to be friends with me because I’m fun to hang out with and we have things in common and we care about one another. Being friends with someone because you feel sorry for them is the worst reason to be friends. Ever.”

I think I’m starting to feel the shot now. My face is getting warmer and my belly is burning little bit. I almost want to do another shot, but if I do, I won’t be able to drive home, that’s for sure. If I even want to go back.

“Then why are you staying friends with them? Ditch those bitches.” Simple advice, hard to follow.

“It’s not that easy. They’re all I’ve got.”

“What about me? What about Jett?” He doesn’t mention my family, which tells me that Jett probably told him about my issues with my family.

“That’s not enough. Hazel was my best friend when I didn’t have anyone. Not even my family. She was there for me. And the rest, same thing. They’ve been there.”

“So? At some point ‘being there’ isn’t going to cut it. What’s the point of keeping someone in your life if they’re going to treat you that way.” I know he’s making sense. I know this.

“Well, I did just scream at them and use the word fuck a few times.” Javier chuckles and pours me another shot. I knock it back, but I still choke and cough.

“That’s a start, blondie. We gotta bring out your inner bitch. You need to be more assertive. Don’t let people walk all over you.” He slaps me on the back and then takes another shot.

For someone who claims that they suck at advice, he’d done a good job.

“You’re not as much of an asshole as I thought you were,” I say as I lean back on the couch. I really need to go wash my face.

“Don’t tell anyone. We’ll keep that strictly between us.” He winks and takes the shot glasses and whiskey bottle back to the kitchen.

“Gaaahhhhh,” I say, rubbing my face. It’s still sticky from my tears.

“Oh, it’s not as bad as you think it is. You can find new friends. I happen to know some very nice young ladies that you could be friends with.”

“Um, like that one with the dress that we lost at the bar that time?”

“Victoria? No, definitely not her. She’s not very nice.” That sounds like an understatement. Not that I really know anything about her, other than the fact that she went out with Javier and she wore that, um, dress.

“Jett should be back in a few minutes. Do you want to stay?”

“I guess that’s the plan. I’ve got enough stuff here, so I can.” Now that we’re done drinking and I’m done crying, Javier looks like he doesn’t know what to do with me. I go wash my face and by the time I’m done Jett is back. I hear him and Javier talking in low voices, and I keep the water on so they won’t know I can hear them.

There’s a knock at the bathroom door.

“Shan? You okay?” I turn the water off and open the door. The alcohol has given everything a warm and hazy quality. Nothing seems that bad, and I’m kind of wondering what I was so upset about earlier.

“Yeah, I’m fine now.” Jett looks defeated. Even his mohawk isn’t styled. It’s limp and lifeless. I remember I once watched a movie about whales and the ones that have been raised in captivity, their top fin curls over. Like their spirit is broken. He reminds me of that right now.

He opens his arms and I hug him. He sniffs and pulls back.

“Are you drunk?”

“Not yet. But a few more shots and I will be. It’s Javi’s fault.” I pat his head and walk back out into the living room. And I crash right into the couch.

“Oh my gosh!” Jett’s holding onto me.

“Ow.” This couch hates me, I swear.

“Well, I think that is my cue to get the hell out of here, which I am going to do right now. Call me if you need anything. See you later, Meryl.”

I ignore the fact that he calls me Meryl because I’m too focused on Jett.

“I’m sorry I came, but my roommates—” I was still so mad at them I couldn’t even finish this sentence. “And I couldn’t let last night be it. Please talk to me,” I say, pulling out the present from my purse. It’s a crane I made out of notebook paper. I even drew a little Batman logo on the wings. It’s dumb, but it’s all I could think of.

I hold it out in both hands and he looks down at it. His façade cracks and he takes it from me.

“I’m sorry, Shannon. I just . . . I had a moment last night and I freaked out and bailed. I’ve been trying to think of how to call you and make up for it, but I didn’t know what to say. I’m so, so sorry.”

“So this isn’t the end?” He’s still looking at the crane.

“No, this is not the end. We can make it the next week and-a-half. How hard can it be?” He laughs a little. Right. How hard can it be?

Now that Javier is in on our secret, I feel a little bit less pressure. I also don’t mind him being around when I’m with Jett. I’ve spent some time with him now and, it’s apparent that what I thought was just for show, is actually his personality. And now that he’s more comfortable with me, he seems even MORE open. If that’s possible.

“So Javier didn’t buy the fight?” Jett and I are sitting on the couch, sharing leftover salad from last night. The tortellini is already gone.

“Yeah, but he didn’t tell me until I got back after . . . After I used the safe word. But yeah, he knew it was fake. So, um, I told him everything.”

“You told him?!” I mean, he had no choice, but still. Not thrilled.

“Look, I didn’t have a choice. What was I supposed to tell him?”

“I’m not mad at him telling Javier. Just mad that we weren’t more convincing.”

“It’s not your fault. We probably shouldn’t have fought in front of him. He knows me too well. He said it wasn’t even close. How did it go with Hazel?”

“Good, I guess. She seemed to buy it hook, line and sinker. The girls took me out for a spa day to help me recover.” I hold out my newly polished nails to show him. They’re black with yellow spots. I hope he sees the homage to Batman.

“While we were out they finally managed to get on my last nerve. So I screamed at them and came here.”

“Nice.” He takes both of my hands in his. Just that one little touch instantly makes me feel better. It’s like inhaling cool, fresh air and it instantly calms me.

Jett doesn’t let go of my hands and my heart flutters. Ah, being with him feels so good. Like it’s meant to be. I squeeze his hands and he squeezes them back.

“I missed you,” I say, looking down at our joined hands.

“I missed you. I know it’s only been a few hours, but it felt awful. So, can we just erase that word that I said and pretend I didn’t say it?”

“And how do you plan on erasing those hours?” I say, and as soon as the words are out, I realize what he must be thinking. I didn’t mean it the way it comes out. His eyes go wide for a second.

“That’s not what I meant . . .” I trail off. “You should know by now I can’t seem to stop saying dumb things.”

He shakes his head as if to clear it.

“I wouldn’t go that far. But I think we need to hug it out.” He lets go of my hands and opens his arms wide. I dive at him and we both collapse against the arm of the couch. He hugs me tight and I hug him back.

I raise my head and he’s smiling.

“Missed you,” I say.

“Missed you.” We totally just said this, but it bears repeating. He smacks a kiss on my forehead and then I get off him. We only have one more week, and we have to get through it.

“So what now?” I say.

“Come here, princess, you’re having a rough day.” He sweeps into his arms and carries me to his room and deposits me on his bed.

“Let’s just stay here for the rest of the night, okay?”

“Sure,” I say, leaning back against the pillow.

“Stay right there,” he says, and dashes out to the living room and then comes back with his artist’s pad.

I turn my head, but he makes a noise and motions for me to move it back.

“Are you going to draw me?”

“Yes, I am. Now stay still.” He leans against his dresser and tries to get the best angle before coming forward and moving some of my hair, and then my arm and then one leg. I feel like a piece of clay. When he’s happy with me, he turns on all of the lights, and moves a lamp around.

“My God, are you done yet?”

“One more thing.” He takes one of his cranes and puts it on my shoulder, as if it landed there.

“Now don’t move.”

“What happens if I sneeze? Or have to pee?”

“Too bad. Fight the urge.”

“Yes, Mr. Bossypants.” I glare at him and he points a warning finger at me.

“Stop that.” I stick my tongue out, but go back to the way I was. Jett sighs once and then he gets to work.

“You know, this is just like that scene in Titanic. But without the nudity. And the ship sinking and all.”

He glances up at me and back to the paper.

“Actually, the ship sinking happened after the nude drawing. So those two things aren’t really related.”

“You’ve seen Titanic?” I don’t know a whole lot of guys that would sit through that.

“Listen, I wasn’t allowed to watch anything growing up, so when I got free, I watched EVERYTHING. That includes Titanic.” I snort again. I wonder what else he’s seen. I’m about to ask, but he shushes me. Things are extra funny now and it’s hard to keep the giggling to a minimum. Stupid whiskey.

“Will you stay still?” Jett finally says, but he’s laughing at me. It’s more fun to make him mad than stay still. But then I relax into it and watch him work. I could do that all day.

Things are quiet and calm, but then the door bangs open.

“Your fucking phone is blowing up because of her damn friends. Whoa. I hope I’m not interrupting something,” he says when he sees what we’re doing. Well, we’re not even doing anything. It could have been a lot worse.

“We were just about to ravage each other,” I say as he starts to back out of the room. “Want to watch?” Whiskey makes words fall out of my mouth.

Javi puts his hands up.

“Noooo thank you.” Jett takes the phone and Javi closes the door.

“Holy shit. I don’t know how your friends got my number, but they’ve ALL called and texted me, asking if I knew where you were.” He shows me the phone and I roll my eyes.

“I left my phone at home when I stormed out.”

“Well, what do you want to do about it?”

I don’t really care.

“Just message them back that I’m fine, but don’t tell them you’re with me because then they’ll come here.” I don’t want to see them yet. I don’t want to deal with them yet, either.

“Okay. If that’s what you want.” He clearly thinks I should confront this, but they’re not his friends. Or former friends. Unless something changes drastically, I’m done with them.

“That’s what I want. Now go back to drawing me,” I say, resuming my pose as he sends the messages on his phone.

He gives me a look, but turns the phone off and then sets it down.

“Whatever you say, Mona Lisa.”

I fall asleep while Jett is drawing, and he wakes me up as he’s putting the blankets over me. I mumble something, but he shushes me and tucks me in.

Hours later I wake up with my head aching a bit. I’m alone in Jett’s bed. Where the crap is he? I get up and grope for some of my other clothes so I can change out of my jeans. I slip on a large t-shirt and a pair of holey shorts and stumble out into the living room. Jett’s on the couch in his shirt and boxers.

“Come to bed,” I say, poking him. He opens his eyes and blinks at me.

“We don’t have to do that now that Javi knows.”

“I don’t want to sleep alone and I don’t want to argue, so just come to bed, asshole.” I grab his hand and tug and he gets up and follows me back to his room. I shove him toward the bed and he gets in and I climb in after him.

Much better.

Within moments I’m asleep again.

“Let me see it!” I say the next morning when Jett and I get up. I’m feeling a lot better, and the headache is gone, thankfully. We both have classes, but there is no way I’m going today. Not happening. I have NEVER played hooky before. I always thought people who did that didn’t give a shit about their education, or respect how much money it was costing, but I need a break today. Just one day.

Jett agrees to my plan easier than I thought he would, but he won’t agree to let me see the drawing he made of me last night.

“Show me,” I whine, resting my head on his shoulder.

“It’s not done yet. When it is, I’ll show you.” He rubs his hand in my hair, messing it up even more than it was already messed from sleep.

“Asshole. So if you’re not going to show me, what are we going to do today?”

“I have a few ideas. Do you have any ideas?”

“We should do something fun. Something we wouldn’t normally do. We should also go out somewhere. Less chance that my friends will show up here to track me down. And I’m going to wear my new Batman shirt.” I’d left it here last time.

“You can absolutely wear your shirt.” He smiles and pauses before he continues. “You sure you don’t want to see them?”

“No, I absolutely do not.”

“I get it if you don’t want to forgive them.” Despite mussing my hair a second earlier, he starts smoothing it out again.

“It’s not really about forgiveness. It’s about them knowing that they can’t treat me that way. Or anyone. No one should have to feel the way they made me feel and I’m pissed that I even let it happen in the first place. I should have put a stop to it a long time ago. But it was gradual and they were my friends. It’s crazy what you let people get away with when you care about them.” Even more than being mad at them, I’m mad at myself. I’ve never thought of myself as a doormat, but I’d been doing it for years and justified it. They treat me that way because I let them.

Well that shit stops now.

“I think we should do something bad. Not illegal bad. Just maybe a little against the rules,” I say.

“Okay then. Rule breaking it is. Come on, get in the shower.”

“Why, do I stink?” He wrinkles his nose and nods. I have half a mind to stick his face in my armpit, but I don’t.

When I get out of the shower and dress in the bathroom, I can definitely smell something delicious.

I open the door and Jett is sitting on the couch with two fast food bags.

“Breakfast to go. Get ready, princess, time is wasting.” I don’t know how he had time to get dressed, fix his hair and get breakfast all while I was in the shower, but I have the feeling Javier might have had something to do with it. Speaking of him, he’s MIA.

“Come on, come on,” Jett says, grabbing my hand and the fast food bags and tugging me out the door.

“We should probably take your car since I know you hate mine.”

“No, no. We’re living on the edge today. Let’s take yours.”

“Living on the edge. I like it.” He holds the door open and I get in. Then I peer into the bag. Looks like sausage, egg and cheese croissants, hash browns in one and two cups of coffee in the other.

“I added the cinnamon and nutmeg,” he says with a smile.

“Thanks, Fake Boyfriend.” I pull out one of the sandwiches and hand it to him. He sticks it in his mouth as he starts up the car and backs out of the driveway.

“Okay,” he says after taking a bite out of his sandwich. I munch mine. It’s greasy and fabulous and just what I need. “So I got a lot of ideas for today from movies. So they’re not original, but they are kind of awesome.”

I take out the coffee cups and put them in the cupholders. They rattle around a little and slop on the floor. Pretty sure Jett doesn’t care. In fact, he hits the gas and starts speeding.

“This is the first rule we’re breaking. Speeding! Oh shit, a cop.” He slams on the brakes and goes back down to the speed limit.

“Nice try,” I say as he keeps glancing in the rearview at the cop car. I can’t see it, but he can, so he keeps exactly to the speed limit, even when we get out on the highway. I finish my first sandwich and start on my second. I also keep holding Jett’s sandwich up for him to bite into, because he needs both hands to drive and shift.

We finish both our breakfasts when he takes an exit off the highway and then we’re driving through a small town. Despite it being so close to the college, I’ve never been here. He keeps looking around as we drive down the main street, all the while muttering to himself.

“Aha!” he exclaims, yanking the car over onto a side street and then pulling into a parking lot. I look at the brick building next to the lot. A library. Still not picking up what he’s putting down.

“Come on.” He gets out and waits for me to open my own door. I do and he reaches for my hand, and then we’re running toward the library, up the steps and through the double doors.

“Slow down!” I have short legs.

“Can’t slow down.” With that he starts running again, much to the shock of the woman at the desk in the entryway.

“Sorry!” I call at her as Jett tugs me toward the stairs. We dash up those too and then he stops at the top of a balcony that looks out over the lobby. It’s a beautiful library and reminds me a little bit of Beauty and the Beast. Lots of wood and thick red rugs and lamps.

“What are we doing here?”

“We are breaking the rules,” he whispers. “You know how you’re not supposed to yell in a library?”

“Yeah,” I whisper back.

“Well, we’re going to break that rule and then we are going to run away.” I look down. It’s early, so there are only a few patrons in the library, and a few on the computers to one side of the room. Other than the woman at the front desk, no one has noticed us looking down at them.

“Ready?” he says, his eyes bright.

“What are we going to yell?”

“How about our safe words?”

I really, really don’t want to yell that in a library, but what the hell? I’m an uptight person. I know this. Maybe what I need is to loosen up a bit.

“One,” I whisper.

“Two,” he continues.

“Three,” we say together.

“Perspicacious!”

“Necrophilia!” As soon as we do it, I have a fit of the giggles and Jett tugs my hand back into the stacks of books.

“I can’t believe we did that,” I whisper. I hear footsteps on the stairs, and I have the feeling that we’re about to get thrown out. Jett puts his finger to his lips and we duck down behind the stacks as the lady from the front desk starts looking for us. We sneak around her and head for the steps, dashing down as quick as we can and out the door. A few people stare at us, and I wave as we run back to Jett’s car as if we’ve robbed the place. Sure, it’s childish, but sometimes doing something childish is the best.

We’re both breathing hard as Jett peels out of the parking lot and gets back on the road. And then we both have a fit of the giggles.

“That was so stupid, Jett.”

“I know. But I thought we should start out dumb and work our way up to awesome.”

“Good plan.” My stomach hurts from laughing as Jett starts speeding again to our next destination.

“I know this is your day, but can I make a suggestion?”

“You’re not going to want to go back to the library and dance on the balcony, are you?”

“No, Judd Nelson, that’s not my idea. My idea is to go to a store that sells furniture and hop in one of the beds and take a nap. Come on, it would be hilarious.” His look of skepticism is not encouraging.

“Okay, we’ll do that, as long as we take pictures of it.”

We end up taking pictures of ALL of it. Sleeping in the bed at the furniture store, racing carts, prancing around in stupid hats, going to a bookstore and rearranging some of the titles in odd places, buying tickets for one movie and sneaking into another. In addition, we bring in our own lunch, which includes several chicken sandwiches, fries and two sodas. It’s the most fun I’ve had in a longer time than I’d like to think about. We also leave cranes everywhere we go, and take pictures of those as well.

I don’t worry about my friends or what they’re thinking of me, or my classes, or my family, or anything like that. It’s just Jett and me and we’re young and having fun.

I realize something else when the two of us are sharing our fries at the movies.

I care about him. A lot. I’m not sure if you could call it love, but it’s something real close to that. Or at least it’s the closest to love I’ve ever come.

This is one of those times when you need a best friend, but I’m on the outs with mine right now, so I keep it to myself as Jett and I drive back to his place. We’re going to stay in tonight and Javi is going to join us for dinner. Jett hasn’t mentioned my friends all day, but I know that I need to at least tell them where I am. Like they don’t know.

Jett helps me carry the groceries into his apartment and Javier cheers us as we walk in.

“Well, well, well. The triumphant two have returned. How was your day?” He leans on the back of the couch and wiggles his eyebrows.

“Well, we robbed a bank, and then we bought some drugs, and then we sold them, and then we stole lollipops from children, and then we stole a few cars and blew them up. We had a full day, didn’t we?” I say to Jett who just gives me a look. Javi laughs.

“I like you. You can stick around after this little scenario is over. Why don’t you just come clean with your friends? Or whatever they are now. I mean, what’s the point of keeping this up? It’s clear that you two don’t want to be Fake Dating.” What? What is he talking about?

I look at Jett, but he’s glaring at Javi. I think I’m missing something. Something big.

“And with that, I’m going to keep my mouth shut,” Javi says, grabbing the grocery bags from Jett and heading for the kitchen. He starts humming loudly and I look at Jett for an explanation.

“Are you going to explain?”

“Nope.” His voice is sharp and angry. I’ve only heard that tone a few times before, but I’m feeling feisty after all the rule breaking today, so I’m not letting it go.

“What is he talking about, Jett? Answer me?” I touch his arm, but he turns away from me.

“Just drop it, Shannon. Leave. It. Alone. I can’t talk about it with you.” He starts off angry, but then he’s pleading. Just like when I’d ask him about his family and he would beg me not to ask. He wasn’t ready to tell me.

“Fine. Come find me when you’re ready.” I walk around him and head to the kitchen. The fun part of the day is over and my mood is a little sour now, but that’s not going to stop me from making the most epic nachos ever and then consuming them.

So that is exactly what I do, with Javi’s help. Jett watches, but he’s quiet and withdrawn. No reaching him now. Javi senses there is tension, so he’s extra “on.”

“Your friends are blowing up my phone again,” Jett says quietly, showing me the texts. They’re in all caps and quite forceful. I still don’t want to deal with them. I’d said what I wanted to say, and they needed to sit and think about it for a little while. Didn’t they have anything better to do than worry about me?

I tell Jett to ignore the messages, so he does, and turns his phone off. That’s enough of that.

The nachos we make are of astronomic proportions. Hot dogs, hamburger, pepperoni, hot sauce, jalapenos, olives, onions, tomatoes, fresh cilantro, chicken, ranch seasoning, black beans, mushrooms and two different kinds of cheese.

“Those are some insane fucking nachos,” Javi says as we watch the cheese bubble while they’re in the oven. It’s going to take forever to cook with all that crap on it, but we’re patient. Or at least I am.

“I think I will . . . go to my room for a while so I don’t disturb the cooking process,” Javi says with a look from me to Jett. Subtle.

As soon as the door shuts, he turns his music on so loud he couldn’t eavesdrop, even if he wanted to.

“What’s up with you? I know you don’t want me to ask, but I’m going to ask. If you don’t want to do this, then we don’t have to do this. You can say the word right now. End it. Done.”

Jett licks his lips and grips the counter.

“I don’t want it to end.”

“Well, we still have another week or so.”

“No, I don’t want it to end in a week. I don’t want it to end . . . at all.” The silence at the end of his sentence makes me swallow hard. Words evade me as I think about what he’s just said. I almost want to make him repeat it to make sure I’ve heard him right.

“Please say something. I didn’t want to tell you, but you backed me into a corner, Shan.”

“Hold on, I’m thinking. This is unexpected. I didn’t plan for this. I mean, I know I fell for you, but I didn’t think that you would—” I stop. Oops. Didn’t mean to tell him that.

“You fell for me?” His voice is so quiet that I almost don’t hear it.

Then the stupid timer dings and it’s like a gunshot. Both of us jump as if we’ve actually been fired at. Robotically, I move away from Jett and to the oven, turning it off and pulling out the nachos. I hear Jett move behind me and his arms are on my shoulders and he’s breathing in my hair . . .

“Shannon?”

There’s a frantic knock at the door.

“Mother fucker,” I say as Javi bursts from his room.

“Don’t mind me, carry on.” He looks out the peephole and then back at me, his face dropping.

“It’s Hazel. And the rest of the friendtourage. What do you want me to do?” Jett keeps backing away from me and I can’t think straight from the quick turn of events.

“We can do this later,” Jett says, backing even further away from me. He’s shutting down again, so even if I tell them go to away, he and I are not going to deal with this right now.

Hazel pounds again.

“Come on, Shan. I know you’re in there. I just want to make sure you’re okay. I’m worried about you and I miss you and the girls are here and they feel even more like shit and they’re here to apologize. So tell Javi to let us in.” I sigh, but nod to Javi. Guess my idea of letting them think about what they’ve done for a while was a stupid one.

He unlocks the door and opens it slowly.

“I am letting you in because she told me to. If she tells me that she wants you to leave, then you will leave. Understand?” He flexes his muscles just a little bit for good measure.

“Are you her bouncer now?” Hazel says as she walks in and heads right for me. She tries to put her arms around me, but I step back. The rest of the “friendtourage” shuffles in behind her, looking like they’re being led to the gallows.

“You left your phone and I’ve been worried sick. I knew you were here and you needed some time, but I couldn’t take it anymore. We need to talk about this. I can’t stand fighting.” And then she bursts into tears. Ugly, sobbing tears. That’s all it takes for me to melt and put my arms around her. Just like last time. I can’t stand to see her getting that emotional.

“I’m so sorry for treating you that way. You’re right. I take advantage of you, and I was pressuring you and it was wrong and I know that now. I’ll do anything for us to be besties again. You make me a better person. I was such a bitch before I met you.” This makes me laugh a little.

“I was aware of your bitch status, Haze. And it’s not all your fault. I should have stood up for myself. I should have stood up to all of you when you told me that I had to go out and find a guy. I should have told you all to go screw yourselves.” Javi snorts.

Hazel sniffs and I use my thumbs to brush her tears away.

“I’m sorry,” she says again.

“I know.” I hug her again and I hear more sniffling. They’re all crying now. Javi starts handing out the tissues as, one by one, my friends come and hug me and apologize. This was what I wanted all along. For them to treat me like a human being. Their friend. Not someone who needs TERRIBLE advice. Or interventions on her behalf. I explain all this, and they seem to listen. Really listen.

“You have to stop treating me like a child. I’m not. I’m your friend and I’m an adult. I love you, but I need to live my own life.”

They all agree, and there’s more hugging. Javi gives me a round of applause and they all join in and I do a little curtsey. Jett is watching in the back, and I can tell that he’s proud of me, but we still have unfinished business.

This is one step in the right direction.

“Now that that’s over, who wants nachos?” Javi asks, and we all raise our hands. I look over my shoulder at Jett and he gives me a little smile and a wink. I wink back at him.

We need to talk. But first, nachos.

“I’m going to tell them,” I say to Jett as my friends devour the nachos and Javi tells dirty jokes and passes out drinks. “We might as well come out of the proverbial closet.”

He just shrugs.

“That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“I don’t care if you tell them.” Sometimes I want to strangle him. But I like him too much.

“Then you’re coming with me.” I grab his hand and drag him out to the living room and stand in front of Javi’s giant television.

“We have an announcement to make.” I look at Jett and he looks like he’d rather fall through the floor than stand next to me right now. Too bad.

“Jett and I are not dating. We never were. We made a deal that we would pretend to date so that our FRIENDS would stop pestering us to go out and find someone. So. There you have it. Thank you for your attention.” I do another curtsey and start to drag Jett back to the kitchen, but Hazel blocks my way.

“You faked it? The whole thing? Why?” My other friends are too shocked to speak.

“Because you wouldn’t stop pestering me to go to the bar and I didn’t have the balls to tell you to leave me the fuck alone. So rather than confront you, I roped this poor guy into an elaborate scheme with Rules and insanity. I have no idea why he went along with it.” Other than I really, really like Fake Dating Jett.

I turn to Jett, and for the first time ever, his face is beet red. Crap. I shouldn’t have made him come with me. He didn’t ask for this. I’d just gotten mad at my friends for treating me like crap, and now I am turning around and doing it to Jett. I turn to apologize, but he mumbles something under his breath. I move closer to him as my friends start whispering to each other.

“What did you say?” He makes a growling sound.

“Because I liked you! And I wanted to be around you! And now I think I love you!” he yells and the room goes so silent you could hear a mouse sneeze.

“You think you love me?” I say, touching his shoulder.

He faces me and he nods. “Yeah, I do.”

Oh. Wow. I can’t believe it. I know I care for him, but I never imagined he cared about me that much. I look up at the boy with the dragon tattoos and the mohawk and the paper cranes. I care about him so much that I don’t know how I can stand it. He fills my head and my heart and I know that this, right here, is real.

“Well, I think I love you, too.” I’ve been realizing it slowly, day by day, moment by moment. With every paper crane he’d made me, I’d fallen a little more. With every night, I’d gotten a little bit closer.

And now here I am. In Real Love with my Fake Boyfriend.

“What the fuck are you waiting for? Kiss the girl!” Javi yells and I stare into Jett’s shifting eyes and he leans down. And he kisses me.

It’s tender and sweet. He puts his feelings behind it and it’s even better than before. I rise up on my tiptoes and put my arms around him and his arms go around me and it’s everything a kiss should be. Fireworks and confetti and cheering. The latter comes from my friends and Javi.

We finally pull apart.

“So does this mean that you will be my Real Boyfriend now?”

“Yeah, I think it does, Real Girlfriend.”

And we kiss again to seal the deal.

“So there’s something I have to tell you, in the interest of full disclosure,” Jett says that night when we’re getting ready for bed. Javi has vacated the place to give us the night alone, and I’m freaking out.

This is the first time we’ll be spending the night together without the barrier of the Rules. I’d thrown them away after my friends had left. They’d made me read them out loud as I’d told them about all the silly things Jett and I had done to Fake our relationship. Now it’s just the two of us with nothing between us. Except for the fact that I’m a virgin. But we JUST told each other that we care about each other, and our Real relationship is only a few hours old. I don’t think we really need to get into that right away. Right?

Besides, Jett apparently has something he wants to tell me, so I sit down on his bed and give him my full attention. As long as we’re not talking about my virginity, I’m good.

“Okay, go ahead.” He opens his mouth, but then changes his mind.

“No, it’s nothing. Nothing we need to talk about right now. Bedtime?” I nod and he gets in and I get in with him, but this time I face him.

“So this means we can kiss whenever we want now,” I say as we lay with barely an inch between our faces.

“We did that anyway. We failed at following the Rules most of the time. You let me get away with a lot.” He grins and I smile as well.

It’s true. I let him get away with anything he wanted.

“We did kind of suck at it. How do you think we’ll do Real Dating?”

“I don’t know, but I think we should practice.”

“I think you’re right.”

I move my head forward just a bit and our lips meet and then open and then our tongues are dancing, giving and taking, back and forth. We were always good at this part. He knows just how I like to be kissed and he always tastes good. Our bodies mold together and then I’m on my back, with Jett over me. The kissing is getting intense, and I want more.

He wants more, too.

I move my hands from the back of his head, down to the hem of his shirt and he moves so I can pull it off him. Got it on the first try! Not bad for a virgin. Maybe he won’t notice?

As soon as it’s off, his lips are back on mine and the frenzy intensifies and I want SOMETHING, ANYTHING so much that I think it’s going to kill me. And then the kiss stops.

“I’m a virgin,” Jett blurts out. “I never had sex because my parents never talked about it, except to tell me if I did it, I would disgrace them. And then I couldn’t meet the right girl and I didn’t think they’d want a clumsy virgin. So I understand if you don’t . . . want to do anything. I understand.”

If he had told me he was a serial killer I might have been less shocked. But once the revelation is out, SO MANY things make sense. And then I start laughing. Probably not the best response, but I can’t help it.

Even in the dark I can see the hurt and confusion on his face. I shake my head and try to stifle the giggles.

“So . . . So am I!” And that launches me into another fit of giggles.

“You’re a virgin?”

“Yes.” And then he starts laughing with me. And we don’t stop for a long time. Not until we’re both gasping and wiping tears.

“We’re both virgins. What are the chances of that?” I say.

“I don’t fucking know.” Jett had lowered himself to his side when he started laughing because he couldn’t hold himself up with his arms, so we’re facing each other again.

“So what do two virgins who have just started Real dating and are alone in an apartment do with themselves?” I know what I want to do, but I don’t want to push him if he’s not ready.

“Well I know what I’d like to do. I’d like to see you naked. I’ve thought and dreamed about it, and I’d like it to happen. And then I want to look at you with the lights on. See every curve. And then I want to taste every curve, and then when you’re satisfied, I want to be with you. If you want to be with me. And then I want to draw you with nothing on you but light.”

Well, if he wanted to make a speech to ask me for my virginity, he just nailed it. It’s his. He can have it. And he wants me to have his.

“You know it’s not going to be like that, the first time.”

“I know, but maybe it will be for us. We’ve broken the rules of dating so far.”

“So you’re saying you want to try? Right now?”

“I think now is as good a time as any.”

“Do you have condoms?”

“Javi always makes sure I’m well stocked.” He reaches over me to his nightstand and pulls one out, holding it up. The sight of the little shiny package makes it feel more real. What do I want more? To stay the same, to keep the wall up? Or to let him in to every part of me?

“Let’s do it.”

“You sure?”

I nod. I’m sure. This is the most rash decision I’ve ever made, but I’m on a high from telling him I loved him earlier, so I don’t care. Rash decisions are kind of awesome.

“Then can I put the lights on?”

I nod again as he climbs over me and goes to turn on the overhead light and then his lamps. My eyes are used to the darkness, so I blink a few times. He stands next to the bed, and his intention is clear. Very, very clear.

I may know a lot about sex in theory, but doing it is another thing. Well, time to get this show on the road.

I stand up in front of Jett and kiss him. He pulls me forward, and his hands skim my back. This we know. This we have down. His hands lift my shirt and I raise my arms over my head so he can lift it off. I’m still wearing a bra and his breath hisses out as he looks at me.

Oh my God. Jett and I are going to have sex. I’m going to see him naked, he’s going to see me naked and he’s going to put his penis inside me. Penis. Cock. Dick. Penis. And just as quick as I made the decision, I want to unmake it. Rash decisions aren’t for me. I was wrong. Because I overthink EVERYTHING.

“Red light.” He stops what he’s doing as if I’ve slapped him. He raises his hands.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m freaking out. I . . . I don’t think I’m ready for this. I know I said that a second ago, but I don’t think I am. Can we just put on the brakes?” He holds my face very gently, as if he’s afraid I’m going to run away.

“Whatever you want to do is what we’ll do, princess. No pressure. That’s what got us here in the first place.” He reaches down and grabs my shirt and hands it to me, and then gets his.

“Want to go just go to bed?” he says as soon as we’re both clothed again.

Just because I stopped him and decided that I’m not quite ready to go all the way yet, doesn’t mean I don’t still want him. In fact, my downstairs is currently screaming at me. Not sure if it has a face or not, but it’s definitely making itself known. Sleeping is probably not going to happen, and I’m not the one with the hard on.

“You think that’s going to happen?” My eyes flick down to his boxers. He looks down too.

“Yeah, that is a bit of a problem.” I don’t have enough experience in this area. I don’t know how much control he’s got, or if he needs to take care of it.

He screws up his face and closes his eyes. I don’t say anything. It’s like he’s mentally talking it down. It takes a few minutes, but, as if by magic, it goes back down. He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes.

“Crap. It’s hard looking at you because you turn me on, but I think I got this.” He gets into bed and lies on his back.

I go to turn the lights off and tentatively get in after him, also rolling onto my back.

“How you doing over there?” I say.

“Good. We’re good.” He gives me a thumbs up. I hold my hand up and he gives me a high five.

“Sorry about the sex thing.”

“Honestly, I’m kind of glad you said to stop. You weren’t the only one freaking out. We shouldn’t rush into it. We’ve waited this long, right?”

I turn on my side to face him.

“Right.” We’d definitely made the right decision. “Goodnight, Real Boyfriend,” I say and give him a quick peck.

“Goodnight, Real Girlfriend.”

Jett and I don’t have sex the next day. Or the next. We Real Date for an entire week, and then another. We talk about it though. Nearly every night. No two people have ever talked more about sex without actually doing it. We both agree that if we let ourselves get beyond kissing, we’ll probably get carried away, so the lines are pretty clear.

This time, though, we don’t write the rules down. They’re more . . . understood, and also more fluid.

I adore being with Jett. Every second with him makes me want to explode with happiness. I can’t even deal with it sometimes. Every single day, he makes me a crane. I’ve got so many, my room is filled with them, and now they’re roosting around the apartment. He often writes little things on the wings, and I date every single one.

He finally shows me my portrait, along with the several I didn’t even know he’d done. It’s obvious when I look at them that he loved me when he drew them, which was probably why he didn’t want me to see them. They take their place on his wall just beside his bed, so he sees a portrait me when he wakes up, and also real me. It kind of freaks me out seeing my face like that, but Jett’s so talented that I don’t mind that much.

I’m also on the road to mending my relationships with my friends. We talk a lot, and I’m so much happier in that arena as well. Hazel and I have made up, and she’s even quitting smoking. Or at least she’s trying.

It’s almost finals week, and I’m stressing out about my classes, but for the first time I have someone to tell me to calm the fuck down and that I’ll be fine.

Jett has been so amazing that I want to do something for him. So one night when we’re in bed and after we’ve had our requisite sex talk, I bring it up.

“So I was thinking we might take a road trip this weekend.”

“Where?” I take a breath, because I really don’t know how he is going to take this.

“I was thinking we could visit your house and maybe see your sister. If you’re ready.”

He looks at me and I can’t read the expression on his face. Is he mad? Is he shocked?

“We’ll take my car and we can just drive by. Just so you can see her. Or we don’t have to go at all. I just know how much you love her and care about her and want to make sure she’s all right.”

He keeps looking at me and then he leans forward and gives me a kiss.

“I love you.” Okay, so he’s not mad. Good.

“I love you, too. So we’ll do it?”

“Yeah. We’ll do it.”

“Are you freaking out? We can go back,” I say as I pull onto the road that leads to Jett’s house. His family lives in one of those developments where all the lawns are artificially green and all the houses look like they’re from a magazine. The opposite of what I had growing up.

“No, just go.” His words are clipped and I know he is freaking out because he won’t stop cracking his knuckles.

I take his lead and keep driving. His house is number nineteen. I drive past the first few houses and slow way down when I get close.

“They’re home,” he says, pointing to two cars in the driveway. He takes a shaky breath as I drive as slow as I can by the house. They probably think I’m casing it for a potential robbery. Which is why I suggested we take my car.

We’re just past the house when the door opens and someone runs out.

“Pull over, pull over!” Jett says, and as soon as I stop the car he’s out the door. As soon as I figure out what’s going on, I see why.

He holds his arms out and girl who’s an older version of the girl in the pictures on his wall flings herself into them, laughing and screaming. River. They hug for a long time and her mouth doesn’t stop moving as she chatters away. I notice she’s wearing an ankle-length skirt and her glossy hair is all the way down her back.

He finally sets her down and I can see that both of them are crying. He presses something into her hand, and looks back toward the house as the door opens again. Yeah, time to go. Jett races back toward my car.

“Go, go, go!” I peel out and the girl waves behind us before dashing back toward the house. I catch just a brief glimpse of Jett’s mom coming outside, but then I turn a corner and the house is no longer visible. I don’t stop driving for several more minutes. Jett’s been silent the whole time.

I turn onto a wooded back road and drive until the sound of the pavement is gone.

“So that was your sister?” Duh, Shannon.

“Yeah.” He still seems a little breathless.

“Is she okay?”

“Yeah. She misses me and she’s been trying to get away to come see me. I gave her my phone number and the address of the apartment, so she can come see me if she wants to. I can’t believe how different she looks.”

Tears are streaming down his face and I lean over and put my arms around him. It’s hard to hug in a car, but I’m doing it anyway.

He cries for a while and I cry with him. We sit there in my car for a long time. Jett turns his head and kisses me, tasting of tears. These are fierce kisses, filled with longing and anger and hurt and hope. Before I know it, he’s pulling me onto his lap and my clothes start to disappear.

“Now?” he says, his multicolored eyes burning into mine.

“Now.”

There is no way we can do this in the front seat, so we move to the back. We get down to where I’m just in my bra and he’s just in his boxers and I start to question if this is the best idea or not. Seeing as how it’s the middle of the day and the road is not that far away.

But I don’t care. This feels right and I know Jett feels it too.

Well, all is right until he tries to unhook my bra. I don’t want to say anything, but I can tell he’s struggling. I should have given him lessons. He makes a sound of frustration against my mouth and I reach behind my back and do it for him.

“Thanks,” he says, kissing his way down my neck.

“Anytime.”

And then my bra is off and it’s the first glimpse of me half naked that Jett’s gotten since the night we made things official.

“I almost feel like I should give you a round of applause,” he says as his hands skim over my skin. Jesus. That feels soooo good. I could get off just from this.

He pinches my nipples hesitantly and I can’t help the moan that comes out of my mouth.

“Do you like that?”

“You could say that.”

“Would you like it if I kissed you?”

What kind of question is that?

“Yessss,” I say as he lowers his mouth over one of my nipples and sucks it into his mouth.

Holy shit. Was this what I was missing? Jett’s hand works on the other nipple, rolling it back and forth between his fingers. Don’t know where he learned that, but I’m pretty damn happy.

He spends a lot of quality time on my nipples and by the time he’s done, if he breathed on me, I’d have an orgasm.

“Was that okay?” He asks so sweetly that I want to laugh.

“Good job,” I say, and pat him on the shoulder.

“So you want me to do more?”

“Fuck yes.” He smiles and kisses his way down to the seam of my underwear. Moment of truth. I don’t know if I’m ready for him to have his face down there, but when he glances back up at me as his hands start pulling my panties down, his eyes are dark and I can see that he wants me. Well, shit, I want him too.

I lift my hips up and he gets my panties down and then off. Welp. Here I am.

I fight the urge to cover myself as he inhales slowly and looks at me.

“Yes, I’m definitely drawing you like this.”

I can feel the blush on my face as he lowers his head and kisses just under my belly button. I know what he’s going to ask, so I’m going to answer him before he does.

“Yes. I want you to.” I send up a little prayer that I don’t taste bad.

And then his mouth is touching me there once, twice, three times. And that’s all it takes for everything inside me to release and I’m crying out his name, my hips thrusting toward his mouth. He seems a little surprised, but I’m sure he knows about the female orgasm. As soon as the first one is over his mouth is on me again, licking and sucking, getting more confident, and driving me to the edge and over again. I’ve never come so quickly, or so forcefully, or so much in succession. Christ.

He looks up at me.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fucking amazing.” I can’t seem to stop swearing. The situation seems to require it. “Do I taste bad?” I can’t help but ask. I’ve got to know.

“No, you taste sweet. I had the feeling you would. But, um, I’m really close to losing it, so I think we need to . . .”

“Move it along,” I say, finishing his sentence. Well, he’s done a good job so far, but this next part probably isn’t going to be as pleasurable for me.

“If I hurt you, please let me know and I’ll stop.” I hate to break it to him, but it’s going to hurt and it’s going to be awful. But that’s how it goes, and I’d rather go through something awful with him than anyone else.

“I’m ready,” I say, and he reaches for his jeans and pulls out a condom.

“Javi keeps putting them in my pockets.” Freaking Javier.

I slide his boxers off and I finally get to see the entire package that is Jett Nguyen. Okay, so it looks a lot bigger than I thought it would be. Maybe it’s just my perspective, but I have no idea how that thing is going to fit inside me and I can feel myself panicking.

“Shannon,” he says sharply. “We don’t have to do this.” Unless something tragic happens, his penis is not going to change, and I’m going to have to get one inside me sometime. I want his.

“I love you,” I say, running my hands down his chest and reaching for his dick.

“Don’t touch me. I won’t last if you touch me.” I take my hands off him and he puts the condom on. It takes a little while. Those suckers are tricky. I can hear him cursing under his breath as he rolls it on.

And then he’s above me and moving so he can get into the right position.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be. I love you. So much.”

“I love you, too.” And then he’s pushing and I can feel him going inside me. It’s just a little uncomfortable at first. And then it gets worse. And worse until it’s fucking painful.

“If you want me to stop, I can stop.” His voice is tight, and I can tell he’s having a hard time.

“I’m fine.” I am so NOT fine. He keeps pushing and I feel like something inside of me breaks, and then he’s in all the way. For a second, it’s just a little painful, and then it’s like I’m being torn apart. I can’t help but whimper. Jett freezes.

“Just give me a second,” I say, trying not to cry. I can’t cry. This will get better.

Jett’s arms are shaking as he tries not to move. The instant blinding pain dissipates the longer I wait, and I can feel my body trying to accommodate him. This is a biological need, after all. My body was made to have a penis inside it.

“Okay, I’m good,” I say, and he draws his hips back.

“Oh my God. You feel amazing and I’m sorry for hurting you, but it feels so good, princess.” Well that’s flattering. I smile and our lips meet again as he pulls almost all the way out and then plunges back in. It hurts like hell, again, but not as bad as the first. I can’t help but wince, though.

He thrusts a third time and I can feel something happening, and then he stiffens and calls my name and then he’s lowering himself on top of me.

Wait, what? That was it?

He’s panting, his head on my shoulder. I don’t want to say anything, but I didn’t know it would be that . . . quick.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t hold out any longer,” he says, and he won’t look at me.

I put my finger under his chin and tilt it up so he can see my face.

“It’s okay. We just have to try again. Nothing is perfect the first time. But I love you, and I don’t regret it.”

He kisses me and pulls out. I really don’t want to look down because I’m almost positive I’m bleeding. Good thing my backseat is leather and easy to clean.

“I love you. You’re my first and only.”

“And last,” I add.

He pushes my hair back and stares at me as if I’m his entire world.

“And only.”

The second time we have sex is mind-blowing. The third? Even better. It’s so good, we decide we never want to leave the bedroom and will just spend the rest of our lives making love to each other. I teach Jett a few things about the female body and he picks it up like a pro. Let me say, those origami folding skills can translate into other skills. He also teaches me a few things I never knew about the penis, and I’m proclaimed an excellent student.

He gets the first call from his sister a week after we go and see her, and even though it’s only for a few minutes, it makes him so happy. Another person that is very happy is Hazel. She’s thrilled that Jett and I took the “plunge” as she calls it and she’s overflowing with sex tips. Most of which, I ignore. But still. Her heart is in the right place.

To celebrate the end of finals (and the end of the academic year), we all go out to the bowling alley again, but this time Jett and I are together, and Jordyn is unattached. Javi brings Marty and Skye and they both spend the entire evening trying to get in her pants, but I think she’s going to take some time to be single, which I fully support.

Javi decides not to get drunk and instead spends most of the evening joking with Jett and me and teasing Hazel, who definitely doesn’t mind. There’s something burning between them; anyone could see it. But Javi is almost reluctant. As if he thinks that she’s too good for him. Interesting. I ask Jett about it, but apparently guy friends have a code of honor as well and he won’t tell me anything.

It’s finally my turn and I bowl my first strike. I raise my hands in victory and there’s Jett, raising his hands as well and then scooping me up and twirling me around. Like I’ve won the Olympics. Everyone claps and I laugh as Jett keeps twirling me until I get dizzy. I laugh some more, until I can’t breathe, and then he sets me down and kisses me until my knees are weak and I couldn’t stand on my own, even if I wanted to.

We’re going to spend the summer together, making cranes, making love and making nachos. It’s going to be perfect. And REAL.

The Noctalis Chronicles

Nocturnal (The Noctalis Chronicles, Book One)

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Nightmare (The Noctalis Chronicles, Book Two)

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Neither (The Noctalis Chronicles, Book Three)

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Neverend (The Noctalis Chronicles, Book Four)

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Whisper (The Whisper Trilogy, Book One)

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Fall and Rise

Deeper We Fall (Fall and Rise, Book One)

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Faster We Burn (Fall and Rise, Book Two)

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My Favorite Mistake (Available from Harlequin)

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Sweet Surrendering

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My Sweetest Escape (January 28, 2014)

Some books are easy to write. My fingers fly across the keyboard and I am never at a loss for ideas or words, and it’s a delightful experience. And then there are books that fight you. Every word is a battle, and it’s like cutting your skin open and writing each one with your own blood.

This book was the latter. And so, I have a lot of people to thank.

My family, my close friends (Caroline, Colleen, Liz, Rachel, Meridith), my beta reader (Laura) who told me what I should ruthlessly cut and who wasn’t afraid to tell me what sucked and what didn’t, my author friends (including Magan Vernon, Tiffany King, Chelsea Fine, Karina Halle, Heather Self, Sarra Cannon and Holly Ward, and the rest of my 12 NAs girls), my bloggy friends who never cease to amaze me with their love and fabulousness, my AMAZING editor Jen, who has been through this book more times than she would probably like, whose suggestions were pure genius, my publicist, Jessica and the rest of the team at InkSlinger PR (including Kelly Simmon) for their hard work and unbridled enthusiasm, my formatter, Ali Cross for her lovely work, my cover designer, Sarah Hansen for the fantastic cover, the guy who asked me to watch his laptop in the Maine Coast Bookshop Café, without whom this story might not be the same, the employees of said bookshop for making my dirty vanilla peppermint chai’s that fueled the writing of this book, the inventor of leggings, Ray LaMontagne for his beautiful and inspiring voice, and of course YOU for reading this.

Chelsea M. Cameron is a YA/NA and Adult New York Times/USA Today Best Selling author from Maine. Lover of things random and ridiculous, Jane Austen/Charlotte and Emily Bronte Fangirl, red velvet cake enthusiast, obsessive tea drinker, vegetarian, former cheerleader and world’s worst video gamer. When not writing, she enjoys watching infomercials, singing in the car and tweeting. She has a degree in journalism from the University of Maine, Orono that she promptly abandoned to write about the people in her own head. More often than not, these people turn out to be just as weird as she is.

Find Chelsea online:

chelseamcameron.com

Twitter:
@chel_c_cam

Facebook:
Chelsea M. Cameron (Official Author Page)

And now a sneak peak at A Risk Worth Taking by Heather Hildenbrand!

Chapter One

Summer

“What you seek is seeking you.” –Rumi

I looked around my bedroom at the growing pile of cardboard boxes and sighed. There was something seriously depressing about moving home again, regardless of the fact that it’d been voluntary. I picked up a box, calculating open space, and set it down again. My college dorm room had been roughly the same size. How had I accumulated more items than the space allowed between there and home?

My room was exactly as I’d left it almost four years earlier. Right down to the purple-and-charcoal bedspread with curtains to match. Dad hadn’t made a single change while I’d been away. Not in my room, not in the rest of the house, and from what I’d seen, not with his business either. The only change he’d made hadn’t been his choice. She’d made all the changes for him. And she hadn’t looked back.

But that’s why I was here. To pick up the pieces she’d left behind.

The furniture was a dark oak with neutral accents, but instead of making the room feel depressing and drab, the muted colors were soothing, like sitting underneath a giant shade tree. Being in this room had always been the one place in the house I could escape.

Living at Heritage Plantation came with a certain level of chaos. There was always a body in the house, whether family or staff or someone we considered both; the noise and bustle was constant—all part of the territory when you lived under the same roof that you worked. Well, the business end of things was under this roof. The office, now mine, was downstairs off the kitchen, an add-on my dad had given the place when the farm really got rolling several years back. The rest—the hay and cornfields, the greenhouses, the tractors—had their own space. And lots of it. Heritage Plantation was big enough to get lost in and still never leave “home.” I loved that.

Still, when the crowd became too much, my room was my solitude. My peace and quiet. I was hoping for that same feeling now that I’d come back again. But things were so different, I wasn’t sure there was any place that could make me feel that way. Dark thoughts crept in before I could stop them, my eyes pricking with quick tears. I hated that the thought of her, of what she’d done, still shook me like this.

The sound of boots on the stairs startled me out of my thoughts. I pretended to survey the boxes as I blinked away the moisture. A pair of weathered hands appeared, wrapped around a large box. My dad’s narrow-brimmed cowboy hat bobbed up and down behind the cardboard, his face obscured by the load he carried. He grunted as he set the box at my feet—somehow finding space in the middle of the mess—and then straightened. His back popped as he arched it in an exaggerated stretch.

“You okay?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I am now. That was the last one. Finally.”

“Thanks for helping me carry all of it up.”

He snorted. “Next time we’ll get a crane. Whaddya have in these bags? Bricks?”

“Close,” I admitted. “I brought a lot of books home.”

He grunted something unintelligible but didn’t complain further. We both knew what I’d given up in coming home. I’d had plans for a Master’s, a career in the city. The farm had always been my parents’ thing, not mine. He’d tried and tried to talk me into staying, to pursue my dreams. But how could I follow a dream born from a life built on a lie?

“I’ve gotta get back to work. I’ll see you for dinner?” he asked.

“Wouldn’t miss it, Pop. Thanks,” I told him, planting a kiss on his cheek and following him to the top of the stairs. His boots made a clop-clop sound as he trudged downward. The sound was a familiar one. I’d been listening to it from my bedroom doorway my whole life. It was comforting, steadfast in a way other things weren’t. Not anymore.

For the millionth time since walking in the door, I thought of my mother and a pang shot through my gut. A cross between nausea and heartache. Even after six months to digest it, my mom’s decision to leave, to divorce my father, still seemed surreal—especially now that I was home.

I examined the foyer from my perch at the top of the stairs. It wasn’t so much what was here as what was missing. Little things. Figurines, cross-stitched pictures in frames, coffee table books. The absence of fresh flowers on the side table. And even though it hurt like a fresh cut, I’d said nothing as I’d followed Dad through the house and upstairs. If it was this painful for me, I could only imagine what it did to him every time he walked by.

I yanked on the tie holding my hair back and let it shake free. Thick brown waves with honey highlights spilled over my shoulders. I ran absent fingers through the ends, brushing out the tangles that seemed to form the moment I moved my neck in the mornings. I was forever combing tangles—a trait that had skipped a generation if my mom’s perfectly groomed twists were any indication. Although, I couldn’t complain too much; thanks to her Brazilian heritage, I could eat and eat without gaining an ounce. Something I was grateful for when the other girls at college had been too obsessed with their figure to enjoy a good dinner. Sorry for your luck. This girl was eating her entire cheeseburger. And fries.

My phone beeped inside my pocket. I pulled it out, examined the screen, and bit back a grimace. I’d avoided this long enough. Now, standing in the privacy of my own room, I decided I’d better get it over with.

“Hello?” I said, struggling to keep the resignation out of my tone.

“Summer?” The familiar voice on the other end was a mixture of both worry and relief.

“What is it, Aaron?”

“I’ve been calling you for days.”

“I know. I just—there wasn’t anything left to say.”

He paused. I wasn’t sure if it was because he knew I was right or hadn’t really expected me to answer the phone in the first place. “So nothing has changed then?” he asked quietly. “You still want this … us to be over?”

I knew his words, the very sound of his voice, should tug at me, make me feel something. Aaron and I had been together two years, after all. But I felt nothing. That, in itself, was my biggest clue I’d done the right thing in breaking things off before graduation.

“Nothing’s changed,” I confirmed.

Aaron was silent. I pictured him squeezing his eyes shut, trying to find the right words. But there weren’t any. None that would make me change my mind, anyway. I needed to make him see that without hurting him in the process. Well, more than I already had.

“You and I were good together, Summer,” Aaron said. “We got along, never fought, we had fun. I was happy with you. I thought you were happy with me too.”

“I was … sort of.” How in the world could I explain it to him when I couldn’t fully make sense of it myself? “This thing with my parents has made me think.”

“Think about what?”

I tried to keep the frustration out of my voice, but it crept in. Just like it did any time I tried explaining to someone exactly what the divorce had done to me. No one ever got it. My friends at school had worn blank looks, my dad didn’t seem to want to talk about it. I’d avoided anyone else who might ask just so I wouldn’t have to face the strange looks when I tried to make them understand. “I don’t want to ‘get along’ or ‘have fun,’ Aaron,” I said. “I want to live. I want to feel it. I want it to matter.”

“I thought I did matter.”

“I …” I’d already said it once and that had been hard enough. Why was he making me say it again? I squeezed my eyes shut and whispered, “I just need to go my own way.”

Heavy silence hung on the line.

“If it’s space you want, I’ll give it to you,” he said, his words clipped. “Enjoy the wide open. But Summer?”

“Yes?”

“I’m not your mother.”

“I know that,” I said. Then I hung up.

I took my time unpacking, carefully choosing what to store and what to keep out. Space was limited, but I didn’t mind. I needed the dilemma the shortage of space provided—it distracted me from problems that had no easy answers. Like Aaron. And my mother.

I knew Aaron was working through disbelief and heading for anger. And he had a right. We’d had no real issues, no obstacles that would raise a red flag in the relationship. He was nice. Took me on dinner dates. Remembered birthdays. He laughed at my jokes. Listened—mostly—to my rants about the literary research papers I had to write, and about my professor with a crooked nose and nasally voice that you couldn’t hear unless you sat in the front row. Aaron was patient, always understanding when I couldn’t see him because of a test to study for. He was predictable. Steady. Calm.

I’d actually liked those things about him at one point. Even the predictability. It meant something you could count on. Both were things I wanted in a boyfriend. Both were things I’d seen in my own parents’ relationship. Until I’d come home for winter break and my parents had said they were separating. Not a trial basis, but the first step toward the d-word. Papers were filed. My mother had already moved out. Gotten a little apartment in the city. And from the way my mom had smiled when she’d said it, I knew it was really over. It grated on me—that smile, that happiness.

It made me furious.

If the two people who seemed the most stable in the entire world couldn’t make it last, what chance did I have?

I’d gone back to my last semester of school without an answer. Aaron had complained that I was distant, but when I brushed him off, he let it go. That was his way. And I’d realized it wasn’t enough. I wanted more. A connection so tight the other person couldn’t possibly ignore the other’s hurt. Or distance. Or pulling away. Did that exist? I thought it did, but after seeing my parents split, maybe it didn’t. Maybe it was all a fairy tale.

In my mind, it wasn’t worth finding out. The hurt I saw in my father was all too real.

The day I’d graduated, I broke it off with Aaron and told my dad I was coming home, business degree in tow. I would pick up the slack Mom had left behind, do the books for Heritage Plantation—her job up until six months ago. And maybe figure out what it was I wanted in the process. The big city—the rest of my life—could wait.

Heat from the kitchen drifted through the hardwood, warming my feet and signaling me for dinner. I always knew when a meal was being cooked. This floor conducted heat like a metal rod in a thunderstorm. I gave up on unpacking the latest box of books onto an already full bookshelf and headed for the kitchen. The scent of hot food made my stomach rumble.

I rounded the staircase, nearing the bottom when I heard boots stomping against the welcome mat below me.

“Uncle Frank,” I called, zipping down the last few steps and launching myself at him.

Frank grunted but held firm. Years of manual labor had taken its toll on his aging body, and I knew there was muscle hidden behind all that flannel. “Goodness, girl, what do they feed you up at that big fancy school? You must’ve gained a ton.”

“Either that or I’m not six anymore.” I laughed and pulled back so I could look up at him. His leathery cheeks had a few more fine lines, but otherwise, he looked the same. The sight of him was familiar and comforting, and though he wasn’t blood related, he’d been my dad’s best friend and surrogate family for so long, no one remembered we weren’t related.

He squinted at me. “Coulda’ fooled an old man. Every time I look at ya I still see a gap-toothed smile.”

I punched him lightly as my attention was drawn to the sight of another familiar face coming through the front door. His cheeks were scruffier than the last time I’d seen him. His hair was longer, too.

“Hey, sis,” he said, grinning at me as the storm door slammed shut behind him.

“Casey,” I squealed, launching myself at him even harder than I’d done with Frank. I wanted to knock this one off balance, just for bragging rights. But Casey caught me easily and swung me up, lifting my feet off the ground and spinning a full circle. By the time he set me down again, it was half-hug, half-wrestling match and we were both laughing.

“Glad you’re back. Been way too quiet around here without you,” Casey said, finally letting me go and straightening his shirt.

Pots banged together in the kitchen and someone—a male—let out a string of curses followed quickly by an apology. I gave an exaggerated eye roll. “You were saying?”

Casey grinned. “Guess Mazie’s getting the newbies to do the dishes again.”

“Must mean food’s almost ready,” Frank said, rubbing his hands together and setting off toward the kitchen.

Before I could move to follow, Casey reached out and wound his arm around my neck, pulling my cheek against his collarbone. But I was too familiar with Casey’s tricks to be caught. I ducked out before he could yank me close enough to press his knuckles to my scalp.

“You get faster up there in the big city?” he asked.

“Or you got slower living down here in the country,” I shot back.

“You two are relentless,” Frank said.

“Not our fault,” Casey protested.

“How do you figure?” Frank asked.

“The way I see it, if you and Dean hadn’t stuck us together since we were in diapers, we might’ve been able to curb the sibling rivalry long enough to be nice to each other.”

“So it’s my fault, then?” Frank demanded.

I stifled a smile. It was an old argument between them—one that both men seemed to enjoy since neither ever got legitimately mad at the other over it.

Frank went on, his voice rising, “I should’ve let you be raised by strangers instead of your own uncle? Your own flesh and blood?”

“Of course it’s your fault, Frank,” Casey said, the details too long gone for him to be ruffled by the reference to his parents’ accident. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way. You and Summer and the rest—you’re my family.” He punched the older man lightly on the arm and Frank scowled, but I saw the expression smoothing into something like affection as Frank turned away.

I exhaled, some of the tension inside me melting off at being surrounded by people I loved. They might not be blood, but Frank was the only uncle I’d ever known, Casey more like a brother. I wouldn’t trade them for anyone.

As I stepped through the doorway, my eyes fell on the empty seat at the far end of the table. The one right next to my dad’s usual spot. A sharp pang shot through my gut but I shook it off. I wouldn’t think of her now. Not with all the hustle and bustle and familiar faces waiting. I could think of it in the quietness of my bed tonight—and every night after if needed.

“Summer!” Mazie, our housekeeper, pushed past the others crowding the kitchen and hurried forward, holding her arms out. I stepped into the circle of her arms and inhaled the scent of garlic and dish soap that was Mazie Pagonis.

The older woman squeezed tight and then quickly pulled away with a frown. “You’ve lost weight, Paidi mou,” she said, her Greek accent faded after so many years on Virginia soil.

I smiled. Paidi mou, in Greek, meant ‘my child.’ It had been Mazie’s pet name for me since I was little. “I’m fine,” I assured her.

Mazie clucked her tongue, going on as if I hadn’t spoken. “You’re wasting away. Good thing I made pasta tonight. It will stick to your insides. Casey!”

Behind her, Casey jumped. “What?”

“Carry the bread rolls to the table.” Casey moved toward the counter but Mazie stopped him with a reproachful look. “Wash your hands first.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Casey switched directions, heading for the sink.

“It smells delicious,” I told her.

“Good. I expect you to eat like it,” she said.

Mazie hurried away, rattling off instructions to the nearest body to help her with the heavy lifting. Pans and platters were lifted from the oven by willing arms, all belonging to hungry crew unlucky enough to have arrived early for the meal. Mazie didn’t believe in idle hands.

Dean Stafford employed only one year-round, full-time man to help oversee the affairs of Heritage Plantation—although Frank Connors could make enough noise for ten men on his own—but many part-timers came and went during the growing season. And the standing rule was that if you were here at closing time and your belly was empty, there was always a place at the table for you. It wasn’t a surprise most of them made sure to be here come quittin’ time. Mazie’s cooking wasn’t something to miss.

“Hey, Summer,” someone called.

“Hey, Joe,” I said, smiling and waving as a stocky Puerto Rican carried a steaming dish to the table for Mazie. His dark hair had been buzzed short, something he always did in the summertime. “How are Leslie and the kids?” I asked.

“Jealous I stayed here for dinner,” he said with a wicked grin. I laughed. “Leslie’s working at that new jewelry store in town. She says you should stop in and say hi. Says it’s been too long since you two caught up.”

“I will. I haven’t seen her since … last Thanksgiving.”

He set the dish down and lowered himself into a chair beside it. “Has it been that long? Huh.” I nodded, hoping he wouldn’t press it. “Time flies,” was all he said.

I let it go.

When I’d come home for Christmas break and found out about my parents, I’d shut myself off from everyone in order to deal with the shock of their divorce. I hadn’t really reached out to anyone from my old life since. Now, there was no escaping it. I’d known that when I’d come home. Still, I would probably put it off as long as possible. Even with Leslie, my best friend from high school. I loved her, but that girl asked way too many questions. I wasn’t ready with answers just yet.

By the time my dad came through the back door, black earth covering his hands, I’d greeted everyone and given hugs. Not a single person mentioned my absent mother or asked me why I’d come home instead of staying in the big city like I’d always told them I planned. I appreciated them for that.

“Dean Stafford, you better wash that grub off before going near my dinner table,” Mazie said, shaking a sauce-covered spoon at Dad.

Dad wiggled his fingers menacingly, and Mazie backed away muttering Greek phrases better left un-translated. Dad laughed as he went to the sink and stuck his hands under the water.

Conversation flowed between mouthfuls of pasta, everyone laughing and teasing and easy in each other’s company. It was oddly un-awkward considering it was my first company meal with the empty chair.

Around a mouthful of garlic bread, I heard the screen door kick shut and shot Casey a curious look. He didn’t answer, opting instead for another forkful of casserole. The sound of footsteps echoed down the hall. I watched as Casey’s gaze was drawn over my shoulder.

“Someone’s late to the party,” I said, turning in my chair. I expected to see another familiar face joining the group, someone I knew from past summers on the farm. I was surprised to find a stranger instead, though that wasn’t what had my eyes widening and my torso stuck in the swiveled position.

This guy was not the usual farmhand variety. At least, not the kind they grew in the foothills of southwestern Virginia. Definitely not from Grayson County.

He was tall and lean, muscular in all the right places if his fitted white shirt was any indication. His sandy brown hair was just long enough to fall onto his forehead, making his face look younger than the rest of him. But those eyes, blue and deep and full of knowledge—of what I didn’t know—were what held my attention. I bet they’re even better close up, I thought. He caught my gaze and held it for two beats before I realized I was obviously staring. I broke away, but not before the rest of the table noticed our exchange.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Casey and Joe share a look that had me wanting to reach over the table and knock the grin off both their faces. Heat rose to my cheeks, and I made a show of cutting my food, carefully placing it on my fork, and putting it in my mouth. The clink of my silverware echoed in the stretched silence.

I prayed my face wasn’t as red as it felt. Checking out a hot guy was one thing. Doing it in front of my dad and all his boys was quite another.

“Ford, ‘bout time. You better get a plate before it’s gone,” Casey said, breaking the silence. I sent him a grateful look from underneath my lowered lashes. He’d tease me for it later, but he wasn’t letting me suffer for it now. I owed him one.

“I’m on it.” The voice that responded was low and held just a hint of humor. I pretended it wasn’t on my account.

The newcomer, Ford, made his way toward the stack of empty plates on the counter, and conversation resumed, slowly at first but building quickly to the crescendo of noise it’d been before. I tried to see where the new guy planned to sit, uncomfortably aware of the empty chair next to me, but he went first to the sink and ran soap and water over his hands.

I took another bite. Chewed. Swallowed. Ignored Casey trying to wink at me.

“Look at that,” Mazie said, with a pointed look at my father. “Washing his hands without being asked. I want three more like him.”

Dad scowled but Ford laughed, a deep-in-the-belly sound that made it difficult not to turn and watch while you listened to it. “You better be careful what you wish for. I’ve been told it’s hard enough handling one of me.”

Mazie giggled. It made my brows raise. I’d never in my life heard Mazie giggle. I looked at Casey but he was forking casserole into his mouth and ignoring me. “You let me be the judge of that,” she said.

“Unless you want the job?” Casey whispered at me across the table, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I’ll tell everyone here how you got that rash last fall,” I hissed back. He shut up. Joe snorted and opened his mouth to say something but one look from Casey made him think better of it.

I went back to my dinner. Mazie appeared at my side, fussing at me to take a second helping. Despite my resistance, another spoonful of food was deposited onto my plate and Mazie walked off with a satisfied smile.

Casey shook his head. “You’re going to weigh three hundred pounds by the end of the year,” he said.

“Not if I work it off beating the crap out of you.” Trading jabs with Casey was the easiest way to recover from public embarrassment.

“That’s a fight I’d like to see.” Ford’s tone was casual and friendly but something about it—about him—made everything he said feel very … personal.

The chair next to me scraped back and Ford sat down. I turned just as he scooted forward, and, for a split second, our faces were only inches apart. I blinked, startled by the closeness of the most striking gray-blue eyes I’d ever seen. I was right. Definitely better close up.

“Oops. Sorry.” He gave a lopsided grin and scooted himself back, putting a respectable distance between us.

“It’s okay,” I muttered.

Ford turned his attention to his steaming plate and dug in. Across the table, Casey grinned in a way that made me want to throat-punch him. He was enjoying this way too much. Ass.

While Ford ate, I tried not to ogle the parts of him that filled my peripheral. But it was hard not to notice the broad shoulders and hard jawline. After a few moments, he grinned and turned toward me. Feeling caught and determined to play it off this time, I did the same.

“I’m Ford.” He stuck his hand out and I shook it, the gesture awkward when we were sitting this close. Wow, he had big hands. Rough and calloused. What was his job here? Shit, was I supposed to be saying something?

“Um, hi.” My cheeks warmed all over again. I raised my chin, giving his hand an extra-firm shake. “I’m Summer. I live here.” Smooth.

He held my hand longer than necessary, but I didn’t pull away, wanting to beat him.

Finally, Ford retracted his hand from mine and picked up his fork, though he made no move to eat “I know. Casey’s told me a lot about you.”

Without the distraction of his touch, I regained my composure enough to manage a mock glare across the table. “Is that right? Should I be worried?”

Not that it mattered what Casey said about me. I’d left school to get away from a lot of things about my life, including a guy. Especially a guy. I wasn’t looking for another one. So who cared what this one thought?

“I think where Casey’s concerned, you should always be worried,” Ford said and despite my internal lecturing, I laughed.

“Hey now,” Casey said. “You two have known each other three seconds and you’re already ganging up on me? Dean, I want to file a complaint on the new guy.”

At the far end of the table, my dad shook his head at Casey and then went back to his conversation with Frank.

“You work here?” I asked Ford. He nodded. “When did you start? I don’t remember seeing you here for winter break.”

“Got into town about a month ago. Only been working here at the farm for a couple of weeks,” he explained.

“Ford took that internship Dean offered to the Association,” Casey explained.

“The work study program?” I asked, remembering my dad saying something about it being his turn to offer to mentor a graduate for the Board of Farmers he served on. They were big on “the next generation,” as they called it, and keeping natural produce locally owned and operated so they found ways to give back as often as possible. I’d forgotten all about it until now.

“That’s the one,” Ford said. “Figured I’d follow him around, learn what I can of mass-produce field farming before moving onto the next one.”

“You have multiple work studies lined up?” I asked.

“This is my third since graduating the program.”

“Do you have a track record that requires you to keep seeking out alternative locations?” I asked.

Ford laughed. “I’m not a delinquent, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Isn’t it?” He shot back. I frowned, but he didn’t seem ruffled. “Don’t worry. I’ve completed each program with no problems. I just want to learn as much as I can before choosing a location and settling into my own thing.”

“And what’s your thing?” I asked.

Ford didn’t answer right away. He seemed to take his time thinking over my question. “Creating,” he said finally.

Something about his answer pulled at me. Like a challenge. Like the question I’d asked was important and if you didn’t know the answer, you’d failed. It made me shift in my seat as I realized I wouldn’t have known the answer had he asked me that same thing. I waited for him to shoot the question back at me, but he never did. Casey said something to him and he responded; moment over.

The rest of the meal passed easily. Ford talked mostly to Casey with plenty of side comments and smiles for Mazie. All of the guys, including my father, seemed to genuinely like Ford even though he’d only been here for two weeks. Maybe it was my warped view of the world these days, but it was a little off-putting to see that he’d slid into the fabric of Heritage Plantation so quickly.

Ford was either the nicest guy ever—or the slickest charmer. I wasn’t looking for either one.

And now a sneak peak at The Only One by Magan Vernon, available now!

Chapter One

The sugary drink burned going down my throat. I hoped it wasn’t because the guy who poured it out of the cooler roofied it. At least it drowned out the scent of sweat and stale beer. I didn’t know how Monica talked me into an Alpha Mu Halloween party.

A horde of girls clad in skimpy costumes pushed past me like I was nothing more than another one of the paddles on the paneled wall. I tried to steer away from them, but my face hit a hard set of pecs. I gasped as I watched my entire drink soak through my sweater and onto my skin.

I looked up from my drenched sweater, all the way past a chiseled six pack to cool blue eyes. “Maybe you should just take it off up in my room and I can help you get dry.” He leaned in, his full lips right on my ear. “Or make you wetter.”

My breath caught in my throat, rendering me speechless. Luckily my best friend Monica jumped between us, pushing the guy back so I got a full view of him and realized he was only wearing a loincloth and a large smile.

“Down, John Boy.” She scowled at him and then turned to me, almost knocking her beret off. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I-I-I spilled my drink.”

Monica’s eyes narrowed as she looked down at the red liquid soaking through my gray sweater. She whipped her head around to the loincloth-clad guy. “Was this your fault? Are you trying to get my friend naked?”

He held up his hands, a cockeyed grin on his face. “Purely an accident, Lib.”

Ah, now I knew where I’d seen him before. He’d came into the coffee shop we worked at a few times. I don’t think he even glanced in my direction more than to hand me his student ID to pay, but was always calling Monica ‘Lib.’ I’m guessing because she was an extreme liberal.

Monica’s boyfriend, the governor’s son Trey Chapman, pushed through the crowd. Usually when I saw him he was polished in dress pants and a dress shirt, but his Halloween costume was nothing more than a pair of American flag boxers, a dress shirt, and some gray hairspray. He looked ridiculous. The Clinton and Lewinsky costumes had been Monica’s idea.

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you.” He slipped his arm around Monica’s waist. “What’s going on here?”

“John Boy spilled a drink on Melanie to try and get her naked.”

“Hey!” John Boy yelled.

“It wasn’t his fault,” I piped in. “It’s crowded here and he ran into me. It’s fine.”

“Fine?” Monica raised her eyebrows. “That Hermione costume you’ve been wearing since middle school is covered in Everclear and Kool aid. That’s not fine, Mel.”

“I haven’t worn this since middle school!” Okay, truth was, it was my go-to costume. I’d bought it for the first movie’s midnight showing and had worn it for every movie opening and Halloween since.

“Whatever.” Monica turned her head to Trey and tugged on his shirt. “You can just wear Trey’s shirt.”

He shook his head. “I’m not walking around here just in my undershirt. The boxers are bad enough. Why don’t you give her yours?”

She looked down at the blue shift dress that we coated with white out. “Then I’ll be down to my bra and underwear.”

“Not much more than a lot of the girls here are wearing anyway,” I muttered.

Trey either didn’t hear me or chose to ignore me and nodded his head in John Boy’s direction. “John Boy, do you have an extra shirt that Monica’s friend can borrow?”

The grin spread wider on John Boy’s face before he ran his hand through his spiky brown hair. “I was just offering her the same thing.” His eyes flitted to mine and an electric charge ran down my stomach. “What do you say, Melanie, care to come up to my room?”

I swallowed, hard. I didn’t usually get propositioned by guys, especially guys with bodies that looked good in nothing but a loincloth. Every part of me was hyper aware of the curves of his muscles and I had to keep from staring at where his treasure trail stopped.

“Great, we’re coming with.” Monica grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the stairs.

I glanced back to make sure John Boy was actually following and he was. When he saw me look at him, he shot a wink in my direction.

“I can’t believe you were just about to go upstairs with him alone!” Monica hissed in my ear, forcing me to look at her.

“I was not,” I whispered.

“Ugh, I knew this party was a bad idea.”

Trey squeezed her side and she squealed. “You think everything is a bad idea.”

“Eavesdrop much, Mr. Chapman?”

“Only when you don’t try and give things a fair chance, Miss Remy.”

I rolled my eyes, even though they couldn’t see it, because they spent the rest of the way up to the second floor going on with their banter. My friend, the fierce liberal, loved picking fights with the uber conservative. It was like they rarely had a normal conversation, but she loved it. Every time she talked about him her whole face lit up. He’d finally brought her out of the dark clouds she first sat under when she transferred, and now they were inseparable.

I, on the other hand, was not taken and would have been just as happy sitting at home and not having something sticky that smelled like licorice on my costume. I’d have to ask Trey who he used for a dry cleaner.

We reached the second floor, where a few couples were making out and some girls were taking duck face photos with their phones. Ugh. Trey turned to the right and stopped at the first door.

John Boy sauntered in behind us, his loincloth still perfectly in place. Not that I was hoping for it to have shifted. “And welcome to Chez John Boy, where the magic happens.”

He pushed open the door and I was overwhelmed by the smell of dirty socks mixed with cologne. The room was small, with an unmade twin bed in one corner, a futon opposite that, and a sole window across from us. Piles of clothes littered the floor and there were posters of half naked women and beer advertisements on the walls.

“I can’t believe any girl would actually screw you after seeing this place.” Monica curled her upper lip, walking into the tiny room and dodging the piles of clothes.

“Some girls prefer things a little out of order. What do you think about it, Red?” John Boy winked.

“Red?” My hair definitely wasn’t red and I wasn’t one of those redheads who were in denial, like Monica, who claimed her hair was auburn. No, my hair was dirty, bottom of the sink brown and just as curly as the steel wool used to wash that sink.

“Yeah, you know, because of what’s soaking through that lovely sweater.” His eyes trailed down to the now giant red splotch across my shirt.

My cheeks heated up and probably turned just as red as my shirt.

“Okay, can you stop trying to spit your game at Melanie now and get us a shirt?” Monica groaned. Trey stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, shaking his head.

“Keep your hat on, Lib, I’m getting it.” John Boy took a few strides over to the small closet and opened it. There were only empty hangers and a dresser inside. He opened the top drawer and pulled out a dark green shirt, tossing it in Monica’s direction.

She caught the shirt and unfolded it, holding it out in front of her before curling her upper lip. “Seriously? You expect Melanie to walk around wearing this?”

“What? That’s a nice one. Usually girls have to do a lot more than just get a drink spilled on them to get one of my shirts.”

I looked over Monica’s shoulder and raised my eyebrows when I read the shirt. “Alpha Mu: We’ll make you smile like a donut.” I didn’t get it at first and then I noticed the picture. It was of a girl with her mouth as a donut, making a giant O shape. Great, a blow job shirt.

“If you want me to make you smile, Red, I’d be happy to oblige.” John Boy sauntered back over, his full height looming over me. In the light I could actually see just how built he was. He looked like one of the MMA fighters from TV with his rippling chest and the tattoos on each of his pecs and his biceps. I just thought he was a big moose of a guy. He never actually said too much to me and now he was using every cheesy line he could.

Monica sidestepped between us. She was always overprotective when it came to guys. The only time I ever saw her calm down was when she was sleeping. She went through a lot of crap before she transferred to Central College. Trey and counseling made it a lot better, but I didn’t put it past her to deck John Boy. Even though I’m not sure it would have made an impact, looking at the size of his arms. “Just back off, okay? Thanks for the shirt and I’m sure Melanie will give it to Trey to return to you.”

“She can keep it. I’m sure it looks much better on her than me. It compliments those mesmerizing green eyes of hers.” A large grin spread across his face and I could feel my own definitely heat up. I was used to blending in with the crowd and even though he probably wasn’t sincere, it was nice to get a little attention once in awhile. I didn’t even think he knew my eye color. It seemed as if the guy was actually looking at more than my chest.

Before I could respond, Monica ushered me out of the room and back down the hall.

“You could try and be a little nicer, Mon, John Boy was helping you out.” Trey followed behind us as we squeezed past the people lining the hallway.

“Yeah, well, he didn’t have to get all swaggery on her.”

Monica took my hand and led me up to the third floor. It was basically empty with a few doors on each side and to our left was a small blue bathroom that smelled even worse than John Boy’s room.

“I’ll stand guard at the door while you change.” Monica ushered me into the small bathroom and I shut the door behind me.

A bunch of Playboys littered the floor next to an old toilet that must have been white at one time but now looked yellow. Across from that was a small, subway-tiled shower and in front of me was a giant mirror in which I saw the giant red blob crossing my sweater. I’d never be able to get the stain out.

Monica and Trey’s muffled voices came from beyond the door, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Quickly, I peeled off my sweater and white tank top. The sugary drink had soaked through and left a giant red mark on my skin. I turned on the water and it hissed before spraying a very small trickle. It would have to do. I couldn’t find a towel, or even toilet paper so I put my shirt under water, letting it soak onto my sleeves and then scrubbed at my stomach, which did nothing more than aggravate my skin. “Ugh.”

I gave up and picked up the horrendous donut shirt, slipping it over my head. It was way too big for my five-foot frame and went down to my knees. John Boy had to be over a foot taller than me, like 6’5” and built. Very built.

I shook my head, trying to get the thoughts of him out. He wasn’t really interested in me. Sure, I probably wouldn’t have any problem getting a quick lay out of him, but that wasn’t what I wanted.

At least I didn’t think I did.

No, no I couldn’t think of him that way. He was the type of guy I needed to avoid. The guy who just wanted me for one thing. The guy I would end up falling hard for and he would just drop me like I was nothing. I had too much of that.

I grabbed my sweater and opened the door. Monica was pressed against the wall with her legs wrapped around Trey’s middle. Her fingers were laced through his hair and his hands disappeared somewhere underneath her dress.

I was definitely interrupting a heated moment, but I didn’t want to keep staring at their tonsil hockey either, so I cleared my throat. “Um, do we need to go or do you two need to use the bathroom?”

A sound like a suction cup peeling off a window came from their mouths as Monica dropped her legs, prying herself away from Trey. He faced away from me, adjusting his boxers.

“Sorry about that, Mel. You were taking awhile...and...yeah...” She bit down on her bottom lip and her cheeks flushed.

“It’s cool.” I shrugged. “We can go if you all are ready.”

Monica didn’t want to go to the party at all, but Trey insisted that she should face her fears and have some fun. That was how I got roped into it. Because dragging her best friend to a party to use when she needed an out to leave seemed like the best option to her. It’s not like I had anything better to do anyway. A sticky shirt and people watching were better than sitting home alone in my apartment and Facebook stalking.

“No, no it’s fine!” Monica shook her head and tugged on my arm. “Let’s go dance and get rid of this awkwardness!”

Monica led me back down to the basement with Trey following close behind. He couldn’t even look at me. It was actually the first time I’d caught them making out. They hadn’t been together that long, but whenever they were in public it was like Trey had to keep up some sort of persona and kept everything to just hand holding. There were a few times I’d seen him kiss her forehead, but that was it. And I had just caught them practically going at it in the stairwell.

Once we got down to the basement, some mash up of late 90’s music was playing. Monica pulled me through the crowd until she found a spot the three of us could stand. She faced me and tilted her head back, moving her body to the music. Trey slunk in behind her with his hands on her hips, and moved his body in sync with hers. Once again I was the third wheel in the Monica and Trey wagon, which was why I’d been in the corner in the first place.

I was ready to go hit the bar for another drink when a pair of hands slid onto my hips. I froze. I’d never had anyone come up behind me and do that. I trusted Monica to watch out for me and not let some guy take advantage of me, but at the same time I was intrigued about who the hands belonged to. I glanced back and locked eyes with John Boy; his very gaze making me tremble.

“I was right about how good that shirt would look on you.” His lips were hot on my ear and linked a direct line to my panties.

“It’s, um, a little big, don’t you think?” I managed to squeak out as he rocked my hips back against him.

“Don’t you like things big?”

I swallowed. My stomach felt like it had dropped to my knees. I tried to regain my thoughts when he laughed against my neck. “I’m just giving you shit, Red, don’t take it too seriously. Just dance with me.”

He turned me around so I was facing him. I had to practically stand on my tiptoes while he crouched down so my face wasn’t in his chest. That still didn’t stop me from staring at his chiseled form and also made me acutely aware how subpar my body was compared to his. I tried to suck in my stomach as he pulled me closer, pressing against me.

He mouthed the words to the music and I couldn’t help but giggle. “Are you a Backstreet Boys fan?” I had to practically yell over the music and the people making grunting noises around us. Whatever they were doing I didn’t want to know.

His laugh tickled my lips and even in the dark basement I could see his blue eyes sparkling. “My older sister was really into them so we always had this on in my mom’s minivan on the way to school.”

“Rocking out in a minivan, I didn’t take you to be that type of guy.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Red, and a lot I’d be willing to show you.” Before I could respond his hands slid behind my head and he tilted my chin up, putting his mouth to mine. I parted my lips slightly and his tongue slipped in and out teasingly, twirling with mine. He didn’t taste like alcohol, like I would have expected. His kisses were sweet like strawberry bubblegum and I wanted to taste him over and over. His hands slid down to my lower back, his tongue continuing to explore my mouth. His teeth nipped at my bottom lip and I felt a low moan gather in my throat. I craved more of him, slipping my fingers into his hair and pulling him closer, trying to deepen our kiss, but he didn’t budge.

He broke the kiss, placing a peck on my forehead before leaning down so his lips were on my ear. “Not here, Red, but if you want to go up to my room to continue this, I’d be happy to accommodate you.”

Did I want to? He was a damn good kisser, probably the best I’d ever had. And his body looked like something Photoshopped out of 300. But I didn’t think I wanted to just be another notch on his bedpost. Luckily Monica came to my rescue as usual.

Her hand was on my shoulder and she turned me around. She stood there with her eyebrows furrowed and Trey was right at her back with his arms around her waist. “Hey, are you ready to go, Mel?”

“Now? But it’s so early.” And I wanted to keep dancing with John Boy, no matter how stupid his nickname was and even if I didn’t go back up to his bedroom, I could still deal with just making out and whatever else we were doing.

“Early?” Her eyes bugged out. “It’s 2 am?”

“Seriously?” When did I lose track of time? I swore we had just left my apartment.

John Boy’s arm slinked around my waist. “You two can go have your fun and I can bring Red home later.”

“Uh, no, I don’t think so.” Monica yanked me forward until John Boy let go of me.

“I’m fine, really, my apartment isn’t that far.”

“Which is why me and Trey can walk you.”

John Boy leaned in over my shoulder. “I can walk her home when she needs it.”

“Watch it, loincloth, I’m not afraid to spork your eyes out.”

“Hey, let’s be reasonable here,” Trey spoke up. “I’m sure Melanie would be perfectly fine with having John Boy take her home.”

Monica whipped her head in Trey’s direction. “Are you serious right now? I am NOT just leaving my friend at a party.”

“She’ll be fine. He’s not going to do anything to her.”

Before Monica and Trey could continue their argument I groaned and yelled over them. “I’m right here, you don’t need to talk about me like I’m not.”

They both snapped their attention to me. “Sorry, Mel,” Monica grumbled.

I sighed. “And I’m ready to go.”

I glanced over my shoulder at John Boy. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

He grabbed my hand and brought it to his lips, grazing my knuckles. “I wish you’d stay, Red, but I understand if you have to leave.”

Locking my eyes with his, I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to trace the lines of his tattoos and get tangled in his sheets. But that wasn’t what a girl like me did. That’s why I didn’t have a boyfriend. I didn’t just jump in bed with random guys, no matter how hot they were.

“I do, though.” I peeled my hand away. “Goodbye, John.”

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About The Author

Magan Vernon is a Young Adult and New Adult writer who lives with her family in the insurance capital of the world. When not writing she spends her time fighting over fake boyfriends via social media.

You can find her online at http://www.maganvernon.com

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Table of Contents

Cover

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Other Books by Chelsea M. Cameron

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Excerpt: A Risk Worth Taking by Heather Hildenbrand

Excerpt: The Only One by Magan Vernon