Page 16 of Personal Foul
I scoff, moving past him, to-do list in hand. “Why does it even matter?” It’s not like anything I say will make any difference to him.
“I see,” he says quietly, tapping his knuckles on the wall. When I turn to face him, he spreads his hands. “I thought you might want to make our public relationship believable. It’ll be hard to do when you react with disgust every time I come near you.” He shrugs and crosses arms. “But if you’re okay with everyone knowing that you hate me, and making my friends wonder what’s really going on, then fine. I’m not the one with the secrets I don’t want anyone to know.”
Letting out an aggravated sound, I let my head fall back between my shoulders and stare at the ceiling. This dude apparently gets a kick out of torturing me. I guess that makes sense, though. His whole group of friends in high school did. I didn’t ever see him play a starring role, but maybe he had a hand in all of it all along. With this behavior? I wouldn’t be surprised.
“Fine. What ground rules do you suggest?” Arms crossed, to-do list crumpled in my hand, I stare him down, daring him to say something stupid.
“For starters, you need to act like you’re happy to see me.”
I immediately wrinkle my nose.
“See that?” He points at my face. “That right there. You’ve got to stop doing that.”
“Ugh. Okay, fine.” I make a concerted effort to smooth my face. “Better?”
Snorting, he shakes his head. “I guess? Is that really the best you can do?”
I spread out my arms in a gesture of helplessness. “What do you expect from me? An Oscar-winning performance? I’ve never been much of an actress. You’re blackmailing me. You’re forcing me to clean your apartment wearing this stupid outfit.” I pluck at the fabric barely covering my chest. “And now you expect me to pretend to be happy to see you?”
He stares at me evenly for a moment. Then he shrugs, as though none of this matters to him at all. “Say the word, Chastity. This can end now.”
My shoulders slump. “Right. All I have to do is quit. Then I can lose all my friends in one blow for the second time in my life. Sounds swell.” I give him a thumbs up. “Good plan. Why didn’t I think of that sooner?”
I’m not sure what I hoped for exactly with my sarcastic outburst, but I get nothing from Dylan. No reaction whatsoever. Defeated, I close my eyes. “Fine. You win. I’ll smile when I see you next time.”
“Don’t hurt yourself on my account.”
“Trust me, I’m well aware that I’m doing it for me.”
* * *
By the time I get back to our apartment, I’m starving and looking forward to a quiet evening curled up with my textbooks. Literary Criticism is on the docket tonight. But when I open the door, I’m confronted by a squealing Isabelle, who grabs me by the hand and drags me inside. And not only Isabelle, she’s invited our entire friend group.
“Oh my god, Charity,” Isabelle gushes. “We’ve been waiting for you for so long. Where have you been?”
I set down my bag after freeing my hand from Isabelle’s grip, stammering over my answer. “Oh, well, uh, I, uh, had a few things to do. I had to run a couple of errands around campus.”
No one seems to catch the obvious and non-specific lie. Or more than likely, they don’t really care about the answer. Which is proven to be true when Isabelle waves a hand, brushing aside my excuse. “Whatever, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re here now. Now sit down and tell us all about how you ended up dating Dylan Thompson. And why we had to find out from Andrew instead of you.” She pulls me to an empty spot on the couch, and I glance around at Andrea, Kayla, and Madison, all looking at me with avid expressions, clearly as desperate as Isabelle to hear the story.
“Oh, uh, right. Yes. Dylan. What did Andrew tell you?”
Isabelle exchanges a look with Andrea and gives me a sly smile. “Well, he said that he caught you in Dylan’s apartment last night and that you and he exchanged some pretty heavy PDA in the student center after their workout today.”
My cheeks turn fiery, and that only seems to confirm the story for them, despite the fact that we did no such thing.What would that feel like, though?Gah! Stop thinking that!
But it seems like Dylan’s plan is working. Andrew and Liam have gossiped, and now everyone already believes we’re together.
Grabbing my hand, Isabelle gives me a pleading look. “Charity. Youhaveto set up a double date for you and Dylan and me and Andrew.” At my doubtful look, she turns up the begging. “Please? Oh, please, Charity? You know I’d do it for you if the situation were reversed.”
Would she, though? Not that she knows the full extent of it, but … If she were really in my situation, would she force herself to endure the company of someone she hates just to make me happy?
I think back to all the times that Isabelle has been there for me—she quizzed me on my really hard test for Medieval Literature last semester, forgoing her own studying for way too long just to help me out and then staying up later than she normally would to finish her own work. She helped me make the decorations and favors for my niece’s birthday party last year when my sister came down with the flu the week before and then didn’t have enough time to finish everything (and as great as my brother-in-law is, he’s not very crafty and was too busy taking care of her and Grace to worry about that).
Yeah, there’s a good chance she would actually do this for me if the situation were reversed. Not just from what she knows, but from the full extent of the blackmailed, pretend relationship truth.
But the reality is, I have no idea if Dylan will agree.
I give her my best attempt at a smile. “Of course. I’ll talk to Dylan, at least, and see what he says. I’m not sure how big he is on the idea of double dates.”
