“Not stalking, no,”I clarify. “I just run into him a lot, and he’s called a few times. I’d blocked his number, but I guess he got a new one.”
Will clears his throat.“I’m no expert, but that sounds stalker-ish.”
“He’s not dangerous,”I assure Will. “Just insistent and annoying—the kind of guy who’s never been told no. It’s like he’s always the one walking away, and since I technically dumped him, he can’t handle it. That’s all this is. And you just gave me the perfect solution. To get rid of Chaz, I need a new boyfriend. And now I have the perfect one. You, Will Franconetti, are both fake and temporary.”
Will cracks a smile.“And those are good things?”
“Very good. I mean, this,”I say, motioning between us, “isn’t real. We’re just gonna fake it. Don’t get me wrong—you're easy to look at, and you have kinda grown on me, but there’s no chance of us actually dating. I have sworn off relationships, and I’m graduating in December. See? It’s perfect—you need a dating coach, and I need a fake boyfriend. It all works out. I mean, yes, I thought your idea was crazy, and it kind of is. But it’s a good kind of crazy. And it makes both our problems go away. So, I say, let’s do it.”
Will leans backagainst the booth, and smiles at me, and I have to admit that one of these days, a girl at Bainbridge is going to fall hard for that smile. It won’t be me, obviously, but I have no doubt some cute little freshman will lose her mind over that dimple. And good for her, because when I get done with Will, he’ll be the best boyfriend ever. Granted, I haven’t had many great boyfriends, but I’ve had some good ones, and an awful one, so with my experience I feel pretty qualified for the job.
And I’m goingto completely ignore the itchy part of me that hates picturing Will with a cute little freshman—or really anyone who’s not me. Yep, totally ignoring that.
“You reallythink this will work?”he asks.
“Are you doubting me?I mean, youarethe one who came up with this crazy plan,” I answer. Is he seriously trying to back out now?
“No,that’s not what I meant,” he assures me, his hand reaching out for mine, before pulling back and scratching at his chest. “I have zero doubts about you. It’s your ex I’m worried about. If he’s coming by your work and using a new number to call you…are you sure he’ll get the hint? And, should you possibly, I don’t know, report him or something?”
“Chaz is harmless,”I repeat. “Plus, Drip is the campus coffee shop and he’s a professor at Bainbridge—I can’t keep him out. And there’s no need to report him or anything. When we got together, I knew how old he was. It wasn’t like he manipulated me or anything. But we were really discreet, for…well, a lot of reasons. But part of it was definitely the fact that we didn’t want the rest of campus passing judgment on our relationship. Trust me, it’ll work. He’ll see us around together and get the message, then get tired of the chase and find someone else shiny to pursue.”
Will shrugs. “If you say so.”
23
Mel
I’ve been reeling a bit for the past few days since I agreed to help Will with his dating woes. I don’t regret it: he’s using me just as much as I used him to sidestep Chaz. But this situation has serious potential to go sideways.
Which iswhy I’m making a plan. Or, at least, I’m trying to.
For an ill-advised semester freshman year, I was an education major. I know, it makes almost zero sense, looking back. But I had an amazing math teacher in middle school, and I had decided the path to happiness was to follow in her footsteps. This was before I realized that numbers make sense to me but thirteen-year-olds do not. Tweenagers can be assholes, and I need more bathroom breaks in a day than the average teacher gets in a week. Plus, accountants make way more money than teachers.
So,while I don’t miss much about my very brief brush with the study of education, I loved the hell out of lesson-planning. Putting each element in its place speaks to the organizational part of my brain. There’s just something soothing about filling in all those boxes.It’s the same rush I get when a spreadsheet balances perfectly.
So,instead of studying for my Statistical Analytics test, I dig up an old template and get to work.
Objective:Teach Will the fine art of dating and intimacy.
Materials:Will’s abs. My mouthMel and Will
Bellringer: Consent—it must be given with enthusiasm or it doesn’t count.
Direct Instruction: Fake it til we make it. And make out. You know, for research.
Guided Teaching: Lots of partner work.
Exit Ticket: Either one of us can opt out at any time. Yes, we’ve agreed to fake date, but that doesn’t mean we have to cross any lines we don’t want to.
I reviewwhat I’ve written and bite back a laugh. This is awful. Am I really going to write down all the things Will and I might do together? That just seems weird. But I love a plan, and this is uncharted territory, so the idea of going in without a plan absolutely terrifies me.
What I need isa coffee break, but I’m at the library, so the bottle of water in my bag will have to do. I take a sip and look back at my screen. Ugh. It’s still there, taunting me.
I hearthe squeak and squeal of the book truck before I see Josie, and I’m grateful she’s working today. I could use a break, and it’s been a couple of days since we had the chance to catch up. She parks her cart and walks over to me, looking adorable as always. I would look crazy in baggy jeans, a Hello Kitty T-shirt, and an oversized cardigan, but it works on Josie.
“Hey, Mel,”she says, taking the seat next to me and placing two coffees—two coffees!?!—on the table.
“You brought me contraband?”
