Of course, I’m not really his girlfriend. But since almost no one else knows that, we've got to keep up appearances—which is exactly what today’s lunch is for. Not only does it make sense that we’re seen together, but we’ve got work to do.
“Hey,” he says, walking toward the table I grabbed, setting down his overflowing tray, and leaning in for a quick kiss. It’s too quick, if I’m being honest. His lips are gone before I can really register the feel of them, but that’s probably for the best. After all, he’s playing a part, and so am I.
“Hey,” I reply, carefully extricating my plate of fries from the mountains of food he’s brought back with him. “Good Lord. That’s not all for you, is it?”
“Yeah,” he replies around a mouthful of a chicken parm sub. He swallows, then wipes his mouth. “You want some?”
“I’m good,” I assure him, still amazed at the sheer amount of calories he consumes. It makes sense, though. When we were trying to find a time to meet up, I realized just how much time student athletes spend on their sport. If they’re not on the ice, they’re in the weight room or watching film. The amount of time and energy they spend on their craft is staggering. Almost as unreal as the amount of food my fake boyfriend can devour in one sitting.
I dip a fry in ranch and pop it in my mouth before digging through my bag to find my planner. It’s one of the habits I picked up from living with Josie freshman year. Granted, I’m not as committed to the cause as she is—my planner’s not color-coded, I don’t do all the fancy hand-lettering, and I don’t own a single roll of washi tape. But I do love my calendar. And I sincerely hope we can find some space in Will’s schedule.If we’re going to convince people we’re together, we actually need to be seen together.
“Ok, time to strategize,” I say, flipping through the pages to find September.
He gets a mischievous gleam in his eye and smiles. “Can’t we just go back to my room and pick up where we left off the other night?” he asks, stealing a fry from my plate. “Because that was fun. And it’s a thing couples do, so…it seems legit to me.”
“Nope,” I say, shaking my head, then I think about what I did before falling asleep that night. And again in the early morning hours.“Okay, yes, we can revisit that lesson. But not right now. We’ve got planning to do. We need to be a convincing couple, and that means spending time together. But between your hockey schedule and my work schedule at Drip, I feel like the only compatible hours we have are between midnight and six a.m.”
“Again, I don’t see the issue with that,” he teases.
“No surprise there,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Ok, did you bring your schedule?”
He nods, then digs through his backpack before sliding a crumpled sheet of paper my way.
“Sorry it got a little wrinkled. But I can send you a digital copy too. Also, I don’t know if you already have ideas or not, but I was looking around and found this article onThe Howler. It’s from last year, but the ideas are pretty good.”
Will hands me his phone and I look at the article he dug up in our school newspaper’s archives,10 Perfect Date Ideasby Claire Fowler. A quick glance at the list tells me there are some pretty promising ideas here.“I’m impressed,” I tell him, unable to keep the smile off my face. “You did your homework. Good job.”
“Does that mean I get another kiss?” he asks hopefully.
“Maybe,” I shrug, though I have to admit kissing Will is not a hardship. “You could use the practice,” I quip.
“Come on, you gotta admit I’m getting better.”
The truth is he was never bad. He was just unsure, which led to nerves, which led to ridiculous levels of overcompensation. But I’m not telling him that because practicing is the fun part.
He points at my phone, bringing my attention back where it needs to be. “So, does anything on there look good to you? I like the one about laser tag. That could be fun.”
“Yeah, I’m down to kick your ass at laser tag,” I tell him. “And I totally think we should do trivia night at Wolfie’s—that’s always a good time.”
“Sounds good,” he agrees, wiping his hand on a napkin. “And, um, there’s one more thing. Coach said there’s a fundraising thing here at school next month. But it’s not for students, like the bachelor auction was. This one’s for donors and alumni. But he said we all need to be there, dressed in our best and ready to make small talk with a bunch of rich, old people. I realize I’m not exactly selling this, but do you wanna go? The guys said the food’s usually pretty good.”
“Count me in,” I say. “I love a reason to get fancy.”
We’re finalizing plans. I’m writing everything in my planner and Will’s typing stuff into his phone when I hear noise behind us. Don’t get me wrong—it’s lunchtime in a college cafeteria; the noise is a given. But above the din of a few hundred college students, I hear the distinct shouts and hollers of BU’s hockey team. Ok, it’s not the whole team, but Ollie, Van, Santos, and Norris are a pretty good representation.
Santos and Norris wave hello as Ollie and Van grab nearby tables and adjoin them to the small square one Will and I have been occupying.
“You don’t mind if we join you, right?” Van says, setting down his tray, taking a seat, and digging in.
It’s good to see the guys, but I still wish Will and I were having lunch alone.
I tamp down that troublesome thought and tell myself I must have a vitamin deficiency or something. Will’s a freshman, for god’s sake. And we’re doing each other a favor. Our relationship is transactional, and I need to remember that, no matter what bullshit romanticism my brain keeps feeding me.
But it’s hard to keep in mind when Will plants a quick kiss on my lips before nabbing a fry from my plate.
“You two are so cute together. Christ, I’m getting a toothache just watching you,” Van teases.
Well, at least I’m not the only one.
