What really gets me is the pictures he took. Objectively, they’re good. Our eyes are open and we’re either looking at each other or the camera. Claire’s body fits perfectly into mine so that in one shot, my chin is resting on her shoulder and we both look happy as hell about it. I don’t especially love looking at pictures of myself. Claire may have called me a hot lumberjack earlier tonight, but when I see myself in photos, I think I most closely resemble a grizzly bear. I always need a haircut and a good shave, and half the time I look like I’ve been hibernating through the winter. But in these shots, even I have to admit I look good. That’s probably due to the fact that I’m holding a beautiful woman in my arms. Ollie snapped a pic that captured the moment when Claire turned her face toward me and it’s enough to convince anybody that our relationship is real.
Ollie takes his phone back, forcing me out of my daydream. He looks to Claire for confirmation, and when she gives him the go-ahead, he taps the little blue button, causing his phone to make a wooshing sound. Half a second later, Claire’s phone dings with a notification, and mine chimes right after that. I open the app and that picture—the one with Claire smiling up at me—is the first thing I see.
She holds her phone up. ”It’s official,” she says. “We’re dating!” Her blue eyes widen and she opens her mouth, probably to tack on the word “fake”, but she doesn’t get the chance, because Mickey and Jenksy stroll into the room.
“Wait up. You guys are dating for real? I thought Olls just said that to shut Shane up.” Jenksy says while Mickey lets out a whoop.
Claire looks at me and the urge to kiss her is so strong I have to force myself to look at Jenksy. “We’re the realdeal,” I say, the lie tasting bitter on my tongue. “It’s pretty new, but it’s real.”
“Holy fuckballs! I was right,” Mickey crows. “Mr. Tittles owes me twenty bucks.”
“You bet on us?” Claire frowns and the tone of her words would instill fear into the bravest of warriors.
Mickey just smiles. “We bet on everything.”
Claire’s still frowning, though. “Who the hell is Mr. Tittles?” she asks.
“That’s Mickey’s cat,” I whisper.
“He’s not my cat,” Mickey says, probably for the thousandth time this year. “He’s just a cat. But we’re buddies and yeah, sometimes he sleeps over cause he’s the goodest baby boy, but whatevs.”
I shake my head at Mickey, probably for the thousandth time this week, as Claire and I share a look.
“How’d it go with campus security? Are they on their way?”
“They were already here and gone,” Mick reports. “But it’s not great news. They took a few pictures and said they’d look into it, but the one dude said your car was parked in a section of the lot that isn’t covered by the cameras, which is total bullshit.”
Jenksy’s been pretty quiet tonight, but he’s never the most talkative guy. I know he was pissed about Claire’s article, like a lot of the guys were, but right now, he looks downright angry.
“These guys were sketch, Cap,” he says. “How bout it, Mick? They were literally here for five minutes. And why the hell even have cameras if they don’t cover all the spaces? It’s sus, that’s all I’m saying.”
“Facts,” Mickey chimes in before looking at Claire. “I took a couple more snaps of the area around your car. I’ll share them with you in case you wanna call the real cops.They guys we talked to said they’d do what they could and follow up with you tomorrow.”
Claire huffs out a laugh. “Judging by this week, I am campus security’s least favorite person, so I doubt they’ll do much, but thanks.”
“We’ve got you, Claire. Like Ollie said, you’re family.”
I watch as Claire returns Mickey’s smile, and I squeeze her hand to let her know that even though we’re not really together, what my guys said is true. She’s part of our crew now, and we take care of our own.
19
Claire
I’ve been sitting at this table for over an hour when I see Pete walk into the diner. I scowl in his direction, and he beams a smile back at me. I’m not mad at him, not exactly. He’s not late. In fact, he’s ten minutes early. He hasn’t done anything wrong this morning, and that is infuriating.
He takes a seat across from me, his hulking frame filling up every inch of available space on his side of the red vinyl booth. “Are you always this grumpy or do you save it just for me?”
Showing off my incredible range, my face switches from annoyance to confusion. “I’m sorry, have we met? I’m Claire Elizabeth Fowler.”
“Haha. Peter Frederick Santos,” he says, his large hand engulfing mine. “Nice to meet you.”
I drop the joke because there’s no way he said what I thought he did. “Woah. What’s your middle name?”
“Frederick,” he repeats. “It’s my mom’s maiden name.”
“Unbelievable,” I say, barely able to contain the laugh that’s threatening to break free. “You’re Peter F. Santos?”
He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “That’s literally what I just said, so yeah.”
