“You going to help or just watch me do all the work?” she teases.
I drop down next to her, eyeing the puzzle box—cherry blossoms. “Of course you’d pick this one.”
Alli shoots me a side-eye. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve always had a thing for cherry blossoms, remember yourquinceañera?”
She slaps her forehead. “You remember that thing?”
“That thing”—I forcefully remove her hands off her face—“was your coming-of-age party. It was lit.”
“Lit for a bunch of fifteen-year-olds, sure.”
I laugh only enough for her to do so, too. “Your dress was pink.”
“Like awfully pink.”
“Cherry blossom print. And cherry blossom tablecloths and cherry blossom plastic cups. Youlovedcherry blossoms.”
Alli’s gaze gentles, and she glances at the puzzle pieces before us. “Yeah, I guess I always have.”
Something about the way she says it makes my stomach do this weird flip. Not what I was expecting. Where’s the usual sass? The eye roll? I should say something—make a joke, tease her—but for some reason, I don’t. Instead, I just watch her, fingers absently turning over a puzzle piece.
We start sorting through the pieces, our fingers brushing occasionally as we find the edges and corners. The silencebetween us isn’t awkward. It’s chill, interrupted only by occasional remarks or laughter. The TV buzzes quietly in the background, but we’re lost in the puzzle, completely focused on each other in our own little world.
“I thought the edges would be the easiest part in a two-hundred-piece puzzle.” My eyes are everywhere on the table, scanning up and down for this Godforsaken pink and blue piece that’s supposed to be the edge of the flower against the sky. “Fuck, where is this damn piece?”
Lo and behold, the empty space of the very last edge piece gets filled in by a petite hand. “Fresh pair of eyes opens up a whole new perspective.”
I glance up to see Alli’s smug grin. “Show off,” I mutter, though I can’t help a smile.
She shrugs, enjoying her victory. “Just doing my part.” She picks up a puzzle piece, turning it between her fingers before glancing at me—then away just as fast. “So, how are we going to handle telling people about us? Are we supposed to hard launch ourselves on Instagram?” She clears her throat like she’s trying to sound casual, but the question lingers a little too long.
I laugh lightly. “We can keep it lowkey. Let people find out naturally. It’ll be more believable that way.” I finish one section of the blue sky. “What does hard launch even mean?”
Alli laughs, “There’s a soft and hard launch. It’s a new thing that girls are doing where you post ambiguous photos of the other person in a way to say you’re taken,oryou just post the person’s face anyway. Soft and hard launch.”
“Well, I think we’ll have to do a hard launch soon.”
“What do you mean?”
“As my fake girlfriend, you have to come to my games.”
Our first home game is in a couple of weeks, and I’m already feeling the burden. Joining the team as a sophomore felt like a shot in the dark, especially with the limited starting spots for wide receivers. But somehow, I snagged one.
“We need you to be a playmaker, Collins,”Coach said after practice last week, clapping a hand on my shoulder.“A guy the fans and the team can count on. This is your shot—don’t waste it.”
No pressure, right? It’s not just about catching passes—it’s about showing I deserve this spot, proving I can handle everything that comes with it. The pressure’s real—performance, expectations, all of it. And with Alli maybe sitting in the stands, well… that just cranks the whole thing up a notch.
Her eyes flicker with surprise. “Oh, right. Your games. I could come to a few, depending on my schedule.”
“Great, I’ll bring you a jersey.”
She raises an eyebrow, a skeptical smile curving her lips. “There’s no way I’m wearing your jersey.”
“All the other girlfriends do it.”
“Well, I’m not them, nor am I your real girlfriend.”
