She finishes with the lotion, then picks up my mug and forces it into my grip. “You need to tell him, Spence. Before someone else figures it out.”
I shake my head, too hard. “No way. He’d hate me. He’d tell everyone. It was just a stupid bet.”
Sara gives me a look, not angry but deeply tired. “He’s not an idiot. He’s already obsessed. You saw the post. That’s not a guy looking to make fun of someone.”
I look away. “You didn’t see how he was in class. He’s—he’s not like that in person.”
She sighs and sets the bottle down, then slides her hand onto my shoulder. “That kiss meant something to both of you. I saw your face when you came out of that closet. You looked like you’d been hit by lightning.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, memory flickering. The heat, the rush, the way my knees almost gave out.
I say nothing, and Sara lets the silence hang. She pats my shoulder, then stands.
“Sleep,” she says. “And if you can’t, text me. I’ll tell you what happens next in the comments section.”
She leaves the door open a crack as she goes, the light from the hallway spilling in. I watch it flicker across the carpet, the world outside moving forward whether I want it to or not.
I drink the tea, hands still shaking, and try not to think about what will happen when the next message hits my phone.
—ΠΩ—
The campus coffee shop is always too bright for this early, the kind of lighting that feels punitive. I order a double espresso and slide into the corner booth, the one by the fake fireplace with a view of the quad. I tell myself I’m here to work, but all I do is watch the door, and jump every time it opens.
It’s only a matter of time before something happens. Viral posts don’t die quietly.
Hunter finds me less than five minutes in, breezing through the entrance with his windbreaker unzipped and his ego at full blast. He spots me instantly and zeroes in, cutting through the line and plopping down across from me without so much as a “hey.”
“Montgomery,” he says, voice pitched just above the background Spotify. “You got a minute?”
I nod, steeling myself. Hunter’s not one for preamble, and his energy is already set to “emergency.”
He leans in, resting his elbows on the sticky laminate. “Dude, you will not believe what I did.”
There’s a pause, like he’s waiting for me to beg him to go on. I don’t, but he does anyway. “I fixed your problem. Or, at least, I set up the best possible train wreck for it.” He grins, but it’s the slow, carnivorous one he gets right before something explodes in his hands.
I take a sip of coffee and immediately regret it. My hand shaking, I spill a thin line of espresso down my sleeve. I set the cup down, focus on the stain, and pretend I’m calm. “Okay. Hit me.”
Hunter drops his voice. “I got Natalie Greene to pretend she’s Jessica.”
The words hit like a dry-ice bomb. For a second I think I’ve misheard him, but no—he’s got that wild light in his eyes, the one that means this is real and already in motion.
“You what?” I croak.
He raises both hands, palms out, like he’s surrendering to his own genius. “She’s perfect for it. Blonde, petite, totally unthreatening. She already knows Aaron from Psych, and she hates his guts after he called her ‘nerd bait’ in front of half the class. So I pitched it as, like, cosmic justice.”
My pulse jackhammers against my neck. I stare at the surface of the table, watching the spill bead up and spread. “And she just… agreed?”
Hunter shrugs, basking. “I told her it’d be hilarious. She gets to make him sweat, plus it’s a free latte and a story for her next group chat. She’s not even nervous. The two of them are meeting tomorrow at The Grind.”
He’s so pleased with himself he’s practically vibrating.
I try to breathe, slow and deep. “Does she know what to say?”
“Dude, we spent an hour last night rehearsing the story.” Hunter ticks off on his fingers: “Red dress, auburn wig, exact sequence of the drinking game, even the part where you—” he glances up at me, “—where she kissed him in the closet. Every detail. She’s a better actor than half the Theater department, I swear.”
He’s waiting for me to congratulate him. Instead, I go cold.
“What if he figures it out?” I ask, voice thin. “Or, I don’t know, what if he actually likes her and this turns into something real?”
