Violet’s voice was tiny. “What?”
“I need you to be my girlfriend. Officially. To show that you weren’t some random girl, or not a college girl or whatever. Andit’ll help your reputation too, so people don’t think you were also randomly at the college house, where you shouldn’t have been. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah, it makes sense,” she said.
“I know that’s not what you want or what you’re ready for.” God, how was I going to say this?
“You need me to be your fake girlfriend.” Her voice was flat. “Right? That’s what you’re asking?”
“Fake?” The word rippled over me. Of course. In the books, fake dating happened all the time. It was in the college book. You pretended to date someone to cover up some lie.
“I can do fake,” she rushed out. “You’re doing so much to help me. I want to do whatever you need. I owe you so much.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” I said. “You can say no to this.”
Fuck, I didn’t want it to be fake. Butsheneeded it to be fake. Fake gave her space to work through her shit. And it made me feel sick to think about it, but fake ensured she wasn’t just agreeing to be my girlfriend to appease me. Fake left the door open for her to really choose me down the road. I’d never trust it if we got together under these circumstances, where our mistake forced her to choose me.
Ultimately, fake protected both of us: my heart, her healing.
Fake kept that tiny, fraying string between us intact for a little while longer.
But god, I longed for that string to snap. I stared at the string with laser-like focus, watching thread after thread peel away with each cuddle, each word uttered when we touched each other, each honest confession.
Fake was for the best, but the disappointment reigned supreme.
“No, Colt. Seriously. It’s nothing. We can still have our arrangement, unless you don’t want that anymore.”
Fake did not mean canceling our arrangement—at least not to me. “No! Nothing has to change. Just, publicly, you’re my girlfriend. It’ll say you’re my girlfriend if we end up having to issue a statement.”
“Will it mention my name?” she asked, her voice timid.
“Not if you don’t want it to. I’m sure some internet sleuth or middle schooler who’s obsessed with the team already knows your name, but I’m not volunteering it.”
A quiet breath whooshed from her end. “Okay. It’s crazy but it weirdly makes sense. Let’s do this. Boyfriend.”
“Girlfriend,” I said back, a pang shooting through me.
“Romantic fuck buddy,” she joked.
It wasn’t a joke to me. I wanted everything. Every part of her. But all I could hope for was anything she was willing to give me.
That had to be good enough. Because having her in my life this way beat not having her in my life at all.
THIRTY-TWO
VIOLET
OCTOBER | COLUMBUS, OHIO
“There’s my favorite celebrity.She even has to wear a hat to hide from the public!” Margot opened her arms to hug me in the small café near her house. She held me back by my upper arms and looked me over. Her thick Boston accent shined through. “No hickeys. Boring.”
“What?”
“Come on. Just because I’m old and have kids doesn’t mean I don’t follow sports. Andrea’s becoming quite the Rusties fan. Even took the kids to a couple preseason games.”
“Wow, okay. Didn’t see that coming.” We stood side by side, reading the coffee menu on a board above the bar. “Go ahead and order. I’ll get you.”
“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Margot said. We ordered, and the sneak she was, she tapped her watch to pay before I could get my card out of my pocket.
