“Still? Fizzy?”
“Tap.”
I chuckle. “A cheap date. I like you already. Find somewhere to sit. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
I go and get a coffee for me and a glass of water for Casey and then look for him. He’s found a table by the window, which he’s staring out of.
“So, what’s the deal with you and Emory anyway?” I ask as I hand him his water.
He frowns. “Deal?”
“Yeah. How long have you known each other?”
“Oh. Since primary school.”
“You must be pretty close.”
Casey runs his finger around the rim of the glass. “Yes.” His shoulders are tense.
“Am I stepping on your toes?”
He looks up, staring me right in the eyes. “What do you mean?”
“If you like Emory, I can back off.” My stomach quivers.
“Like him?”
“Yeah. Do you want to date him?” This might not have been the plan, but I have to roll with it now.
Casey looks out the window and rests his chin on his hand. What does that reaction mean? He looks lost.
My phone beeps. I debate not checking it, but Casey seems to need some time alone with his thoughts.
Grant
Are we partying tonight at yours?
I met Grant during Freshers Week. All I know about him is that he enjoys partying. I’ve never seen him without a beer in his hand and a girl on his arm. He’s a great person to invite to parties because he always brings at least half a dozen friends.
Can’t. I’m busy.
I’m blowing off a party for a fake date. I must be ill.
What’s wrong with you?
Good question.
You haven’t wanted to party in days.
I’ve been busy being tutored by Emory and writing an essay. Partying hasn’t been on my mind. Not that I’ve realised it until now.
Party at yours?
My housemates complain. You could leave a key under your doormat, and we could party without you.
No.
Boring. Catch you around.
