He pauses, looking almost surprised by the sincere wish. "You too, Hunter."
As he walks away, I force myself not to watch him go. Or at least, not to get caught watching him go. Because the truth is, Caleb Huntington in jeans is a sight I'm finding increasingly difficult to ignore.
This is a problem. A significant one. Because fake dating only works if both parties remember it's fake.
And I'm starting to forget.
Oh crap.
Chapter 9
Cider and Violence
JAMES
The evening arrives with perfect California winter weather, jacket weather without actual suffering. Ideal for romantic hayrides, if one were going on an actual romantic hayride rather than a planned show.
I'm in the hallway at 6:45, checking my watch like I don't already know exactly what time it is.This is absurd. We're going to sit on hay, which is literally dried grass, so that the fraternity can gossip about our relationship status. But it's strategic. Part of the plan. That's the only reason I'm standing here checking my watch like some lovesick?—
No. Strategic. Focus on that.
6:46. Still alone. Good. Gives me time to get my head straight about this not-date.
6:47. Caleb rounds the corner in dark jeans and a deep blue sweater, and my carefully organized thoughts scatter like startled pigeons.
Fuck. The sweater makes his eyes look incredible. That's not helpful. This would be so much easier if he were less... that.
"Ready for agricultural romance?" he asks dryly, not noticing my staring.
Thank god he didn't notice.
"Can't wait," My deadpan reply makes him quietly chuckle. "Nothing says Christmas spirit like parking our asses on scratchy hay while being paraded around campus."
He laughs out loud, the sound still rare enough to catch me off guard. "At least we'll have hot cider. That's something."
"You and your sweet tooth," My hand finds the small of his back as we head toward the front door. "First hot chocolate, now cider. I'm sensing a pattern."
"Everyone has their vices." Something shifts in his expression, an awareness of my hand still on his back, maybe, but he doesn't pull away. "Mine just happens to contain alarming amounts of sugar."
We walk across campus toward the quad, maintaining a careful distance that's friendly but not overtly romantic. My hand fell away as soon as we started walking. According to our timeline, tonight is supposed to be a turning point, the first public indication that our friendship might be evolving into something more.
This should be simple enough. Hold hands at some point, maybe let our shoulders brush. Standard relationship progression, all very calculated and normal.
Except my pulse is doing something that's definitely not planned, and we haven't even reached the damn hayride yet.
The quad has been transformed for the occasion. Strands of white lights hang from the trees, and a large trailer filled with hay bales sits waiting, hitched to a tractor decorated with wreaths and ribbons. Students are hanging around, including a group of girls I recognize from the Gamma Phi Delta house across the street.
Drew and Emily are already there, directing traffic with matching Santa hats. Emily waves enthusiastically when she spots us.
"James! Caleb! You made it!" She hurries over, dragging Drew with her. "Perfect timing. We're about to board."
"Wouldn't miss it."
Right. That sounded convincing. Definitely.
"You two should grab seats near the back," Emily suggests with a not-so-subtle wink. "More... private."
Drew gives her a look that's half amusement, half warning. "What Emily means is that everyone should find seats wherever they're comfortable."
