"That was..." I search for the right word.
"Ridiculous," Caleb supplies. "And somewhat impressive. Tyler must do a lot of squats."
"He was on the rowing team. They're all freakishly strong."
"Clearly," Caleb says, looking thoughtful. "Though I doubt you could pull off that particular move."
"Excuse me?" I turn to face him fully. "Are you questioning my strength?"
He eyes me skeptically. "You spend most of your time hunched over a keyboard. Not exactly building upper body strength."
"I'll have you know I go to the gym three times a week." The words come out defensive, which is ridiculous, but there it is.
"Running on a treadmill doesn't count as strength training."
"I do not just—" I stop myself when I realize he's baiting me. "You're trying to annoy me."
"Is it working?" he asks with an innocent expression that doesn't match the mischief in his eyes.
"Maybe." My lips curve up, the traitors. "But for the record, I could absolutely pick you up if necessary."
"Let's hope it never becomes necessary," he says dryly, but a hint of colour in his cheeks that wasn't there before.
The hayride continues its tour, eventually arriving at the edge of campus where the downtown Holiday market begins. Strings of lights connect vendor stalls selling everything from handmade crafts to seasonal treats. A small stage has a band playing acoustic Christmas songs.
We climb off, everyone stretching after the slightly cramped ride. Drew gathers the group for instructions.
"Feel free to explore the market," he tells us. "But meet back here at nine for the return trip."
The brothers scatter quickly, most following the sorority girls towards the food stalls. Caleb and I find ourselves somewhat alone at the edge of the market.
"So."Awkward pause. Great."Want to look around?"
"Sure, I could use some more sugar after that cider teaser."
We wander through the market side by side, stopping occasionally to examine crafts or food that catches our interest. It's strangely like a real date, which is precisely the impressionwe're trying to create for anyone watching. But no one from the fraternity seems to be paying attention to us now, which makes the continued pretense feel... different.
Caleb stops at a stall selling hand-knitted items. He's actually checking the weave pattern on a dark green scarf. This from someone whose entire wardrobe screams "whatever was clean."
"Shopping for yourself?"
"My mother, actually," he admits, running his fingers over the soft yarn. "She likes handmade things. Or at least, she pretends to when I give them to her."
Again, there's an edge when he mentions his family, a subtle tightening around his eyes, a slight strain in his voice.
"Green suits her?" Better to focus on colors than whatever just flickered across his face.
"It's her favourite colour," he says, sounding surprised that I asked. "Though she only wears it when she's not at official functions. Says it doesn't photograph well for campaign materials."
Before I can respond, loud voices interrupt from behind us. I turn to see a group of guys wearing Epsilon Beta Mu jackets, clearly already halfway drunk.
"Well, look what we have here," one of them calls out, his voice carrying across the market. "Delta Psi Omega's out on a field trip."
Caleb is tense beside me. The rivalry between our fraternities isn't friendly. Earlier this year, several EBM members vandalized our house during a particularly heated weekend.
"Just ignore them." The words come out quietly, my hand landing on Caleb's arm in what I hope looks casual to someone watching.Don't do anything stupid. Drew worked hard to keep your name out of the Michael and Cher mess. One incident with the university and you're done.
The grip on his arm tightens slightly. He's tense under my touch, coiled like he's ready to do something we'll both regret.
