“Tino,” I murmured, glancing up and down the hall. There were enough people for me to understand why he was suggesting it, but the thought of him kissing me just for show made my stomach twist now in a way it hadn’t last week. “Maybe not?—”
“We’re dating,” he reminded me, as if that was the problem, as if I’d forgotten why he would be suggesting it. His eyes flicked briefly to my lips. Not long enough to be too obvious, but long enough that I felt it. I took a deep breath, torn between knowing that we needed to sell this and wanting to push him away. It wasn’t his fault that all this fake dating was muddling my brain, making my emotions unable to sort out what was real and what wasn’t. He was just doing what we had agreed to, and I was being the weird one for not agreeing happily.
So, I nodded and let him close the small distance. His lips were soft—warm—gentle but certain. One of his hands settled lightly on my waist, steadying me. The other braced against the locker beside my head. My fingers curled instinctively in the fabric of his school blazer—only for balance, I told myself, because the ground had suddenly become questionable.
He kissed me like we had all the time in the world.
We did not.
Because right after that second, the sharp clearing of a throat snapped both of us back to earth. We sprang apart so far that I practically fell inside my locker and almost knocked my coffee over, righting it back up at the last second. Tino slammed into the doors of the neighboring lockers then tried to play it off like he’d been leaning there forever. I would have laughed if Iwasn’t so mortified to see his hockey coach standing in front of us, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. His expression hovered somewhere betweenI am too old for thisandI regret every professional decision that led me here.Honestly, I was feeling pretty similarly.
“Let’s remember,” he said in a tone that suggested he’d had this conversation with at least five other couples this week, “that public displays of affection have a time and a place.”
My cheeks heated and I quickly grabbed the coffee cup and took a long sip, just for something to do.
“Sorry, Coach,” Tino said smoothly, hands up. “Won’t happen again.”
Coach gave him a look that said he deeply doubted that, and honestly I couldn’t blame him. Then he turned his gaze to me, and for some reason, softened slightly. I wondered if he recognized me as Poppy’s roommate, since he’d seen her hanging around Bear often enough.
“Are you two dating now?” he asked. I just blinked in response, not sure why a teacher would be asking me about my relationship status, especially one I’d only had occasional conversations with. Would it help what Tino and I were doing for the teachers to be gossiping about us too?
Tino cleared his throat. “Uh?—”
Coach held up a hand. “Never mind, don’t answer. I don’t need the details. I already have heartburn.”
Tino blinked. “We… weren’t going to give you details.”
“Good. Because the last thing I need is to hear about teenage romance before eight in the morning.” He looked at me, his gaze assessing, and I found myself standing up straighter without meaning to, as if his approval meant something. “And for what it’s worth, Miss Turner, you can do better.”
“Hey!” Tino protested.
Coach ignored him completely. “I’m just saying—don’t limit yourself. Plenty of options out there.”
“Coach!” Tino said again, louder.
Coach raised an eyebrow. “Valentine, until you find the team jersey you lost, you don’t get to have feelings.”
Tino dragged a hand down his face. “I told you I didn’t lose it, that guy from Westwood stole it.”
“Nobody at Westwood wants your jersey. Find it or pay up the lost fee.” He looked at me again. “And just so we’re clear, I’m not breaking you up—I don’t have the energy. Just keep the kissing out of my hallways before I lose my breakfast.”
He started off down the hallway, yelling at some freshman who seemed to be racing each other down the hall. Just before he got out of sight, he glanced back and added, “Also, Turner, if he ever gives you trouble, let me know. I’ll bench him from practice for a month.”
Tino stared after him. “He can’t do that.”
“Yes, he can,” I said.
“He shouldn’t do that.”
“But he will,” I said, patting his arm. “Your coach loves me more than you.”
Coach called back over his shoulder, “That is absolutely true.”
Tino stared after him and sighed. “It’s amazing how quickly the people closest to you can turn against you.”
I snorted. “You’re an idiot.”
“But I’myouridiot,” he said. I knew I should tell him not to call himself mine, but the words got stuck somewhere in my throat. I took a gulp of coffee and told myself I just didn’t say anything because we were in the hallway where anyone could overhear, even though I knew the real reason had a lot more to do with my heart and a lot less to do with faking this. I really need to get control over the blurred lines between fake and real.
