I’m staring at the menu, but all I can see are the words swimming together into one giant mess ofyou’re lying to everyone.
“My mom keeps asking when she’ll get to meet you,” Drew says. “She saw the roller rink photos on Facebook. Apparently, her book club is invested in my love life now.”
“Your mom’s book club knows about me? I’m honored.”
“They think you’re handsome,” he says while I fidget with my napkin, folding it into increasingly smaller squares.
“What’s she like? Your mom?”
“She’s…” He pauses, trying to find words that capture what I’m sure is the force of nature that is Janet Larney. “Now that she’s with a man who treats her right, she’s one of those involved mothers. Makes cookies for every school fundraiser, volunteers at the soup kitchen, and can guilt-trip you into anything with a raised eyebrow. My stepdad says she should’ve been a CIA interrogator.”
“Sounds terrifying. I like her already.”
The waitress appears to take our order, and I’m grateful for the interruption. I order the first thing I see, while Drew gets a burger like a normal person who isn’t having an internal crisis.
“Have you told your parents?” Drew asks once she’s gone.
My stomach drops. “What?”
“Your family. Have you told them we’re dating?”
Dating.That word sits heavy in my gut. I force myself to meet his eyes. “I…it’s complicated.”
“Because it’s fake?”
The bluntness of it makes me flinch. “Because if I tell them, just for us to inevitably break up after spring break, my mom will be devastated.”
Drew’s expression shifts, something unreadable flickering across his features. “Right. After spring break.”
“That’s still the plan, right? We fool the Ice Queen, let the heat die down, then have an amicable split?”
“Yeah.” He’s studying me with those hazel eyes as his thick fingers drum on the table. “That’s still the plan.”
The silence stretches between us, filled with all the things I can’t say. I don’t want to break up after spring break. I want to tell my parents about him because this thing between us is becoming more real than anything I’ve experienced.
Drew’s phone buzzes on the table. He glances at it, and his face goes pale.
“What’s wrong?”
“Gerard. He says to check the Ice Queen’s newest post immediately.”
My body goes rigid. “What now?”
Drew scrolls rapidly, his expression shifting from concern to horror to something scarily close to panic. “Oh, fuck.”
“What?” I lean across the table, trying to see his screen. “Drew, what is it?”
He turns the phone toward me, and I read the headline:Live from New England, it’s (the Ice Queen on a) Saturday Night!
The blood drains from my face as I scan the post. She knows about the bathroom. She knows about Ryan’s comments. She knows I’ve been jerking off while supposedly dating sex fiend, Drew Larney.
“Fuck,” Drew breathes, still scrolling. “She’s here. She’s watching us right now.”
My head snaps up, eyes darting around the restaurant. Every person is now a suspicious character. The woman, typing on her laptop in the corner. The guy at the bar, nursing a beer. Even our waitress, who’s been nothing but professional, could be the Ice Queen.
“We need to fix this,” Drew says, his voice low and urgent. “Now.”
“How?” My voice cracks on the word.
