BSU might act like they are all about sports, but they take great pride in their academic courses, too. I’ve been so buried in course outlines and problem sets that my diet’s become nothing but energy drinks and vending machine chips. For a blissful moment, I’d even forgotten that Jackson and I were the hottest topic in BSU’s rumor mill.
I’m reminded of it, though, when he asks me out to lunch. As friends.Notas a couple.
The Lobster Shack sits on the edge of downtown Berkeley Shore. The building features wood siding and a red neon sign of a dancing lobster in a top hat, flickering haphazardly in the afternoon sun. We’re in a booth that overlooks the parking lot. While it’s not the nicest view, it’s better than staring at a black wall with photos of fishermen. Aside from the pictures, there are buoys, nets, and a taxidermic swordfish that points the way to the restrooms. The place is packed with the lunch crowd—businesspeople on their breaks, families with screaming kids, and at least three other BSU students that I unfortunately acknowledge.
Our food arrives faster than I expected, considering the number of people here. The buttered rolls are piled high, the fries are golden and crispy, and steam rises from the salmon that’s been cooked to perfection. We dig in, and for a while, the only sounds are our appreciative moans as we demolish lunch. But even the food can’t distract me from Jackson’s tongue darting out to catch a drop of butter on his lip. My stomach growls for an entirely different reason, and I can’t believe I’m jealous of a condiment.
“What’s most annoying about everything that’s been happening,” Jackson says between bites, “is that the more we deny it, the more people are believing it to be true.”
I’m about to call the waitress to get us some more rolls when I notice a girl two tables over with her phone pointed directly at us. She’s trying to be subtle about it, pretending to text, but I’ve seen that angle before. She’s taking a photo. Or a video.
Heaven forbid we eat lunch like normal human beings without it becoming breaking news.
“Don’t look now,” I mutter, leaning forward slightly, “but we’ve got an audience. Girl at two o’clock with her phone out.”
Jackson’s broad shoulders rise toward his ears, the fabric of his shirt pulling taut as his fingers curl around his glass of water. “Seriously?”
“Yep.” I pop a fry in my mouth, trying to appear easy-going while my brain rushes into overdrive. The words are right there, clawing at my throat.I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you since freshman year. Every time I see you, I want to kiss you.
But what comes out instead is, “Maybe we should give them what they want.”
Jackson freezes mid-chew. “What?”
My heart hammers against my ribs. This is it. My chance to have him, even if it’s not real. Even if it’s pretend. “Think aboutit. We keep denying, they keep speculating. So, what if we lean into it? Control the narrative ourselves?”
He blinks at me. “Drew, what are you saying?”
I can’t look at him. If I do, I’ll either confess everything or chicken out completely. I stare at my roll as though it’s the most fascinating food item ever. “I’m saying we fake date.”
The words hang between us, heavy and monstrous. My palms are sweating, and my leg is jiggling under the table. This is the dumbest idea I’ve ever had, and I once tried to sled down the library steps on a cafeteria tray back in high school.
“Fake date,” Jackson repeats slowly, as though testing the words to see how they taste.
“Yeah.” I risk a glance up. His face is unreadable, which makes my stomach churn with both dread and a shameful flicker of hope. “They’re going to talk regardless, right? At least this way, we set the terms. And when we’ve had enough, we have an amicable breakup and move on.”
What I don’t say is,and I get to pretend you’re mine. I get to hold your hand without it being weird. I get to be close to you without having to make excuses.
“That’s…” Jackson runs a hand through his hair. The gesture makes his shirt ride up slightly, and I have to look away before I do something stupid like leap across the table and tackle him. “That’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had.”
My eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. “Really?”
“I mean, it would shut everyone up. Stop the constant speculation.” He’s thinking out loud now, a little furrow appearing between his eyebrows that I want to smooth away with my thumb. “We could set ground rules. Make it believable but not complicated.”
Too late. It’s already complicated. It’s been that way since the moment I saw you on that field.
“Right. Rules. Boundaries.” The words are sawdust in my mouth. “Just enough PDA to sell it, but nothing that makes either of us uncomfortable.”
“And we’d need a timeline. How long before we ‘break up?’”
Each word is a tiny dagger, but I keep my expression neutral. “Spring break? That gives us a few months. Long enough to be believable, short enough that it doesn’t get weird.”
Jackson nods slowly. “This is crazy.”
“Completely insane,” I agree.
“But it might work.”
“It might.”
