“So, how are you with PDAs?”
His head snaps up. “Huh?”
“I mean, when we’re pretending to date? Do you want to hold hands in public? Kiss?”
His eyes get wide. “Kissing isn’t exactly pretending.”
“Okay, no kissing then. Is it a yes or no on the hand holding?”
He rubs the back of his neck and squirms. “I guess hand holding would be okay.”
“Will we actually go out on ‘dates’ or just hang out in our rooms? Pretending to be doing other things while we actually talk tactics and watch tennis highlights.”
Ben snorts. “Is that what we’re going to do on our ‘dates?’ Is that why you agreed to it? To monopolize my time to talk about tennis?”
“Well, yes.”
He swallows. Why does he look sad? I want to wipe that look off his face, but I have no idea how if I’m not allowed to kiss him. Kissing usually works when trying to cheer someone up. Kissing and blow jobs. He looked like he was about to have a heart attack last time I suggested sex, so I won’t do that again.
Before I can say anything, he squares his shoulders. “I guess we could go out sometimes, just to make it look realistic. We could go to the library or out for food and talk about tennis there. And we could hang out here, or at your dorm, and watch highlights or whatever. I could even help you study if you like.”
Did I upset him and he’s still being nice to me? I feel like the world’s biggest asshole.
“Is there something I could do for you? Other than teaching you how to flirt?”
“What do you mean?”
“I feel like I’m getting the better deal out of this.”
“No, you’re not. You’re literally pretending to be my boyfriend.”
I’m about to tell him that isn’t exactly a chore when the door opens.
“Here you guys are, everything okay?” Nate asks. He eyes me suspiciously, as if I kidnapped Ben and forced him to come in here and drink semi-decent beer with me.
“Busted,” Ben says with a guilty grin. He holds the beer up.
“I’ll leave you guys to it. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“No, it’s okay, we’re coming back out now, aren’t we?” He turns to me, so I nod.
“If anyone asks where we got the beer, just say you don’t know.”
“I’ll pretend I don’t speak English.”
“Perfect.”
He flashes me a smile, but there’s sadness behind it. Was it something I said? I try to tell myself it doesn’t matter, but that feeling in my gut has other ideas. I should probably try and make whatever it is better.
For our tennis, of course.
I mingleas much as I can force myself to, waiting for Ben to take me to the laundry room again so we can drink another beer in private. Maybe I can be a bit more tactful this time and avoid upsetting him. I could tell him what I’d beenabout to tell him before Nate came in—that it isn’t exactly a chore to be his fake boyfriend.
I’m watching Ben laughing with Archer and Miles when his face changes suddenly. I follow his eyeline to a guy in a stuffy blazer and shirt. Either he isn’t in costume, or it’s the costume of a stiff rich guy.
The guy spots Ben and makes a beeline for him.
Ben’s smile is strained as he watches him.
