She blinks slowly. “The social engineering part you advertised?”
“Yes. It’s all about optics.” I lift a shoulder. “Humans are lazy pattern-seekers. You put two variables together enough times—same table, same walk, same laugh—people assume correlation.”
“And?”
“You want Theo to see you differently.” His name pulls focus. “So we make it impossible not to. You and me—close enough for anyone to get ideas. He notices, and the story writes itself.”
Her breath catches, not a gasp, just a small stutter you only hear if you’re listening. And I am listening.
“That’s manipulative,” she says quietly.
“It’s effective.”
She studies me like I’m a circuit with too many branches. She doesn’t frown. She just thinks. I wait because it means she’s not walking away.
Finally: “What’s in it for you, O’Connor? Because you don’t strike me as the type who volunteers for extra credit.”
I shrug, easy. “Maybe I just want to make sure you keep tutoring me.”
That look—the one that could strip paint.Try again.
“Fine.” I lean back. “I need people to think I’m taken. Girls throwing themselves at me—it’s exhausting. Distracting. My coach has been on my ass about focus and appearing stable helps. A lot.” I hold her gaze. “You’re not the kind of distraction that’ll cost me games. You help me look settled, they back off. Everyone wins.”
She studies me for a long beat. “That’s...actually believable.”
“Because it’s true.”Mostly. The rest—the part where I want her attention more than I want air—I keep to myself.
She’s quiet, thinking. Weighing variables.
“Tomorrow’s our project meeting,” she says finally. “With Theo.”
“Perfect timing.” I keep my voice even. “First performance. See how it plays.”
Her fingers tighten on her pen. “If we do this...” She pauses, choosing words carefully. “If we do this, and Theo doesn’t...if it doesn’t work?—”
“It’ll work.”
“But if it doesn’t,” she continues, “you don’t get to make fun of me for it. And you don’t get to tell people. No locker room stories, no bragging rights.”
The request lands like a fist tothe gut.
She’s protecting herself—from me, from humiliation, from being a punchline. And she has every reason to, because that’s exactly how this started. A bet. A dare. Locker room entertainment.
Guilt crawls up my throat, bitter and sharp.
“I wouldn’t do that,” I say quietly, and I mean it. Whatever this started as, it’s not that anymore. “I promise.”
She searches my face, then nods once. “If we’re doing this, there are rules.”
“Music to my ears.” I lean back just far enough to look relaxed. “Lay them on me.”
“No kissing.” Quick, like ripping off tape.
I make a face. “That’s...restrictive.”
“That’s a hard rule.”
“You realize it weakens the illusion.”
