With Tristan, I had waited for crumbs and called them signs. With Drew, he sat across from me building an entire fake relationship schedule like my attention was a starting position he intended to win.
It should have offended me.
It did.
It also did something else, and I refused to name it.
“Fine,” I said. “Rule one. You do not speak for me in public unless we agree first.”
His expression sobered a little. “Fair.”
“Rule two. No using me to make Casey jealous.”
“I’m using you to make Casey disappear.”
“Drew.”
His jaw flexed. “Okay. No using you like bait. I can do that.”
“Rule three. No making me look stupid.”
His eyes sharpened. “Never.”
The word landed too fast. Too serious. It made my chest pull tight because I believed him. Not because Drew was polished or careful or sweet in the way men pretended to be sweet when they wanted praise for basic decency. I believed him because he looked almost offended that I thought he would ever let people laugh at me.
I pushed a fry around my plate. “Rule four. My dorm exists. I am not moving into your house.”
“No one said move in.”
“You said overnight logistics.”
“Yeah. Two or three nights a week at my place.”
I choked again. Apparently, this dinner was going to kill me.
Drew looked unbothered. “Your dorm beds are built for nineteenth-century children. I’m too big. I can visit, hang for a bit, make your roommate uncomfortable with my presence, but sleeping there? No. My back has a future.”
“You are not sleeping in my dorm.”
“Correct. Glad we agree.”
“I am also not sleeping at your house three nights a week.”
“Two, then.”
“Drew.”
“One and a half.”
“That is not a number.”
“It is if you leave at breakfast.”
I gave him my coldest pageant smile. “You are insane.”
“And yet, here you are, eating my fries.”
I looked down.
