“You want to break up with me on New Year’s Eve?”
“Yes.”
“That’s cold.”
“It’s practical.”
“It’s theatrical.”
“That too.” I reached for another fry, because apparently I had given up pretending I was above them. “People will talk for a few days, maybe a week. Then spring semester starts and they’ll move on. New classes. New games. New gossip. Clean break.”
Drew looked down at his plate, his thumb running along the edge of the basket. For a heartbeat, he did not look like the campus menace who had kissed me in front of half the athletic department. He looked like a man who had been handed a date for something he had not realized would end.
Which was ridiculous.
This was fake.
It had to end.
That was the whole point.
“New Year’s Eve,” he said finally.
I nodded. “Non-negotiable.”
His gaze came back to mine. “Fine.”
The word should have made me feel better.
It did not.
Then, as if sensing he had let the moment become too honest, Drew reached across the table again and stole one of myfries. “But for the record, breaking up with me at midnight is diabolical.”
“I never said midnight.”
“Now you have to. Anything less is lazy storytelling.”
“Fine. Midnight.”
He shook his head slowly, like I had wounded him. “After I give you the best fake boyfriend holiday season of your life.”
“Best and only.”
“We’ll see.”
“No, we won’t.”
He smiled, but his eyes stayed too sharp. “Keep telling yourself that, Texas.”
My phone buzzed on the table before I could answer.
Mom.
I stared at the screen until it went dark.
Drew saw. Of course he saw. “You gonna answer?”
“No.”
