I kept talking because panic is apparently one of my best skills.
“I already bought the airline tickets. Don’t be mad. I mean, be mad if you want, but I’ll cancel them if you say no. I just—” I dragged a hand over my hair. “My dad wants me home. And he asked about you.”
Her fork lowered slowly.
I watched the calculation happen behind her eyes.
The quick mental math of a girl who had spent her whole life managing other people’s feelings around her own.
“My mom doesn’t really care where I am for Thanksgiving,” she said carefully. “And she won’t want to see me moping around the house anyway. I can tell her I’m staying here to rehab. Get back on the turf for indoor.”
The words landed like a gut punch I should have seen coming.
I looked at her.
“Are you ashamed of me coming home with you?”
Her face changed instantly.
“No.” She set the fork down. “No, Drew, of course not.”
“Then why would you hide it?”
“I’m not hiding it.”
“You just said you’d tell your mom you were staying here.”
“Because why would I tell my mother about my fake boyfriend anyway?”
Fake.
There it was.
One word.
Four letters.
A clean little blade slid right between my ribs.
The second it left her mouth, I saw her realize it. Her face crumpled, just a little, in a way she’d hate if she knew I saw it. Her hand reached for me too late.
“No. Drew, I didn’t mean?—”
I nodded once and looked down at my plate.
“Thanks for the reminder of what we are, right?”
She looked like I’d slapped her.
“No,” she whispered. “No, it’s not like that.”
“It’s all good, baby.” I forced a smile because I was still enough of an idiot to protect her from the sharp parts of me even while bleeding from one. “It’s all good.”
“It’s not.” She moved closer on the couch. “Come here.”
I let her pull me in.
Let her climb half onto my lap carefully, one knee on the cushion beside my thigh, her hands cupping my face like I was the one who needed steadying now. She kissed the side of my neck. My jaw. The corner of my mouth.
