“Please? You’re literally the only person I trust not to embarrass me. You’re so good at this stuff – making people feel comfortable, keeping conversations flowing. Plus, you’ll love Paige. She’s really cool and funny,andshe loves fashion.”
Clever bastard. He knows exactly what buttons to push.
There’s a pause, and I hold my breath.
“Just dinner?” Tara asks.
“Just dinner. Though if you wanted to casually mention how great of a guy I am I wouldn’t be opposed. We can talk about how I saved your life one time, or how you can always count on me,”
“Don’t push it,” I call out, and hear Tara laugh through the speaker.
“Oh, hey Alfie. You’re there too?” I can’t help smiling. “Are you okay with this?”
No. Yes. Maybe. “If you are.”
“Well,” she says slowly, “I do have a new dress I’ve been wanting to test out...”
“Is that a yes?” Ethan bounces in his chair like an excited puppy.
“That’s a yes. But you’re buying the drinks. The good stuff, not that boxed nonsense you brought to game night.”
“Deal! You’re the best, T. Seriously, the absolute best. Have I mentioned how pretty you look today?”
“You can’t see me.”
“Don’t need to. You’re always pretty. Right, Alfie?”
I’m going to kill him. Slowly. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“Yeah, yeah.” He stands, already texting, probably telling Paige the good news. “Tonight at eight! Wear something fancy!”
He practically skips out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with the ghost of Tara’s laughter still echoing in my ears and the knowledge that I’m about to spend an entire evening pretending to be her boyfriend.
The fucked-up part?
I’m excited to have another excuse to touch her in public. To hold her hand, to touch the small of her back, to lean into her and breathe her in.
Later that day,Tara and I are clocking in a few hours of our community service.
“You missed one.” Tara’s voice carries across the quad, where her litter picker is pointing at a random spot in the bush. She’s wearing tiny denim shorts and a UMS shirt that’s slipped off one shoulder, and I’m trying very hard not to think about how that skin felt under my lips four nights ago.
“No, I didn’t.” I don’t look up from where I’m collecting bottles.
“Right there.” She points with her picker. “Under the bench. Unless you’re afraid to get your hands dirty, Spencer?”
We’ve been dancing around each other all week - careful teasing, maintained distance, both of uspretending Saturday night didn’t change everything. It’s almost normal. Almost like before.
Except before, I didn’t know how she tasted when she laughed against my mouth. Before, I hadn’t fallen asleep with her curled against my chest. Before, I hadn’t woken up wanting to stay.
“Earth to Alfie.” A crumpled paper ball bounces off my head.
“Did you just throw trash at me?”
“Technically, I’m supposed to pick up trash.” She grins, but there’s something different in it now - like she’s not sure if she’s allowed to tease me anymore.
“Ethan’s excited about tonight,” I say, because someone has to address it.
“Yeah?” Her voice goes carefully neutral. “The pink shirt thing still stands, by the way. It would look cute if we matched. For the fake date, I mean.”
