“No,” I say. “I don’t think you are.” I grin. “I don’t know too many Jakes who’d wear elbow-patched sweaters.”
An amused sound escapes him. “What is it with you and that sweater?”
“Nothing,” I say.
We pass under a streetlight, and I catch his brief skeptical expression.
“Nothing,” I say again. “Really.”
When his face contorts, growing even more disbelieving, I can’t help but let out a laugh.
“What?” he asks.
“I just remembered what you called it. An ‘occupational hazard.’ I get it now.”
He smiles, his teeth flashing. “You do?”
“Yeah,” I say, waving a hand at him. “Poetry professor. Wearing the cardigan, sitting in a gothic-style building. In a dark room, surrounded by books. Probably with a pipe in your mouth.”
“Hard no on the pipe. I don’t smoke.”
“Really? I mean, that’s the right call. Horrible for your health and everything, but wouldn’t you at least pose with it? Just for the aesthetic?”
He releases a breath, something bordering on a laugh. “I’m not even sure what that means.”
“You know,” I say. “For your whole ‘Brains’ vibe.”
And now he really laughs, a deep, rough sound. “ ‘Brains vibe’?”
A car drives past—the only one we’ve seen on the main street tonight—and Jacob steps a hair closer to me.
“Sorry,” I say. “It’s silly. Just something we do on the show.”
He glances in my direction. “OnLove in the Sun?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“Hmm.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve seen it, you know. Not a full episode, but Maggie and your dad were hooked on it last year.”
I nod. “I remember she said that.”
Jacob and I are quiet for a little bit as we walk past the closed shops and the occasional odd person who’s out this late.
“So, tell me about it,” he says, and I look up at him.
“About what?”
“The show. What ‘Brains’ is supposed to mean.”
“Oh. It’s a casting thing,” I say. I rub the bridge of my nose. I’ve thought of him as a “Brains” so often that it just slipped out, but now, I’m not sure how to explain it. It feels ridiculous to say it all out loud.
A beat passes, and I can feel Jacob’s gaze on the side of my face.
“And what does it mean?” he asks. “For casting?”
I open my mouth, then close it. He’s still watching me. I can sense it, the side of my face growing hot.
He’s silent for a moment. “Is it…not a good thing?” he asks. “I mean, it’s fine, if you don’t want to—” He clears his throat.
