Page 36 of The Wild Card

The almost-smile disappears immediately, replaced by his standard neutral expression. But his ears go slightly pink, which I’m counting as a win.

“It’s late,” he says. “We should get some sleep.”

“Right. Big week ahead. Dossier to study. Fake relationship to master.” I head toward the hallway, then pause. “Hey, Crew?”

He looks up.

“This was fun. The dinner thing. I wasn’t expecting that.”

He holds my gaze for a beat too long. “Yeah. Neither was I.”

I escape to my room before I can say something stupid, close the door, and lean against it.

Okay.

So maybe Crew Jensen is more than just a guy with control issues and sad refrigerator chicken.

Maybe he’s someone who secretly likes crab rangoon and remembers his military buddies and almost-smiles when he talks about pranks. Someone who says things like “you’re not a lot, you’re just you” without realizing how much that means.

Maybe this fake relationship thing won’t be as painful as I thought.

I change into my pajamas, crawl under my grandmother’s quilt, and tell myself it’s just the lo mein talking.

It’s definitely just the lo mein.

Chapter Eight

Happy Hour

Crew

I don’t do happy hour. Never have. The noise, the crowds, and the forced socialization after eight hours of already being around people—it’s not my idea of a good time. But Foster’s been on my case all week about “acting like a normal human,” and Josh practically begged, so here I am, sitting in a booth at O’Malley’s, nursing a club soda while they work through a pitcher of beer.

“So.” Foster slides his phone across the table, screen up. “Want to explain this?”

It’s Instagram. Emmie’s account. There, front and center, is a photo of us on the couch—her tucked under my arm and smiling at the camera. Murphy’s sprawled across our laps like we’re one little happy family.

She posted it last night with the caption: Movie night with my favorite grump. He pretends to hate rom-coms, but I caught him smiling during the airport scene.

I didn’t know she took that photo. I also didn’t smile during the airport scene; I was grimacing at the logistical impossibility of someone making it through TSA that fast.

“It’s for the arrangement,” I say. “Social media presence. Part of the deal.”

“Uh-huh.” Foster grins. “You look real comfortable for someone faking it.”

“I was tolerating it.”

“You were practically cuddling.”

“It was contractual cuddling.”

Josh’s head swivels between us like he’s watching a tennis match. “Wait, what? Arrangement? Contractual cuddling?” His voice pitches up. “Crew Jensen has a GIRLFRIEND?”

The table next to us glances over. Great.

“It’s complicated,” I say.

“It’s hilarious,” Foster corrects. “He put a fake dating clause in his roommate agreement, and she signed it without reading.”