Page 88 of Faking the Goal

"Manga."

She stops walking.

I make it another few steps before I notice and turn around.

"What?"

"Man-what?"

"Manga." I laugh. "Japanese comics. Graphic novels. Whatever. They're ridiculously addictive."

"You're telling me you've been ditching parties to stay home and read comics?"

"Manga," I correct. "And yes. Have you seen some of those storylines? One minute I'm laughing, the next I'm emotionally devastated, and suddenly it's three in the morning because I need to know what happens next. Same dopamine hit, significantly fewer bad decisions."

Claire looks genuinely concerned for me.

"And," I add, because this is important, "the men are hot."

"The fictional men."

"Yes, fictional men, but ridiculously hot fictional men. Strong jawlines. Tragic backstories. Emotional repression. Excellent hair. Occasionally a sword. Everything a girl could want."

Claire stares at me like I've officially lost my mind.

Whatever. Fictional men are safer anyway. They stay right there on the page where they belong. No giving out my number, no wondering whether I was too reckless with someone I barely knew, and definitely no chance of one of them turning into the creep who's currently making my life a fucking nightmare.

At the moment, fictional sounds pretty damn appealing.

Claire drags a hand down her face. "Good Lord, you're killing me right now."

I laugh.

"You're really choosing comic books and fictional men over parties and actual hot guys?"

"Why not?"

"Because fictional men can't buy you drinks or drag you into a bathroom to make out with you or get fucked."

I wince. "Claire, your sales pitch is getting worse."

"If I ever start talking like this"—she points at me—"do the humane thing and smother me with a throw pillow."

"Noted."

"I'm serious. Put me down like a horse with a broken leg."

I snort.

Claire loops her arm through mine again as we head toward the student parking lot. "Come on, T. One party. That's all I'm asking. You look way too stressed out, and clearly this whole 'new leaf' thing is sucking the life out of you."

"It is not."

Claire stops walking again, turns to face me, and gives me a slow once-over from head to toe.

I don't like the look in her eyes.

"What?"