He shuts the door behind me as I step inside. “Why not?”
I haven’t known James’ brothers for very long, but ten minutes in Cooper’s presence was enough to tell me he’s cocky as hell and knows he has the looks to back it up. He has a similar build to his brother, cut to perfection like each of his abs is made of diamonds. Tonight, he’s wearing nothing but a low-slung pair of sweatpants, and his hair is damp, like he just came out of the shower. Objectively speaking, he’s gorgeous. But his hair doesn’t fall over his forehead the way James’ does. His eyes aren’t quite as blue. His beard is attractive, but I prefer James’ clean-shaven, razor-sharp jawline better. Is the happy trail leading down similar, or— I force my gaze down to the floor once I realize I’m staring. I’m here to help James, not ogle his brother and fantasize about his pecs.
“Now that you’re done checking me out,” Cooper says cheerfully, “I want to thank you. James told us his last assignment didn’t suck quite as bad. What was it, a C-?”
“I got a C+, dickhead.” James bounds down the stairs to our left. When he reaches my side, he pulls me into a sideways hug and kisses me on the temple. His brothers know we’re not actually together, so there’s no need to pretend, but if there’s a word James Callahan doesn’t have in his vocabulary, it’s “halfway.” He gives my waist a squeeze. “Coop, we’ll be in the kitchen. Are you going out?”
Cooper groans. “I wish, but I have to finish reading Crime and Punishment.”
James leans in to whisper in my ear, “Is that really the name?”
“Yes,” I whisper back, feeling goosebumps where his breath brushes against my skin. “Wait, please tell me you knew that.”
His laughter is adorable. “You’re fun to tease, you know.”
We settle at the big dining room-style table in the kitchen. This is the safest place for us to study—if we’re in his room, I’m afraid I’ll do something stupid, like ask for a kiss when no one is around. Even if we’re alone here, it’s a common area. I take out my things and settle into a chair, waiting for James to do the same.
He pokes around in the fridge first. “Want something to drink?”
“I have my water bottle.” I hold up the battered reusable bottle. It’s covered in stickers, a guilty pleasure of mine. I don’t have a ton of money to spend on impulse purchases, but when they happen, I’m either buying stickers or cute pairs of earrings.
Tonight, though, I’m wearing the one good piece of jewelry I own: a pair of small gold earrings that belonged to my mother’s mother. And the dress in my bag is borrowed from Laura. James told me we’re going somewhere fancy, which I told him wasn’t necessary for a fake date, but he insisted.
He gets himself a glass of iced tea and settles down across from me. “I finished my draft.”
“Yeah? Can I see?”
“I tried writing it by hand like you suggested, and it worked, I think. I finished it faster than when I was trying to type and kept deleting things.”
He flips through his notebook and passes it across the table to me. His fingers brush mine accidentally, and it makes me bite the inside of my cheek. Focus. I need to focus on helping him, on upholding my end of our deal. Aside from a few annoying texts, Darryl’s been leaving me alone, just like I knew he would if he thought I was off the market. That’s allowed me to focus on school and work.
We’re working on implementing research in our writing. As a business major, I do this all the time, but it’s a skill that takes time to develop, and I don’t blame James for still needing practice. I scan over his work with my pen in hand as he waits.
“You have such messy handwriting.”
He shrugs. “Eventually I’ll only need to be able to write one thing.”
“Which is?”
“My autograph.”
I break into a smile as I shake my head. “Ego much?”
“Not ego. Manifestation.” He takes a sip of his drink, wagging his eyebrows at me when I kick at him under the table.
“Wouldn’t have taken you for that type.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he says. “Yet, of course. You’re my fake girlfriend, you’ll have to know everything eventually.”
I set down the notebook and give him my sternest look. It works whenever I need to be firm with a customer. “Are we going to study or not?”
He holds up his hands. “You’re right. I’ll save the date talk for the date.”
“Thank you.” His words sink in after half a second. “Not the date. The dinner.”
“No one just goes to dinner at Vesuvio’s. It’s a date place.”
“That’s where we’re going?” Thank goodness I packed my good heels. That restaurant is the fanciest a small college town like Moorbridge has to offer. I’m surprised he would spring for it, and fine, a little flattered. No one will think we’re faking it if he takes me there. It’s so clearly a date place that for a couple months last year, there was an Instagram account run by some gossip at McKee that accepted photo submissions of every couple spotted there.
“Like I would take my girlfriend to get bad pasta.”
“Fake girlfriend.”
He grins. “Isn’t that what I just said?”
I pick up the notebook and pointedly bury my nose in it. Even though his handwriting is messy, I can read it, and I do a little happy dance in my seat when I see he nailed the transitions. That was the sticking point with last assignment, and we didn’t have time to revise it because of his schedule, so it ended up being a C+ instead of the B it should have gotten.
When I finish, I jot down some revision feedback for him and get to work on my own assignment while he edits. He switches to the computer so he can start typing it out, and more than once, I have to remind myself that I can’t just stare at his long, precise fingers as they move on the keyboard. He’s surprisingly graceful, like with everything else—it must be the athlete in him. There’s an effortlessness that I can’t help but be drawn to.
I bite the inside of my cheek as I stare down at my own laptop. I knew it would be hard, getting close to him. I don’t operate logically where attraction is involved, which is why it’s best not to be involved at all. But he’s taking me to the fanciest place in town and I just know he’s going to want to kiss at the table in case any busybodies are watching.
I need to set better ground rules. A peck on the cheek, not a kiss like the one he gave me outside Red’s or at Galactic Games. This isn’t real, and it’s not like he’d actually want a relationship. Or that I want a relationship. I don’t want anything at all except escaping this semester—this whole year, really—unscathed and as ready as I’ll be for the future.
“Bex?”
“Hmm?” I glance up like I hadn’t just been staring at the way his fingers looked drumming on the table as he thought about what to type next.
“You’re thinking so loud, I can hear it from over here.”
Heat erupts on my cheeks. “Sorry.”
“Is something wrong?”
I look at him. Which doesn’t help at all. He’s looking at me with genuine concern in his blue eyes, and for one horrible second, I imagine myself leaning over the table, shoving our work aside, and kissing him.
He’s such a good kisser, it’s criminal.
“No.” I swallow, tucking my hair behind my ear. “How are the revisions going?”
“Good, I think.” He frowns, glancing back down at his screen. “Can you look at this citation? I think I did it right but I’m not sure.”
I find myself getting up and walking around the table so I can peer over his shoulder. He stiffens slightly when I get close. Too close, probably. In a weird way, I’m grateful for the reminder that he doesn’t truly want me. He might be cocky and a bit of a flirt, but that’s just how he’s playing the part of boyfriend. And even if he doesn’t do relationships, he definitely does hookups—every popular guy like him does. The way he kissed me is the way I’m sure he kisses every girl.
The citation looks good to me, so I tell him and turn to hightail it back to the safety of the other side of the table, but he stops me by gently cradling my hand. I swallow again, trying to ignore the stupid little flutter in my stomach.
This deal is getting more ridiculous by the second.
“I’m hungry,” he says, looking up at me. “Want to get ready?”
“What about the reservation?”
“I can get us in early.”
“Just like that? It’s so popular.”
He shrugs. “My family knows the owner, so yeah. Just like that.”