Part Eight - Part One

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I don't sleep much after last night. My thoughts swirl endlessly, and by the time the first rays of light filter through my blinds, I've already made up my mind.

Avoid Jake.

Focus on this insane fake-dating scheme Drew roped me into. Glancing at the clock, I slip out of my room, careful not to make any noise.

The apartment feels unnervingly silent as I descend the stairs. With each creak of the wooden steps, my nerves build. Stopping outside Drew's door, I hesitate. This has to happen now-before I lose my resolve.

Raising a fist, I knock softly. Nothing. I knock again, louder this time.

The door swings open so suddenly that I nearly stumble forward. Drew stands in the doorway, his hair a messy halo around his head. He's wearing nothing but Superman boxers, his lean frame filling the doorframe.

His half-lidded eyes blink at me, and his voice is rough from sleep. "Why are you pounding on my door at-" he glances at the clock on his nightstand-"seven in the morning?"

Ignoring the way my stomach flips at the sight of him, I cross my arms and square my shoulders. "Get dressed. We need to discuss our terms and conditions."

He groans dramatically but steps aside to let me in. "You're relentless, you know that?"

When Drew finally manages to finish up, the café is bustling with the lunch rush, but I barely notice the noise. Drew and I sit at a small table by the window.

He's halfway through a towering burger, ketchup smeared at the corner of his mouth, while I poke at a salad I didn't really want in the first place.

"So," I say, breaking the silence, "just to clarify, we're faking a relationship to make some girl jealous because you're still in love with her?"

Drew swallows a mouthful of fries and grins at me like I've just given him the best idea in the world. "Exactly. And don't forget-you get to make Jake jealous. Win-win."

I raise an eyebrow. "Yeah, except one of us is being blackmailed into this, and it's not you. I reserve the right to bail whenever I want."

He leans back in his chair, spreading his arms wide. "Fair enough. But you have to admit, it's a solid plan."

I shake my head, reaching for my Coke. "Solid for you, maybe. For me, it's an anxiety-fueled disaster waiting to happen."

His grin only widens. "You're cute when you're panicking."

"And you're insufferable," I shoot back, but there's no real bite to my words.

Drew leans forward suddenly, stealing a fry from my plate. I swat at his hand, but he's too quick. "Look," he says, popping the fry into his mouth, "if we're doing this, we need to sell it. That means hanging out, being seen together, and"-he pauses dramatically-"you wearing my team jacket."

I blink at him. "Your jacket? Seriously?"

"Absolutely. It's like the ultimate relationship stamp of approval."

I roll my eyes. "Fine. But I'm not going to any games. Crowds aren't my thing."

His expression turns mockingly serious. "Oh, but you are. There's one tonight, actually. You'll be there, cheering for me in my jacket."

I deadpan. "This arrangement is getting worse by the minute."

Drew smirks, his brown eyes sparkling with mischief. "You'll survive. And hey, I'll drive you to class every day. No more riding that rusty death trap you call a bike."

Offended, I grab a fry and fling it at him. It bounces off his shoulder. "Don't disrespect my bike. It has sentimental value."

He laughs. "Fine, fine. I take it back. But seriously, Dayton, if we're going to pull this off, you need to trust me. Just follow my lead."

I lean back in my chair, studying him. There's something unnervingly confident about the way he looks at me, like he already knows I'll agree.

"Are you always this insane?" I ask.

He grins, leaning forward on his elbows. "Only around you, babe."

My cheeks flush, and I'm immediately annoyed with myself. Drew notices, of course, and his grin stretches even wider.

"Oh my God," he says, slamming his hands on the table, loud enough to draw stares from the other diners. "You're blushing!"

"Shut up," I hiss, reaching out to lower his hands. "You're making a scene."

"I'm right, aren't I?" he teases, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You like me a little bit. Just admit it."

I glare at him, my face burning. "No. And I've dated before, thank you very much. I know how this whole couple thing works."

He leans back, crossing his arms with a satisfied smirk. "Sure you do. And you'll be the perfect fake boyfriend by the time I'm done with you."

I groan, dropping my head into my hands. What have I gotten myself into?

Drew raises his hands, palms outward, a mockery of surrender in his smirk. "Alright, fine. I'll stop. But we do things my way, okay? And don't go blabbing to anyone. Especially not Jake."

I let out a sharp breath, leaning back in my chair. "Jake is the reason I'm doing this. I'm not exactly a natural at this fake couple thing, you know."

Drew tilts his head, studying me with a mix of amusement and condescension. "Yeah, I figured that out the moment you accepted my proposal to help."

My fingers curl around the edge of the table, nails digging into the wood. His smugness is infuriating, like he's enjoying this way too much. "I swear, Drew, keep it up, and I'll flip this table. Don't test me."

Instead of backing off, Drew bursts out laughing. His laugh is full-bodied and ridiculous, and the way his nose scrunches makes it infuriatingly hard to stay mad. He's one of those people who looks annoyingly good when they're happy.

"You're not taking this seriously," I snap, jabbing a finger at him. "So here's the deal-you're joining my poetry club. There's an open mic every Thursday, and I want you there."

Drew's laughter dies instantly, replaced by a groan that sounds like it's been ripped from his soul. He drags a hand down his face, peeking at me between his fingers like I just suggested a root canal. "Poetry? Are you serious? Open mic? Do I look like someone who enjoys snapping my fingers in dimly lit cafes?"

"Do I look like someone who enjoys pretending to date you?" I shoot back, arms crossed.

He exhales, his dramatic sigh bordering on theatrical. "Fine. Poetry it is. But only because I'm a team player."

Satisfied, I shove my chair back and stand, brushing off my hands. "Great. Now, we're done here. I'm leaving."

I've barely taken a step when his hand darts out, wrapping around my wrist. His grip is firm but not rough, the warmth of his skin startling me more than the action itself.

My eyes drop to where his fingers press against my pulse, then flick up to meet his gaze.

"One more thing," he says, his voice lower now, more serious.

I don't pull away, though I can feel my heartbeat thrumming against his palm. "What now?"

"You have to come to parties with me," he says, releasing me casually, like holding my wrist hadn't just shifted the air between us. "It's part of the couple act. Oh, and there's a cruise coming up. You're coming to that too."

The way he says it isn't a question. My jaw tightens. "Anything else, Your Majesty?"

Drew leans back in his chair, the picture of arrogance, arms crossed behind his head as he grins. "Actually, yeah. I was thinking a nightly lap dance could really sell the authenticity."

I freeze, choking on nothing but my own indignation. My head jerks toward him so fast I might've pulled something. "Excuse me?"

Drew bursts into laughter, the sound echoing in the small diner. He holds up his hands like I'm about to hit him. "Relax, Dayton. I'm kidding. Mostly."

"You're insufferable," I hiss, grabbing a handful of fries and launching them at his face. A few hit their mark, one bouncing off his nose before falling onto the table.

"Whoa!" He shields himself belatedly, laughing harder. "Assault by French fry-really mature."

"I officially hate you," I declare, crossing my arms. "I hope you get eaten alive by sharks on this stupid cruise."

His grin only widens. "Parties, cruises, poetry clubs... You're really broadening my horizons here, Dayton. Maybe I'll write an ode about it."

"Maybe I'll push you overboard," I mutter, though a small smile betrays me.

Drew's eyes flick to my lips, his grin softening just a fraction. "You're not as good at hiding your amusement as you think," he teases.

"Someone's got to keep you on your toes," I counter, brushing past him as I grab my jacket.

"And someone's got to remind you how fun this whole thing can be," he calls after me, standing.

I glance over my shoulder. "Fun? This is blackmail."

He smirks, following me toward the door. "Call it what you want, but admit it-we make a good team."

I pause, hand on the door, meeting his gaze for a moment longer than I mean to. He's cocky and infuriating and entirely too self-assured. But he's also right.

With a reluctant sigh, I push open the door. "Fine. We make a decent team. But you're still a pain in the ass."

Drew steps into the sunlight behind me, his laughter trailing close. "Decent? Dayton, by the time this is over, we'll be legendary."

I roll my eyes, but the faint smile I can't seem to shake lingers all the way home.

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