Hazel goes to sleep for a few hours and Jett heads back to his house to shower and so forth. I’ve got to do the same, and get going on some more homework.
Thanks for breakfast. Next time it’s on me. See you tonight?
I get giddy just from those few words. I can’t hear his voice or see his face, but I can still feel him. I find myself biting my lip and wanting to skip and frolic and twirl like Julie Andrews.
See you tonight. Figuring out what to say in the return text takes me at least ten minutes. I know. Ridiculous.
I’m almost disgusted by myself. I am not this girl. The Fake Dating is really getting to my head.
I’m grateful to go to class. The minute my feet step into a classroom, I feel like I’m home. When the professor asks a question, I know the answer almost before he’s done asking. I lose myself in facts and history and figures and lines and things that I know. Things I am good at. I never feel more confident and sure of myself than when I’m answering a question in class.
Yes, I’m a freak. I don’t know anyone else who actually gets giddy about tests, or papers. I am a certified weirdo.
Jett texts me throughout the day, and every time, my heart leaps a little, and the butterflies start rocking out in my stomach.
“Wow, you are in a good mood today,” Amelia says when I come into work. I put my hand up to my face and find that I’m smiling.
“Just had a good weekend.” I decide not to go into the Fake Dating with Amelia. It seems almost wrong. We don’t talk that much about our personal lives, but we’re still really close.
I get to work on the stack of files I hadn’t finished the other day. Normally when I’m working on something mundane, my mind wanders and I think about all kinds of things. Today, I have a one-track mind.
Jett, Jett, Jett. Jetty-Jetty Jettson. Leaving on a Jett plane.
A hand taps me on the shoulder and I nearly jump out of my skin. It’s my boss, Gillian. As in with a hard G. She definitely isn’t my favorite person in the world, but she leaves me alone for the most part, so I haven’t ever had a confrontation with her.
“Hi, how are you?” I say, quickly glancing at my desk to make sure it’s clear. I’m a little obsessive about my workspace being organized, but Gillian is worse. People have gotten nailed for having inappropriate signs on their desks, and one woman had a picture of her husband shirtless and had gotten in BIG trouble.
“I’m well, Shannon, how are you doing?” We exchange the traditional office small talk, but I know she’d sought me out for a reason. Either I’m doing something bad or something good. I can’t imagine what I could get in trouble for, but who knew with Gillian.
“So how are things going?” she says, and there’s more behind the question.
“Things are going great. I’m hoping to get to the midway point with the loan files by the end of this week.” Which is ahead of schedule, but I don’t say that part.
“Well, that’s wonderful. Keep up the good work. When you get through that, come and find me and I’ll get you set up with another project so you don’t get too burned out.” With a quick and insincere smile she’s off. I breathe a huge sigh of relief and then Amelia peeks her head around the edge of my cubicle.
“What did she say?” she whispers. I motion her into my cubicle. I’m not going to say anything that anyone could run back to Gillian and use against me. These walls have snitchy ears.
“Oh nothing, she just wanted to tell me to keep up the good work and that she’s going to give me another project when I get halfway done with the loan files.”
“Sounds like fun.” Yeah, fun is exactly what it’s going to be. It’s probably going to be awful, which is why she came and told me about it ahead of time. More often than not, the projects that I get handed are things other people don’t want to do, so they get passed off to the bottom of the totem pole. Luckily, there are more than a few of us, but it’s a huge bank and there are ALWAYS new projects that the higher-ups don’t want to do.
“So I also came over because I was wondering if you maybe wanted to go out to dinner tonight?” It’s astounding, but Amelia doesn’t have a lot of friends. I think it’s because they think all her happiness and positivity are fake, but they’re really not. I don’t understand why anyone wouldn’t want to be around her, but what are you gonna do?
“I’d love to. Want to go to Tony’s?” It’s our favorite Italian/Greek pace to eat in Deermont. Okay, so it’s the ONLY Italian/Greek place to eat in Deermont. But even if there were a hundred such places, it would still be the best.
“Ooohh, it’s been at least a week since I’ve been there. I need some baklava. Like, right now.” She claps her hands and does a little twirl.
“Cool. We’re on.” I give her a thumbs up and she bounces back to her cubicle. I don’t take out my phone and text Jett because using your phone during working hours gets you an invitation to the snake pit below Gillian’s office, so I sneak into the bathroom and send him a quick text that I’ll be late.
“Aw, poor thing. You’ve been hit by smitten.” It takes me all of five minutes to cave and tell Amelia about Jett. I don’t tell her about the Fake Dating, of course, but I end up gushing about him. It’s kind of impossible not to.
“It sucks,” I mumble before I snatch a piece of garlic bread and dunk it in marinara and shove it in my mouth.
“Poor baby,” Amelia says with a little smile as she eats a stuffed grape leaf. Amelia doesn’t currently have a boyfriend and doesn’t seem all that interested in finding one. I ask her about it and she just sighs and says, “Someday my prince will come.” Which, inevitably, turns us into a Disney Movie Quote-Off and then I’m too distracted and forget to ask her about it.
Amelia and I spend the rest of our dinner talking about classes, and crazy professors with unrealistic expectations, and horrible landlords, and cars that don’t like to work when they’re supposed to. We have baklava and tea and then she drives me back to my car, which is still at the office.
“Call me if you need to freak out. You know I’m here,” she says, giving me a hug. “See you on Thursday.” I hug her back and then drive as fast as I can back to my apartment. I only have about ten minutes to get myself presentable. Yeah, that’s not enough time. Well, he might as well get used to how I look every day. No sense in keeping up any delusions. Seriously.
“You’re wearing that?” Hazel says when I’m just about to walk out the door.
“Yeah, why?” My jeans are clean and un-holey and my shirt makes my boobs look fantastic and doesn’t do that weird stretchy thing across the front that always plagues us larger-chested gals.
“It doesn’t look very date-like. You should still be trying to impress him. Lull him into a false sense of sexiness.”
“Are you saying I’m not sexy?”
“No, I’m just saying that you should hooch it up a little. Especially in the beginning.” I’m going to take that advice and let it go in one ear and out the other. Actually, I don’t even want it in my head, or near my ear. I’m just going to duck that advice so it sails over my head.
I dash out to my car, toss my bag in, say a prayer and start it up. VICTORY.
Jett’s apartment seems scarier the more times I come here. It almost goes all the way into haunted house territory. Yikes. People live here? I actually do a quick scan to see if there’s one of those NO TRESSPASSING THIS BUILDING IS UNSAFE AND MAY BE FULL OF ZOMBIES AND/OR GHOSTS signs. Nothing.
I knock on his door and it takes him three tries to open it from the inside.
“Hey,” I say, and I can’t fight the smile that spreads on my face. He grins back, and then moves aside to let me in.
“He’s gone,” he says to my unanswered question about Javier.
“Oh, good. Not that I wouldn’t have minded hanging out with him.”
Jett laughs.
“You don’t have to pretend to like him for my sake, Shan. I know Javi’s not everyone’s taste. Or anyone’s taste.” Yeah. Javier flavor is not my favorite thing. But maybe I haven’t given him enough of a chance? I mean, Jett likes him, obviously, so he must have some redeeming qualities. Right?
“I brought you some baklava,” I say, holding up a bag from Tony’s.
“You are my favorite Fake Girlfriend,” he says, grabbing the bag from my hand and flopping down on the couch.
I set my bag down near the door and join him.
“I hope I’m you’re only Fake Girlfriend.” He pulls out one piece and holds it up. I dive forward and take a bite before he can bring it to his mouth.
“Hey, hey! You said you brought this for me.” I smile through my mouthful and he glares at me before turning his head and taking a bite. Guess he’s not worried about sharing my germs.
I chew and swallow and then clear my throat. He rolls his eyes and holds the baklava up for me to take another bite.
“Fanks,” I say through another mouthful. He shakes his head and finishes the last of that piece.
“Are you going to hate me if I tell you that I have to do homework?” Jett says, setting the bag down on the coffee table.
“Yes. I hate you. You’re a terrible Fake Boyfriend. You’re the worst. Fuck you, asshole.” I cross my arms and turn my head, but I can’t stay like that for long.
“No, I have homework too, dumbass. I was hoping you weren’t going to hate me for needing to do mine.” I pick up my bag and bring it over, dropping it with a thud.
Jett’s pretty lucky because a lot of his work can be done on his laptop. Not that it makes it any easier. I can’t imagine staring at a graphics program for hours at a time and tweaking images just a teeny tiny bit at a time to get them right. That might make me crazy.
I spread my books out and line up my pens and stack my notebooks. I have a different one for each class, in addition to little sticky note flags for each one. I also have my assignments typed out and I’m ready to cross those bitches off.
“I like doing my homework to music. If you like silence, I’ll put my earbuds, but I usually just play it,” Jett says.
“No, I listen to music as well.” But probably not the same kind of music. “I usually go with classical. Or something mellow.”
“Yeah, that’s kind of the opposite of what I listen to when I’m working. If techno is the opposite of classical.” I have no idea if it is or not, but I don’t think I can do homework to techno.
“Can we compromise? What’s in between techno and classical?” We both think about that for a moment and then Jett pulls out his phone.
“Got it.” He set his phone on his speaker dock right near the television and “Bohemian Rhapsody” by Queen blasts through the apartment. I can’t help but giggle.
“Close enough,” I say as Jett turns it down a little bit and comes to sit down again.
With Queen belting it out and Jett beside me, I start working. Let’s hope it goes better than last time.
I set up a reward system for myself. That’s the only way I’m going to get anything done. Read two pages, glance at Jett. Read two more. Look at Jett. I allow myself a stare when I finish one chapter. He’s so focused on his work that he doesn’t even notice me.
Or maybe he does? He keeps shifting in his seat and his hands aren’t doing a whole lot with the keyboard. Lots of scrolling and squinting a little at the screen. Something tells me that’s not part of his assignment. I check the first item off my list and do a little internal victory dance. Is there ANYTHING better than checking an item off a list? I don’t think so.
And then Jett props his head on his hand and leans to the side and I decide that lists aren’t that great after all. Still, I pull my second book over, along with my second notebook. Jett sighs. I almost let it go, but I can sense that he wants to talk, but doesn’t want to interrupt me. All the while Queen is singing about girls with big butts making the world go around. We do, in case anyone was wondering.
“What’s up?” I open my book to the designated page, and pretend I’m not interested in the curve of his spine and neck and head as he sort of leans forward. I’m also not interested in his ears, which are . . . beautiful. Can ears be beautiful? I’ve never really noticed ears before. Unless they stick out. But his don’t. They’re graceful and perfect. Huh. Who knew ears could be so seductive?
“Nothing, just stuck on this project.” He shuts his computer and scrubs his face with his hands. “Best thing to do is leave it and try something else.” He pulls an artist’s pad out from under the couch and grabs one of my pens. I almost get mad at him for taking one of my pens, but I’m too curious to see what he’s going to do with it and the paper.
He turns to a fresh page and leans back against the couch so I can’t see what he’s doing.
I lean forward and he chuckles and leans back even more.
“Just go back to your homework, Shan. Don’t mind me.”
“But I want to know what you’re working on.” Shoving my textbook aside, I lean even more until I’m nearly on top of him. He holds the pad of paper out of my reach, and I struggle to get at it, but his arms are longer than mine so I give up.
“You suck.” I throw another pen at him and he ducks.
“All’s far in Fake Dating and war,” he says with a shrug and goes back to drawing. I try to go back to my studying, or at least giving him the appearance of it. I don’t want him to catch me being so distracted by him. It’s embarrassing if you’re the only one who can’t focus.
The sound of his pen on the paper is a soothing undertone to the Queen music. The words on the page in front of me are just lines and dots and curves. There are also charts and pictures, but none of them mean anything to me. I dive back into taking notes and hope that something penetrates my brain. This time though, I catch Jett glancing up at me from the pad of paper. Just little flicks of his gorgeous eyes up to me and then back to the paper.
“Stop looking at me,” I say, keeping my eyes on my textbook.
“You wouldn’t know I was looking at you if you weren’t looking at me,” he says. He makes one long stroke of the pen and then readjusts himself. I shake my head and turn the page of my textbook even though I wasn’t done with the previous page.
“You’re still doing it.”
“Is this another Rule you want to add to the list? No looking?” More pen strokes.
“Whatever.” I decide to drop it and turn myself so I’m leaning on the arm of the sofa and my back is three quarters of the way toward him. He sighs again and folds the cover back over the pad and drops it on the floor. Then he pulls something else out from under the couch.
“My God, how much stuff do you have under there?”
“I have to hide my stuff in weird places. Javi has a tendency to take my stuff and move it around when I’m not here. Funny, but he never looks under the couch.” He opens the wooden box he’d gotten from under the couch and pulls out a few squares of bright paper. He starts folding one of them and I can’t help but watch.
“Who taught you how to do that?”
“My dad.” That’s all I get. I figured out a while ago that his family is a sore subject, so I’m actually surprised I get this much. “It mellows me out. Helps me focus on other things.” He makes a crease in the paper and presses his fingers along the new crease to make it sharper. Then he folds again, and again. It’s almost hypnotic. I can see how this would be soothing. Jett keeps folding and turning and I have no idea what he’s making. It takes dozens of folds before he holds up another crane, but this one is different. He pulls on its tail and its wings flap. I resist the urge to clap with glee like a little kid as he makes it flutter.
“You’re really talented.”
“Yeah, if only origami could pay the bills. There are some people who do insane stuff, but that takes years of training and a shit ton of paper. I could make you a whole zoo if you wanted, but these are my favorite.” The crane he made is out of red iridescent paper, and he starts making one out of blue. I watch him do that one, and then there are two little cranes. I move them so their beaks are touching, like they’re kissing.
“Want me to teach you how to make one?” Jett says. Hm, learn something from my sexy Fake Boyfriend or read about business ethics? That’s a really hard decision.
“Yeah,” I say, shoving my book away, where it falls on the floor with a clunk. I didn’t mean to be that enthusiastic, but it just kind of happened.
It’s not like I’m not already ahead on my homework.
Jett and I spend the next hour going through more of Queen’s greatest hits while he teaches me to fold paper cranes. It’s an odd combination of things, but somehow they all make sense.
It takes me about twelve tries to get it right, and I ruin quite a few pieces of paper. And my crane’s head is a little wonky in comparison to its tail, but at least it’s bird-shaped.
I yawn, even though I’m wide awake.
“Are you tired?” Jett says, arranging our little family of cranes on the table. So much for homework.
“No, but I’m definitely hungry. Should we make some more insane nachos?”
He smiles and stands, holding his hands out to pull me up. Wow. Strong. Deceptively strong. I mean, he’s not a walking ad for steroids like Javier, but he’s definitely not a wimp. In fact, he’s so strong that it pulls me off balance and I smash into his chest. He catches me of course, because he’s graceful and I am not. I used to be. I definitely fell a lot less before I met him.
He holds me, pressed against his chest, our hands between us. Totally squished into my boobs. Jett has had more contact with my boobs than even my doctor. To be fair, they do kind of get in the way. They’re a little hard to avoid if you’re near me. No joke, I’ve actually smacked people in the face with them.
Because they have a mind of their own, my nipples harden under my shirt and I take a step back so Jett can’t feel them. Nipples are a bit like the female equivalent of getting a boner. Only on a smaller scale. Still, it’s embarrassing when you’re flashing your headlights for everyone to see.
Jett’s hands are still linked with mine and he leads me into the kitchen.
“Nachos?” he says.
“Nachos,” I agree.
This time the nachos have leftover steak, more Velveeta (I really need to buy that boy some actual cheese) jalapenos, cilantro, olives, some pearl onions, and I cave and let him add the hot dog pieces.
“We should open a restaurant where it’s just nachos. We could do breakfast nachos and desert nachos. It would be a hit,” he says, taking a huge bite after the thing has melted in the oven. I wipe some cheese from his chin and stick my finger in my mouth. It feels like a natural thing to do now. Then I grab a chip that’s loaded with the mess of ingredients and pop it in my mouth.
Wow, what a . . . cacophony of flavor. I chew and try to figure out if I like it or not. It takes a while to get used to the texture and the taste because it’s such a shock.
“The other ones were better,” Jett says, taking some more and shoving them in his mouth.
“Bummer.” I go for another mouthful and I decide that I like them. I mean, they’re not my favorite thing in the world, but they’re pretty good.
“How would do you desert nachos?”
“If you could figure out how to maybe make pie crust into chips, then you could have chocolate and whipped cream and so forth. And you could do fruit nachos.”
“That would be really great for the obesity epidemic in this country,” I say, raining on Jett’s nacho parade.
“You’re no fun,” Jett says, cramming about five chips in his mouth at one time. I have to admit that’s impressive. I take one, since I don’t think it would be very sexy to cram my mouth with chips and everything else.
“Hold still,” Jett says and I freeze. With one hand, he holds my chin steady as he brings his face forward. I would ask what he’s doing, but I’ve sort of lost the ability to speak. Or breathe. Is my heart still beating?
Ever so slowly, millimeter by millimeter, Jett brings his face closer to mine. His tongue reaches out as well and licks something from my face.
And I’m dead. He puts his tongue back in his mouth and smiles at me.
“You had some cheese on your face,” he says in a quiet voice that stirs something deep inside me and makes tingles break out all over my skin.
My mouth goes dry and I try to swallow, but it seems that my body is unable to move at the moment. If someone busted into the apartment with a gun, I doubt I would move from my present position.
Jett finally lets go of my chin, and my skin burns with the memory of his touch. He moves back and grabs some more chips from the plate.
I’m still trying to unstick my body from being stuck. Finally my lungs expand and I take a shaky breath.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, and stumble for the bathroom. I just . . . need some air.
I lock the door and take a deep breath. Jett must have cleaned recently, because it smells lemony fresh. There’s a tiny window next to the shower, so I push it open. Or at least I try to. It only opens about an inch and then gets stuck. Oh well. I lean down and rest my face on the windowsill, inhaling some of the sharp outdoor air. Even though it’s spring, the air still has a winter bite to it at night, and it’s just what I need to clear my head. After several deep breaths, I think I have myself back together.
Jett licked my face. I never thought someone licking my face would be anything but nasty, but Jett turned everything sexy. Like he was a wizard and could transform anything and sexify it. Wizard of Sexy. With his magic . . . wand.
Thinking about Jett’s magic wand causes me to start giggling and I have to turn the water on in the sink just so he won’t hear me.
I think I’m losing it.
I try to pull myself together. Before I leave the bathroom, I double check my face to make sure there isn’t any more cheese on it. I’m good, but I look like I’m on crack. My eyes are all wide and crazy and my face is flushed. My hair is also looking really special. I comb my fingers through it and grab the hair elastic that I always have around my wrist and pull my hair back into a low ponytail. There’s not much I can do about the crazy eyes and the flushed face. Hopefully Jett thinks they’re cute.
When I get back out into the kitchen, the nachos are almost all gone. Jett must have inhaled them. Where does it all go? He must have the metabolism of a supermodel. Damn him.
“I saved you some,” he says, holding out the pan where there are three small, sad chips lying there with barely any toppings. But his face is so sweet, and it’s a real struggle to make my face angry and glare at him.
“New Rule: No eating of all the nachos while your Fake Girlfriend is in the bathroom.”
“You’re putting addendums on the Rules now?” I almost giggled at the word ‘addendum’. For some reason it always made my mind go to the gutter.
“The unwritten Rule of the Rules is that the Fake Girlfriend can add things on when she wants.” I shove the last of the chips in my mouth.
Jett sputters, but I grin with my mouth full, chew and then swallow.
“The other unwritten Rule of the Rules is that the Fake Girlfriend is always right,” I add. It’s Jett’s turn to glare, but he can’t keep it up for long and ends up shaking his head instead.
“Okay, Fake Girlfriend. I’m going to take a shower and get ready for bed, if you don’t mind. I’ve got my bed all set up for you, so if you want to go in and get comfortable, you can.” What? I made him sleep on the floor, and I am fully fine with doing the same. Anything but his couch.
I start trying to protest, but Jett puts one finger on my lips and that shuts me up real quick.
“Unwritten Rule Three is that the Fake Boyfriend will never make the Fake Girlfriend sleep on the floor when she’s at his house, and there will be no arguing from the Fake Girlfriend about it. She will nod and agree and let him go take a shower.” The whole time he’s talking, he keeps his hand on my mouth, and my lips are all burny and tingly. His skin is so nice. Not too soft, but not all calloused and nasty like so many other guys. I swear, if a guy touched me and his hands were dirty, and his nails all chewed and broken down to stubs, and they had dead skin bits hanging off them, I’d probably run away screaming. Jett has nice hands. In addition to all his other bits.
“Okay,” I say against his finger and he uses his finger to make my head nod up and down.
“Good enough.” He leaves me in the kitchen and a few seconds later the shower turns on. That boy. I swear.