Page 11 of The Midseason Fakeout

“Sure, sure. I’m going to go,” Darrin declares, getting up from the bed.

“Me too,” Bailey pipes up. “Aidan has practice tomorrow, so he should get some sleep.”

Darrin walks by me awkwardly, and I sigh. “I’m sorry,” I call out.

“I’ll get used to it.” But there’s a hint of disappointment in his voice.

Bailey starts to turn, too, but I hold back on her arm. “We should talk about that kiss,” I hiss.

She had to have felt the same thing I did, but we both know we can’t go there. Right?

She peeks at my lips. “It was perfect,” she says, her gaze meeting mine. After a deep breath, she says, “I think it worked in getting her to stay away from you. You’ll probably be in the clear for tonight. No random girls showing up at your room in nothing but a robe. Super classy, by the way.”

She turns and follows her brother, and I’m left with the feeling that I should apologize for something that happened before our fake relationship.

That was all a little too real, though. I take a deep breath, letting them both go. Everything will be better tomorrow when I show up to practice on time, run drills, and forget the feel of Bailey’s lips on mine.

I shake my head. Not only is the relationship not real, but no girl is worth losing my best friend—and football—over. It’s probably better that we don’t discuss the kiss.

Sleep it is, then.

4

BAILEY

Come to my practice.

Five minutes later…

At least the end. About noon.

Ten minutes later…

There are always girls hanging out there, so I need my fakey-poo.

Fakey-poo? Please tell me that’s not going to be a thing.

With the whirlwind of moving in yesterday and then staying up late to see Aidan, it’s already 10:30 a.m. Sleep still clings to my eyes, and I stretch in bed before throwing the covers off me. Good thing we actually exchanged numbers yesterday because I most definitely did not text him my undying love. Though, I had to pretend I didn’t already have his number because I actually did grab it off my brother’s phone years ago. At least now my number lives in his phone, and apparently, he’s not afraid of using it.

A quick shower later, and I’m standing in front of my closet. Plenty of nice clothes fill it, but it’s Saturday. Isn’t Saturday a time for lounging? My mom would never let me wear something casual out in public, but she’s not here. She won’t know what I wore this morning to go watch my fake boyfriend’s football practice. Right?

Right.

I grab a pair of leggings and a long-sleeved Henley-like shirt that I usually sleep in. I unclasp the buttons on the lilac purple shirt so it gives me a bit of a V-neck.

Hair will go up into a messy bun, not curled. Hell, I might as well go all in. Make a statement. I’m going with minimum makeup, too.

My stomach churns with butterflies while I meticulously put my ensemble together. Twisting to the side and back again, I stare at my reflection in the floor-length mirror. I look…perfectly normal.

I love it.

I walk out into the shared kitchen with some extra pep in my step and find Darrin already there, eating a bowl of cereal. “How did you get this?” I point at the Count Chocula box on the table in front of him.

“DoorDash,” he says around a mouthful.

I roll my eyes, and he finally peers up at me because a knit forms between his brows. I stare back. “What?”

“Why are you wearing that?”

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