Page 61 of The Midseason Fakeout

I shake my head as she walks out. Hopping up from the bed, I tug on all of my clothes. Afterward, I make a quick stop in the bathroom and throw some water on my face and through my hair to tame it a little.

Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I realize I’ve been kidding myself. From the moment Bailey showed up here, I was intrigued. Her fake dating idea. Her to-do list. Everything she wanted called to me. At the same time she was coming out of her shell, she was yanking me out, too. The real me. Not the kid who made all the mistakes before she came.

“Hurry, Aidan!” she yells from the kitchen. “He’s got the bacon.”

Oh, now that’s going too far.

I throw the door open and walk down the hallway to find Bailey slapping her brother’s hands away from the good stuff. She urges me with her eyes, and I hustle over to scoop some up. “Whoa, where’s the bro code?” I ask.

“Oh, that went away when you started dating my sister.”

“Ha-ha.” The looks on their faces while they stare at each other—first hard, then smiling—makes me long for that kind of connection. I’d always wanted a sibling when I was younger. “Smells good,” I tell her.

“I’m just finishing the eggs. I didn’t want to cook them too early.”

“Since when do you even cook?” Darrin asks.

At the stove, Bailey shrugs. “I kinda like it. It’s like brewing a potion or something.”

Darrin and I share a smile, but since he’s her brother, he can’t let that go. “Well, I hope you didn’t screw it up.”

“Well, you don’t have to eat it.”

He mouths to me,But you do. I nod, grimacing. Darrin hides a laugh. “Did you Google again?”

“What is your fascination with me Googling? And yes. There are all these food blogs, and they’re helpful, but I have to scroll through their whole life story to get to the actual recipe. What does their third-grade teacher have to do with scrambling eggs? It’s ridiculous.”

Turning from the stove, Bailey holds a frying pan in front of her and walks toward the table. She scoops eggs onto the three plates set there, and I take a seat at the one across from Darrin. On the counter, the toast pops, and Bailey nearly comes out of her skin. “Shit, the toast. I forgot.”

She scoops the last of the eggs onto Darrin’s plate and then hurries to the counter, mumbling to herself.

“So,” Darrin says, “You ready for the game?”

“Hell yeah. I predict,” both he and I lick our pointer finger and then act like we’re making a tick on a board, “one for the win column.”

He laughs. “I’m stoked to watch you play. I went to the store on campus and got a shirt and everything.”

Bailey sighs as she butters the toast. “Wish I’d thought of that.”

“Oh, I got something for you to wear,” I tell her.

“You do?”

“Well, yeah, it’s tradition for the girlfriends to wear their boyfriend’s jersey.”

“Oh,” she says softly.

Turning with a plate in her hand, she looks at me and seems surprised that I’m staring back. She pauses for a moment before continuing, placing the plate of toast in the middle of the table.

“What are you guys waiting for?” she asks, sitting in the spot next to me.

I look at her spread. Eggs, toast, bacon, there’s even a little dish of jelly next to the toast. Judging by the color, it’s strawberry. My favorite.

I reach under the table to squeeze her leg. She smiles at me, and it nearly takes my breath away. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Darrin mimics, stuffing eggs into his mouth.

“You’re welcome.”

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