Page 9 of The Midseason Fakeout

Her mouth shuts, then opens again. I rib her again, and she finally looks at me. Her face is so open, and I can see it written there. What Darrin said is true.

Darrin laughs. “It was pathetic. She was like a puppy, and you didn’t even notice.”

I stare at her, dumbfounded and…something else. Confusion. I had no idea. “Well, I notice now,” I tell him, because that’s what the perfect boyfriend would say. He would save her from her older brother’s teasing.

Her chest rises with a breath, and her gaze drops to my lips.

Mine drops to hers, too. They’re like soft pillows tinted pink.

What am I doing again?

That’s right. Pretending.

I maneuver my arm around her, making her move close enough so I can still use my controller with both hands. “Her confession was too cute,” I add with a smile.

“Did she tell you she wanted to ask you to her prom?”

Bailey grabs one of my pillows and throws it at her brother. “Would you shut up?”

Darrin laughs disinterestedly. “I told her she couldn’t, and she was so mad.”

I pull Bailey back into my chest, but she’s stiff, glaring at her brother like she could choke him.

I never really paid attention to their dynamic before, only that they didn’t spend a lot of time together. At least not when I was there. But this? This is fun. I get that family feeling. Sure, she’s mad now, but that’s her brother. She’ll be over it soon.

At least, that’s how functional families work. Or so I’m told.

But that’s something to unpack for another day. Now, I’m genuinely curious about Bailey’s feelings for me. I lick my lips and reach for the remote. Turning the volume up, I don’t do anything for a moment, but then I tug Bailey’s hair back and move it around her ear. My mouth is a little dry when I whisper, “You wanted to go to prom with me?”

She doesn’t answer, but I can see her face getting redder and redder.

“It’s okay,” I tell her, wondering if she still has a thing for me. Most likely not. No way would she want to torture herself by making this fake date plan. It was probably a childhood crush.

The longer she’s cuddled next to me, the more she relaxes. I find myself rubbing her leg when I can, and when I notice it, I chalk it up to keeping up the pretense we’re selling. I certainly know what to do when a beautiful girl is almost in my lap. In contrast, though she’s relaxed, Bailey doesn’t move at all. I have to look close to see if she’s even breathing.

At the end of the game, Darrin throws his hands in the air triumphantly. “Take that, Hot Shot!”

“Those who can’t actually play do it on the screen.”

“You’re just jealous.”

A knock sounds on the door.

I peer over at it, and then at the clock on my desk. It’s eleven o’clock at night.Shit. I should actually be in bed in preparation for practice tomorrow. I shake my head at myself.

Bailey moves over so I can get up. I walk across the room and check the peephole.

Fuck me.I recognize who it is instantly. A blonde-headed jersey chaser that I hooked up with last week after a party. She’s wearing a robe, smiling innocently.

I turn toward Bailey with what must be a stricken face. Fear ramps up. If Darrin finds out I hooked up with this girl, she could spoil this whole thing for Bailey…and me.

In a split second, I have to make a decision. “Hey, babe,” I say to her. Bailey doesn’t even look up at first, so I walk toward the bed as the knock comes again. That gets her attention, and she peeks up at me, surprised to see me so close. “Remember when I told you about the girls who wouldn’t leave me alone?” I widen my eyes to show her the urgency of the matter. “One of them is at the door right now.”

“Oh? Oh…” she says, standing up. “Maybe I should answer the door, then?”

I give her a smile, urging her on. “Perfect.”

She straightens her shoulders and brushes past me, leaving her delectable scent in her wake. When she opens the door, I see the jersey chaser in front of her, and I study the both of them. If Bailey wasn’t Darrin’s sister and she wanted to crawl into my bed, I would let her. She’s stunning, and she actually has a personality, rather than the football-player-obsessed one all the girls like to use with me. That one is good for stroking my ego, which it did. A lot. Too many times, apparently.

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