Page 4 of Foul & Fake
“She wasn’t even there,” I admit, chuckling at the bright red paint on his shoes near the door. “I just hung out with my girlfriend and we decided to come out with our relationship instead. Looks like you’re on your own with the hazing, bud. Tell Lucy to stay out of my room, and leave me out of it.”
Vito eyes me like I’m telling a joke, snorting under his breath. “Girlfriend, huh? And I just won the Nobel Prize for best abs.”
“Not with how much you love carbs,” I tease. “And I’m not joking. I’m serious about this one.”
He eyes me, then sits up straighter as he winces. “Yeah? What’s her name?”
“Riley.” Fuck, what was her last name? Dan — no Dattner? Fuck. I’m going to have to gaslight him. Sorry, Vito. “Why do you look like that? You don’t think I can get a girl to actually stick around?”
“No, because when you get laid, you make sure everyone within a twenty mile radius knows about it,” he quips. “Just suspicious that you didn’t mention this girl once until it was time to chicken out of hazing.”
He’s not wrong, and I’m running out of arguments because my timing is absolutely suspicious as fuck. “I’m not chickening out, I just… well… we haven’t fucked yet.” There. Sprinkles of the truth on my bullshit sandwich. Or in this case, bullshit cupcake. “She’s different.”
Those two words in that order are so cliché I wince and pull out my phone to try and get some more realistic information to use.
Me
Hey, cupcake. It’s your new boyfriend. What’s your major?
“Hm,” he hums, sarcastically. I watch the delivery notification turn to read, but no bubbles pop up. Not even one stupid little bubble. “Where’d you two non-fucking little lovebirds meet? A nunnery?”
What the fuck? I’m never going to convince anyone this shit is real if she ignores me, and it’s hard enough to focus on the shit he’s asking me when I still haven’t had a chance to look at that video.
Me
Am I interrupting something again? Maybe a Panic! At The Disco bean flicking session this time?
Fuck, what did he ask me? “We met on campus, idiot. You know there’s more people there than just soccer players, right?”
“She doesn’t play soccer? What’s she do?”
“She’s into the shit I’m into. Photography and shit.” Or she will be, and it’s her fault for not responding. “Swear she has the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. Like you won’t even be able to look away, so don’t make eye contact when you meet her.”
Me
RILEY! Respond or that party popper will look like child’s play.
He laughs, tipping his chin up. “Bet I fuck her before you do.”
Cupcake
I agreed to a fake date, I didn’t realize that meant I had to be at your beck and call 24/7. I’m a journalism major.
I have to reread her message three times before what he said clicks, and something about it makes me unreasonably angry. “Fuck you. Stick to your own target or a booboo pack on your shoulder will be the least of your worries. Actual girlfriends are off limits. It’s bro code.”
Me
What can I say, I’m a needy guy. Now pretend you actually like me in our texts because I have a feeling someone will try to read them. They already don’t believe you’re my girlfriend, and if you can’t even pretend like this, we’re in trouble.
So journalism, huh? Any chance you like photography too because I just lied and said you did because you wanted to be hard-headed about texting back.
Vito’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, she’d be off limits if she were real. Relax, dickhead. I’m just fucking with you.”
Cupcake
Pretty pictures are cool, but it’s not a hobby of mine, no. If someone’s going to be reading these texts, won’t it be suspicious that you’re asking me shit you should already know if we’re really together?
Me
