Page 105 of Faking It Right
Maybe it really was that simple. Maybe I’d been overthinking everything, as per usual.
Senna’s voice cut through my distraction. “You’re staring at your boyfriend as if he hung the moon. It’s adorable but also slightly nauseating.”
I blinked, realizing everyone was watching me with varying degrees of amusement.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “Just thinking.”
“Dangerous pastime,” Harley teased.
“For you, maybe,” I retorted. “Some of us use our brains for more than remembering pickup lines.”
“Ouch,” Harley pretended to be wounded. “Taken down by my own boyfriend.”
The casual way he said “boyfriend” ignited something in my chest that felt like heartburn’s more charming cousin. It was a secret I’d defend with the same ferocity as my browser history.
“You’ll survive,” I told him, patting his cheek condescendingly.
“Only if you kiss it better later,” he replied, making a kissy face that elicited a chorus of groans.
“Get a room!” Jagger called out.
“We have one,” Harley reminded him, gesturing at the apartment. “You’re all in it.”
“Speaking of which,” Fenway said, checking his watch, “it’s getting late. Some of us have eight a.m. classes tomorrow that don’t involve ogling new professors.”
“I prefer to think of it as preliminary field research,” Bryce sniffed.
As everyone gathered their things, Bryce froze mid-motion, his eyes growing wide. “Wait. What if Bennett is one of those professors who wears tweed jackets with elbow patches? That would be a dealbreaker.”
“I thought nothing could stand between you and Professor Jawline,” Senna teased.
“Fashion crimes are the exception,” Bryce declared solemnly. “I have standards.”
“Your only standards are ‘has a pulse’ and ‘older than you,’” Gage pointed out.
“You forgot being hot,” Jagger added.
“All of the above, but absolutely no elbow patches allowed,” Bryce confirmed. “It’s a very selective list.”
Gage shook his head as he shouldered his bag. “Just promise me you won’t do anything that could get you expelled next term. Or arrested.”
“I make no such promises,” Bryce replied cheerfully. “But I’ll try to keep it to misdemeanor territory.”
“That’s not reassuring at all,” I said.
“It’s the best you’re getting,” Bryce winked. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go home and plan my first-day-back-to-class ensemble. Something that says, ‘I’m a serious student who also happens to be phenomenal in bed.’”
“Does such an outfit even exist?” Fenway asked skeptically.
“Honey, everything in my closet has that vibe,” Bryce replied, blowing a kiss as he sashayed toward the door.
The others trailed after him, calling out goodbyes and see-you-laters until finally, it was only Harley and me in our suddenly quiet apartment.
Harley was the first to speak. “I’ll never stop being amazed by Bryce’s impressive confidence.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” I chuckled.
“Sometimes the line between delusion and confidence is blurry.”
