Page 25 of Hate to Love You

I may not be hungover, but I feel the same pain.

A few customers glance our way, some doing double takes as a wave of murmurs moves through the crowd. Uncomfortable with the amount of attention I’m drawing, I pause over the threshold, causing Zara to slam into my back.

“What the hell, Nat?” she grumbles in irritation.

“Sorry.” Ignoring the looks and hushed voices, I step inside the shop and take my place in line. I do a quick count. Looks like there are seven customers ahead of us.

“I don’t know if we have time for this.” Zara murmurs, glancing at her phone again. “We’re cutting it close, and I can’t afford to be late.”

I bounce on the balls of my feet, jonesing for a caramel mocha. “I’m not sure I can make it through the next hour without some help.” I need caffeinated fortitude in order to deal with Brody and the situation that is spiraling out of control.

Not wanting to acknowledge the looks aimed in our direction, I stare straight ahead. I’d told myself that what happened with Brody would blow over. In the grand scheme of things—war, politics, world hunger, disease—this isn’t a big deal. But still, the rumor that Brody and I are now Whitmore’s golden couple has spread like wildfire across social media in less than forty-eight hours.

Zara leans in close to my ear. “Is it my imagination or are these people staring at you?”

It’s not her imagination. I can literally feel eyes crawling over me. For someone who enjoys her anonymity, it’s a strange sensation. “It’s your imagination.”

“I don’t think so.” She sounds perplexed. “How are you not noticing this? It’s even making me uncomfortable.”

“No one is paying attention to us,” I repeat. “It’s a normal Monday morning. Nothing out of the ordinary is happening.” It’s like I’m reading from a script that I’m unwilling to deviate from.

She snickers. “Oh, sweetie, are you hoping if you say it enough times, it’ll be true?”

“That’s the plan,” I admit tightly. “And so far, it’s working.” Not really. I noticed people staring as soon as I stepped onto campus ten minutes ago. A few even waved and said hi like we knew each other. The first time it happened, I actually swung around and glanced behind me figuring the greeting was meant for someone else. But there wasn’t anyone there.

Creepy.

“Well, this should be interesting,” Zara murmurs under her breath.

We’re still four deep when a barista yells, “Extra-large caramel mocha with extra whip for Natalie.”

With a frown, I glance at Zara from the corner of my eye. Then I look around the tiny shop waiting for someone with the same name to grab the drink I was planning to order. Thirty seconds tick by and the cup remains unclaimed on the counter.

Looking straight at me, the barista enunciates the order with more care.

Zara nudges my arm with her elbow. “Okay, this is going to sound strange, but I think she’s talking to you.”

That’s not possible. I haven’t made it to the counter yet. “It can’t be mine.”

“I know, but—”

“Natalie?” Again, the girl snags my surprised gaze. “Your name is Natalie, right?”

I jerk my head in the affirmative.

Again, she talks all slow-like. “You’re dating Brody McKinnon?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Seriously?

“Ummm…” How am I supposed to respond to that question? I am most definitely not dating Brody. This entire fake-dating fiasco is a gigantic mix-up. One that needs to be rectified ASAP.

“Yep, that’s her.” Zara grabs my hand and forcibly drags me to the front of the line. More people turn to stare.

The barista beams as she hands over the coffee with a flourish. “This is what you usually order, right?”

“Ummm…” I’m confused. What’s happening here?

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