She finds a table in the center and drops her bag onto a chair.
I drag out the one across from her and sit.
“What are you doing?”
“Sitting.” I tilt my head. “Is this seat taken?”
“Yes.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Go away.”
I sigh. “Who’s sitting here, Briar?”
“My friend.” She shifts. “My friend, who is on their way right now, and?—”
“Just one friend?”
“I—”
“There are three more seats.” I raise an eyebrow. “Besides, you haven’t given me an answer yet, and I’m just trying to get to know you better.”
Boom.
Mentioned it.
Now I just wait and try to make it seem like I’m not holding my breath. Although I absolutely am, because I am one hundred percent fucked in the lying-to-my-father category otherwise.
I’m fucked if he finds out I’ve got a fake girlfriend, too, but that can be solved with arealbreakup. It’s just a matter of getting her to agree.
After a solid thirty seconds of eye contact, in which Briar doesn’t even flinch, she nods and sits.
“Okay,” she says evenly. “What class assignment are you working on?”
I unzip my bag and take out my laptop. “Research paper on recycled water.”
She chokes. “What?”
“What?” I pause. “Recycled water? One of the great inventions that will save millions around the world?”
“You cannot be serious.”
I brace my forearms on the table, and the realization strikes hard and fast. I shouldn’t be upset about it, but it still stings a bit. Especially coming from her.
“You thought I was a dumb jock,” I say.
“What? No, I didn’t.” Her eyes widen.
It’s her blush that gives her away.
“Yes, you did. Briar Hart,jockherself, thought I was—I don’t even know. Do you think my head is just full of Kermit the frogrepeatedly shouting, ‘Football! Football!’ in my brain?” I rock back and point at her. “Admit it, Hart.”
She rolls her eyes. “Honestly? It was more like Hodor than Kermit.”
“Hodor.” I cross my arms. “FromGame of Thrones?”
Her chin lifts.
Why thefuckdoes that turn me on?
“If my brain shouts ‘football’ over and over, what does yours shout?”