Page 36 of The Misfit

Marcus and his cronies hover at the edge of my vision, but they’re already backing off. Lee’s hand spans my ribs, his thumb tracing small circles through my sweater. The gesture is intimate, claiming. A clear message to everyone watching:She’s mine.

“Got something else to say, Chen?” Lee’s voice carries that lazy danger that makes people nervous. His other hand comes up to play with my hair, and I find myself leaning into him despite every instinct screaming about germs and contact and him beingtoo close.

“Just surprised,” Marcus mutters, already retreating. “Didn’t think she let anyone touch her.”

Lee’s laugh is low and dark. “Guess you don’t know everything about her, then, do you?”

They slink away, but Lee doesn’t move. He keeps me tucked against him like I belong there. Like this isn’t making his skin crawl as much as it should be making mine.

The stark truth is, it’s not.

Lee’s hand stays at my waist, and I watch the way people deliberately avoid looking our way now. It’s like he’s created a force field around us that no one dares to enter. His fingers absently trace patterns against my sweater while he checks his phone again, scowling at whatever message lights up the screen.

“Your mother?” I ask, guessing by his grimace as he surveys the screen.

“Always.” He locks the screen, but not before I glimpse words likesuitableandfamily reputation.

“She’s curating a list of appropriate potential partners. All females, all from good families, and all guaranteed to pray the gay away. To make it even better, she’s holding my trust fund hostage until I find myself a suitable bride. I have to present my partner at the family charity gala when they announce my sister’s engagement.” The hostility in his voice is unlike anything I’ve heard come out of him, but it’s understandable.

I know what it’s like to have people want tofixyou, change you, and make you into something more palatable, butmyfamily, my parents, and my brother have all been nothing but supportive and kind. I can’t imagine what he’s going through without a family’s love and support. I’m not sure I’d still be alive without my own family lifting me up.

His phone buzzes again. Another text about a minister’s daughter.

All I can do is shake my head.

Lee needs a shield from his family’s matchmaking.Wait … that’s it.A light bulb goes off in my head. “Wait, did you say bride?”

His mouth shifts from pursed with contempt to twisted with playfulness. “I did indeed. My family wants to ensure I don’t go full gay and marry a man just to piss them off. If it didn’t mean losing actual millions, I’d honestly be tempted. It’s like the more they want me to do something, the more I rebel against it.”

I can help him.I feel better knowing there’s something I can offer him in exchange for his protection. Better than him just suggesting we date for show. This way, we’re both getting something out of it.

Plus, he’s gay, or bi, or knows it doesn’t matter. There’s no risk of any real feelings developing either way. I’m broken, and no one wants broken.

His thumb keeps drawing circles on my waist, and I realize he’s counting, too—unconsciously matching my breathing pattern.

“We could date.” The words tumble out before I can overthink them. “I mean, not for real. Fake. For show. Like you asked at Bel’s party. If you were serious … I mean.” I cut myself off abruptly so I don’t keep freaking rambling.

Lee’s hand stills against my waist, his whole body going quiet in a way I didn’t think was possible for him. Even his perpetual fidgeting stops.

“It makes sense,” I continue, my voice dropping lower. “You need your family off your back. I need … I need people to stop looking at me like I’m about to shatter. The assholes are more inclined to stay away from me with you around. Plus, you’re …”

“I’m what?” His voice is neutral.

“Safe.” I twist slightly to look at him. “You’re gay or bi? I’m sorry, I’m not sure about the terminology, but it doesn’t matter. There’s no risk of complications. No chance of real feelings making things messy. And I’m …” I gesture to my gloved hands. “Well, I’m me. You don’t have to worry about me getting attached or expecting anything real.”

Something flashes across his face—too quick to catch—before his usual playful smirk returns. “I’m something, all right.” He doesn’t linger on that comment. “You think I’m safe?”

“I’ve heard the rumors. About the bar fights when people make jokes. About the guy last week who got you arrested.” I feel him shift slightly but push on. “I know you’ve dated girls and done things with them, but let’s be honest, I’m not your type. I’m far from standard, from being anything you would ever want.”

“How do you know what my type is?” His tone is playful.

I shrug. “I don’t really, but it’s pretty obvious. I haven’t seen you with other girls who wear gloves or count their steps.”

“Maybe I’ve changed what my type is.”

“Sure.” I shake my head in disbelief. Even if he did, it wouldn’t ever work out.

Lee is a twister barreling straight through my perfectly aligned books, hand sanitizer, and overabundance of gloves. We’re opposites in every way, and that’s onlyonereason real dating would never work between us.

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