Page 132 of The Fake Date Agreement

“It’s me.”

I tear my eyes from the pages of my book. “Caleb?”

“You sound busy.”

My gaze lingers on a spicy scene in my cozy monster romance. “Just reading.”

“Anything interesting?”

I close my book and slide it into my bedside drawer, shutting it firmly to control my blush. “Not really. What’s up?”

“Just wondered what you're up to.” He continues talking before I can. “Jay is arguing with his parents again, and Reid was vague about what he was up to.”

Reid is working on his paper given his vague response. Since he’s sworn me to secrecy, I ask, “What was Javier arguing with his parents about?”

“The same thing they always argue about. Hockey.”

If I ever have a child, I will ask them what makes them happy, and if I want something different for them, I’ll make it clear that what they want matters more. It isn’t always easy telling your parents that your dream clashes with theirs.

“I feel bad for him.”

“Me too.”

Material rustles, a sign he’s getting comfortable in bed. He’s going to bed much earlier than I thought he would. It’s only nine-thirty. “I wish there was something I could do to help, but I can’t make his family accept that he needs hockey. Reid probably could.”

“He could?”

“Reid can talk to anyone. Plunk him down in the middle of a party where he knows no one, and he will leave thirty minutes later, best friends with everyone.”

I smile. “That sounds right. And Javier?”

“Jay went to the best schools in Boston. I think going to private school teaches you that whatever you want, you can achieve. He’s confident about almost everything. Everything except this thing with his family.”

My small town was ordinary, neither poor nor rich. I may not have had everything I wanted, but I had what I needed—a loving family, a warm home, and a safe place to sleep. Not everyone is as lucky.

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“People scare me, so I avoid parties. You’re a jock. What’s your excuse?”

“I’ve never been a big drinker, and they take up time I could be doing something else.” His voice is dry when he adds, “After someone threw up on me in my freshman year, parties lost even more of their appeal. Not that there was much to begin with, but cleaning chunks off you does the job and then some.”

Ew.

I wince in sympathy. “That’s gross.”

“It was. I only have to remember how gross it was when Reid calls me grandpa for sitting out yet another party.”

I laugh. “Grandpa?”

There’s a smile in his voice when he says, “He got me slippers for Christmas a couple of years ago. You know the checked style?”

“Yeah.” I volunteered at the retirement home in Lawrenceburg when I was in junior high. I know the exact type he means, having seen the residents shuffle around in them. Picturing Caleb in a pair is making it impossible to keep a straight face.

“He meant it as a joke present, but they’re surprisingly comfortable.”

I laugh again. “Do you still wear them?”

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