Page 159 of The Fake Date Agreement

Last night, we stuffed ourselves with Chinese food, cracked open energy drinks, and went to work ensuring Reid got his paper done.

We passed Reid books, skim read, highlighted sections, asked him questions, and bounced theories and arguments off each other. It was like taking an intensive crash course on public policy.

The tension in Reid’s shoulders eased as the hours crept by. He nodded his head, typing faster, nodding more, fingers flying over the keyboard, asking us to pass this or that book, or remind him which relevant section we’d discussed before.

The birds were tweeting when we stopped, sunlight bleeding around the sides of the blinds, and soft thumps and doors banging in the hallway announced students heading to class.

At six this morning, Reid had a fully fleshed-out solid second draft with evidence to back up his arguments. It still needs some fine-tuning like all good papers do, but the bones are there, and the bulk of the labor-intensive work is done.

He hugged Caleb and Javier goodbye. Me, he kissed and asked me to stay.

I said no. We both needed sleep, and nothing affects my Hashimoto’s like not getting enough sleep can. But I wanted to stay.

Caleb and Javier walked me to my room, and after taking my meds, I flopped into bed, exhausted, bones aching, and shivering as I desperately hoped my sleepless night hadn’t triggered a flare-up. Even knowing I needed sleep, I barely got any because being with them is so perfect that I can’t imagine it ending. And itwillend.

Let’s be honest. Even if we stay together after the championship, we’ll have, what? A summer of fun before they join the NHL. They already have girls throwing themselves at them. What will it be like when they’re professional athletes?

How can I ever compete with the beautiful women who will want them then?

Easy. I can’t. And I won’t be able to.

So I shed my first tear, knowing so many more will come.

“I have to go,” I tell Caleb, the backs of my eyelids burning.

His forehead furrows. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I don’t meet his eyes as I step around him and grab my bag.

“Tobie?” he calls after me as I hurry away.

“I have to go. We’ll talk later.”

But we won’t. Not once I’ve done what I need to.

Chapter 37

Javier

Tobie is standingoutside my room, and she looks confused and sad.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” she denies.

But something is.

She’s wearing one of the newer outfits Clarissa picked for her—a knee-length skirt and a blouse. It’s the same outfit she’d worn at the arena a couple of hours before. I’d needed to get to a class when practice ran over, and she’d still been sitting in the stands, her brows furrowed.

I take a step back, holding the door open for her. “Come on in.”

“You’re not busy?” she asks, not moving.

“Even if I were, it’s you. Come in.”

She briefly smiles at me, then walks in, her eyes flicking around my room.

My room is always clean and organized. I could pay someone to clean for me, but I like having things exactly how I want them. There’s something about ordering the things around you when you’ve lost control of the bigger parts of your life.

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