Page 89 of The Fake Date Agreement

The McAllister building is one of the biggest on campus. There are dozens of classrooms and meeting rooms where most of the teaching happens. When I can’t get a meeting room to study in the library, I use one in McAllister.

I don’t know what Sasha is majoring in, but I know of her. I doubt there’s a student on campus who doesn’t know one of the most popular girls in school.

Naturally, her attention toward me makes other people in the hallway stop.

“So you’re with the Magic Three,” Sasha announces in a voice she doesn’t even try to keep down.

She’s a cheerleader dating the star quarterback, the leader of her sorority, and she’s always around the campus hosting some charity event or surrounded by a big circle of friends. She’s on a million committees, apparently attends every party, is the perfect girlfriend, and must never sleep or even sit down to keep up with all the above.

There’s popular, then there’s Sasha Hall.

Again, I feel like I’ve entered a new world that isn’t mine.

She shouldn’t know I exist.

And yet, the statuesque blonde is gripping her bag in her navy blue and silver cheerleader’s uniform, eyes filled with interest as she blocks my path out of the building.

I don’t want her interest.

Sasha Hall will eat me up and spit me out.

“Kind of,” I say vaguely.

Her blue eyes narrow. “Reid Graves took you for coffee.”

“He did.” I try to ignore the students filling the hallway. Their eyes bounce from Sasha to me. All they lack is a tub of popcorn and a couch, and they’ll have everything they need.

“Marta Shaw said she saw Javier Duarte take you shopping at the nice mall.”

I have no clue who Marta Shaw is, but she must be as rich as Sasha, whose mom is a famous interior designer who decorated one of the Desperate Housewives of Somewhere’s six bathrooms.

“He might have,” I admit.

I’m really shit at this fake-date business. I should be flaunting it loud and proud, all so it gets back to Marc.

Maybe I would have done that a few days ago before things between the guys and me started to feel real.

I find myself wanting to protect those moments, like a squirrel hoarding its nuts for winter. I want them to be just ours. Not something gossiped about, texted over, or shared with everyone.

“And Caleb Boucher,” she says, eyeing me closely.

“What about him?”

“He was in your dorm.”

Should I lie and say we slept together? Would she laugh in my face and ask for proof?

Someone steps out of the building, and I spot a familiar face standing outside. “Uh, I have to go,” I tell Sasha, ducking around her.

Javier is leaning on a wall three feet from the building entrance, holding two coffee cups that smell delicious but cannot taste as good as he looks.

A slow, pleased smile pulls the corners of his lips when he sees me. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

I stand there, not sure what comes next.

His eyes flick over my shoulder, and his smile grows. “I think you’re causing a blockage.”

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