Page 26 of Not Fooling Anyone

“If I’m pretending to be your boyfriend in front of her, I need something to go off of. If this were real, wouldn’t you have told me about this history between the two of you?”

“If we were really dating, I wouldn’t ever tell you about the rumor she helped spread.” She presses her lips tightly together and scrubs a hand over her face. “Please forget I said that,” she whispers.

Rumor? Does this have anything to do with how Savannah called her sexy Lexie?

She stops at my SUV, hand on the door handle, waiting for me to unlock it.

I fiddle with the keys, needing to say something to make this right, to get her off the edge. “It’s forgotten.” For now, at least.

She nods, looking up at me. “I’m not saying I’ll never tell you anything, but…” She wrings her hands together in front of her. “Can it be some other time? Seeing her threw me for a loop.”

I’ll say.

I unlock the doors, driving us back to the lot she parked in, the brief ride silent.

She doesn’t immediately escape as soon as I park like I expected, though. She continues to sit there, playing with her hoodie strings.

I glance out the window at the car she indicated is hers, a nearly twenty-year-old Corolla that appears to be on its last leg based on the amount of rust on it.

“Thank you for letting me hold your hand,” she finally says. “And sit on your lap. I’m sorry for… using you.”

Is she seriously bothered by that? How would she react if I told her she could use me however she wanted?

“You were method acting.” I shrug, overly nonchalant. “No need to apologize.”

Her lips tilt up at the corners. “What made you say I was salutatorian? She could easily have called me out on that.”

“Nah.” I wave off her concern. “No one remembers them. Valedictorian, yes. Salutatorian, no.”

“How do you know?”

“Because—” Because I was the salutatorian of my high school class. She wouldn’t believe me if I told her, though. She seems convinced I’m a dumb jock. “Because trust me, that’s how.”

She nods, twisting her hoodie strings. “Well, thanks.”

“I’ve got your back, don’t worry.”

She unbuckles her seatbelt and opens the car door, hesitating for a moment. “As far as fake boyfriends go, I guess I could’ve picked worse.”

It’s a terrible compliment, but coming from her, it’s akin to throwing her arms over my shoulders and showering me with praise.

I nod, watching her go, the Corolla’s door screeching painfully as she opens it. I make a mental note to grab some WD-40 at work after my shift tomorrow.

I don’t follow her right away as she reverses and leaves, idling in the lot instead. It’s only seven-thirty, and it’s not like I’ve got anything special to go home to. I don’t speak much to my two roommates who are a decade older and not interested in socializing, and Tyler usually spends Thursday nights over at his girlfriend’s apartment.

Maybe Austin’s at the gym tonight. He’s always up for sparring.

I pull out my phone to text him, startling as it rings, an unknown number on the screen. Despite my surety it’s a telemarketer, I answer anyway, surprised when one of the lab researchers from the study, Justin, introduces himself.

“Is there something wrong?” I ask, unsure why he’s calling so late. Did I mess up my paperwork? Did he figure out from my eye test I don’t really love Lexie? She’s going to kill me.

“No. Well, yes. Sort of.” Okay, that clears things up. “It’s with your urine sample.”

Uh… what?

“I was going through the results from your analysis,” he continues, “and everything looked great except for one thing. Your ketone levels.”

“Ketone?” Doesn’t that have something to do with a diet?

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