Page 21 of Faking It with the Forward

Am I offended? Yes. Do I say anything? No. Why? Because I never do. I let that little jab pass and take the opportunity to move on.

“How are you?” I ask, changing the subject to Ruby’s favorite subject: herself. “How’s the job?”

My sister is two years older than me and graduated from State in the spring with a degree in education. It’s her first year teaching fourth grade.

“It’s good. The kids are fine, although their parents are a pain in the ass.”

I laugh. “I bet.”

Ruby’s love of bossing people around seems to make her a pretty good teacher. The kids love her, and she has a lot of enthusiasm, but I can see her struggling with demanding parents.

“I’m glad things are going well, but,” I say, standing up, “I need to get into class. Seriously though—don’t tell Mom about the picture.”

“I won’t,” she promises, but we’ll see. Secrets are never kept long between those two. We all get along, but I was always closer to my dad.

I walk into my History of Rock Music class and find Nadia saving me a seat. Although we’re in different majors, we both needed a humanities class this semester and lucked into a spot in the popular class.

My dad loved music. Rock, country, blues, annoying stuff with horns that my mom always called “marching band music” but is really just something called Ska. He tried his hardest to influence me and Ruby with his eclectic taste in music and to be fair, I resisted it for a long time. But now that he’s gone, taking this class seemed like the perfect homage.

“Hey,” I say, taking off my backpack and sitting next to her near the middle of the room. The class is held in an auditorium with stadium seating. Professor Kent often shows videos of the musicians we’re studying on the screen behind the podium.

“Hey, you’ll never believe what happened,” she says, eyes wide when she looks up from her phone. “Oh my God, your hair looks amazing.”

I wore it down and have regretted it every step across campus. It feels hot and heavy on my neck and now Nadia’s attention makes me feel more self-conscious. I swallow some of that back and manage, “Thank you. Now, tell me what happened and please don’t let it be about the photo of me and Reese going viral.” I take out my laptop. “Because I heard.”

“Nope. That’s old news.” She grins in a way that tells me it’s not old news, but she’s moving on. “Reid and I have been texting a little, and last night he asked if I wanted to go out tonight.”

“Oh,” I feign surprise. “Like a real date?”

“A hang out maybe?”

“But just with him?” I push, resting my elbow on the little desk and facing her. She nods. “Where are you going?”

“I suggested the Badger Den.”

The Badger Den is a bar—more specifically—a hockey bar. “Hmm. Does that really count as a date if you go to a bar with all his friends?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I’m the one that suggested it.”

I’m not exactly surprised. Nadia doesn’t know how to date any more than I do. She just hooks up and I just… well, do nothing.

Professor Kent steps up to the podium and the class quiets, which allows me to distract myself from the guilt I’m feeling over not telling her that I orchestrated the whole thing. It’s not like me to meddle, but I just want her to be safe and happy.

As Professor Kent starts a new video about the evolution of rock music from southern spirituals, I have no idea how I’m going to explain to her what’s going on with me and Reese. I’d been pretty adamant that the intimacy in the photograph wasn’t real, yet now that’s exactly what Reese wants me to pretend is happening. Do I tell Nadia it’s fake? What are the rules around this? The more I think about it, the more anxious I get and the more this seems like a terrible idea.

There was no morning skate today, so I haven’t seen or heard from Reese yet. I’m not convinced he wasn’t drunk or something when he made the proposition. It’s completely possible he’s changed his mind since last night.

Except, when we walk out of the class an hour later, I spot Reese’s massive frame leaning against the wall across from the hall. His gray eyes are pinned on me, and his lips are curved in a sexy smirk.

Have mercy.

I have a strong suspicion he hasn’t changed his mind.

“Hey,” I say, nudging Nadia toward the main entrance. “I’m, uh, going to stop in the bathroom, but I know you’ve got a hike to get to your next class. You don’t need to wait.”

Normally we walk across campus together before splitting off. She has a class in the business school, and I have to set up for afternoon practice at the rink.

“Are you sure?” she asks, hitching her bag over her shoulder.

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