Page 32 of Gap Control

He wasn't putting on a show anymore. Not really. He'd relaxed, and he'd lowered his voice. He looked... tired, in a way that made him more real. It had been a long day and a draining game.

Someone passed by the booth and clapped him on the shoulder—an older fan, Forge hat pulled low. "Nice gametonight, Jameson. And your boy here?" He gestured toward me. "Solid on that last shift."

TJ beamed like he'd scored a hat trick. "He's a wall. A very handsome, emotionally elusive wall."

The guy laughed and wandered off. TJ turned back toward me, still grinning.

"I can punch you under the table," I said.

He sipped his beer. "You won't."

He wasn't wrong.

The thing was, all night he'd been doing small, quiet things. Thanking the server by name. Giving up his seat at the bar to an older couple who looked exhausted. Making sure I wasn't boxed in when someone slid into the booth beside us earlier.

He was paying attention. Not only to fans or friends. To me.

I leaned back and stared at the condensation on my glass. My list of ground rules had felt solid when I made them—no personal questions or unexpected contact.

TJ didn't need to break the rules to get under them. He only had to sit there being kind and present and utterly unaware of how much harder he was making the fake thing for me.

He shifted slightly to face me. "You know, I thought this part would feel weird. Sitting together, pretending to be a couple, but it doesn't."

I didn't answer.

He waited and then filled the empty space, "You're easy to sit next to."

He wasn't flirting. It sounded like the truth.

I focused on the scuffed tabletop. "You're better at this than I thought."

"Faking it?"

"Being good with people."

He shrugged, a sheepish little grin on his face. "I've had a lot of practice."

A moment passed. He looked worn around the edges, hair starting to curl a little where it met the collar of his shirt.

"You still want to keep this going?" I asked. "The whole fake thing?"

He didn't even pause. "Yeah. I mean, unless you don't."

I didn't answer right away.

He looked down at his beer and swirled it a little. "I do like hanging out with you."

Simple comment. No smirk. No joke.

For a second, I forgot why any of this was fake.

We didn't say much after that.

TJ slipped back into the team chatter, teasing Monroe about karaoke night and ignoring Brady's not-so-subtle attempts to document our chemistry. Every now and then, though, he glanced at me.

He had no idea what he was doing. On second thought, maybe he did.

I tuned out the content of the conversation and let the ambient noise settle around me. I kept thinking about how his hand had rested behind me on the booth all night.

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