Page 62 of Caught in a Bad Fauxmance
“Why don’t you order for us?” I suggest, setting my menu aside. Julian’s clearly the expert.
He beams, happily accepting the challenge before waving over the waitress, Judy. He keeps it simple, ordering a cup of coffee for himself (which I don’t protest, even though I’m sure he’s had more than enough caffeine for one night), disco fries to share, and two shakes. Vanilla for him, mint chocolate for me.
It probably says something about my standards that a boy remembering my favorite flavor of ice cream makes my heart race.
Julian clinks his coffee mug against my shake after Judy returns with our drinks. “To not sleeping.”
“To not sleeping,” I echo, watching Julian savor his first sip. “Do you make a habit out of going to diners in the middle of the night?”
“I guess you could say that,” he replies, cradling the mug close to his chest. “We used to come up here every weekend for breakfast. Mom can’t cook eggs to save her life. But it’s usually just me now,” he says with a half-hearted shrug, letting go of his mug to start rearranging the sugar packets.
“Food’s that good, huh?”
He nods weakly. “It is. But it’s comforting too. Reminds me of when things weren’t complicated…well, when they were less complicated. Plus, it’s the only place that’s still open past midnight, and sometimes Ireallyneed to get out of the house.”
I groan, slouching against the table. “Tell me about it.”
Julian bites his lip, tapping his fingers against his place mat and peeking at me from beneath his lashes. He looks away the moment I catch him eyeing me, shifting his gaze to the TV in the corner.
“You look like you’re getting ready to tell me that my dog died,” I say after Julian cautiously peeks at me again.
He curls in on himself, flushed down to his collar at having been caught. “Youlooklike you just found out your dog died.”
“Harsh.” But fair. I probably look worse than that, to be honest. Fighting with your sisterandprocessing your complicated emotions for someone you’re supposed to hate is a lot to handle in one day. Also, I’m more of a cat person. “It’s been a weird day.”
Julian runs a finger along the rim of his mug, tendrils of steam bending around his fingertip. “Because I asked you to go to a concert with me, or because you got assaulted by water balloons filled with what I’m guessing was either real animal blood or puréed beets?"
I choke on my shake, narrowly covering my mouth before it sprays out all over the table.
“Y-you saw?” I ask between coughs into my sleeve, the corners of my eyes watering.
His grin is coy as he leans across the table to pat me on the back. “I did.” He waits until I’ve made it through the coughing fit to slump back into his seat. “Would’ve been hard not to. It’s not every day that someone stages a sneak attack in your driveway.”
“Sorry,” I mumble, pushing through the ache in my chest. Guess that’s why he was willing to talk to me again. “I tried to stop her, but…” I trail off, shrugging in defeat.
“I get it,” he replies, eyes falling to my place mat. “It’s what we deserve.”
“Not you, though.” I shift forward, stomach pressed against the edge of the table, our hands a hairsbreadth apart. Every part of me itches to get closer. “You weren’t involved.”
“But I could’ve stopped them. If I’d paid more attention, I probably would’ve seen that something was up.” He curls in on himself, pulling his hands back and pushing them deep into the pockets of his cardigan. “Stella and Henry really are sorry, though. I know that doesn’t mean much coming from me, but…I told them about the jacket, the one Maya was wearing. It was your mom’s, right?”
I nod slowly, stomach clenching at the memory. The confirmation makes Julian stall, like we’re giving a moment of silence out of respect.
“They want to apologize to her,” he says, “but I can understand if she doesn’t want anything to do with us.”
The idea of not just one, buttwoSeo-Cookes apologizingto us should be laughable. If this were any other year, I’d claim to see right through them and laugh in Julian’s face. I’d brush it off as a decoy for yet another prank, a trick to get us to lower our guard. But because this is the weirdest month of my life, I smile.
“Thanks for taking a bullet for me,” Julian adds. “Or balloon.”
A little more physical contact won’t kill me, so I knock my ankle against his. “That’s what fake boyfriends are for.”
The lamp flickers to full brightness, bathing our corner of the diner in harsh fluorescent lighting. Everything grows smaller, more intimate, like there’s no one else in the world but us.
“Can I ask you something personal?”
“Sure.” He goes to take a sip of coffee but pauses with the mug halfway to his lips. “Unless it’s my social security number. Only my fake husbands get access to that.”
“There goes that plan,” I tease, taking a second to calm my racing heart before asking the question that’s nagged me since the night of the chowder incident. “Liam said he broke up with you?”
