For Real (Rules of Love, Book One) (12 page)

“Oh, good. Not that I wouldn’t have minded hanging out with him.”

Jett laughs.

“You don’t have to pretend to like him for my sake, Shan. I know Javi’s not everyone’s taste. Or anyone’s taste.” Yeah. Javier flavor is not my favorite thing. But maybe I haven’t given him enough of a chance? I mean, Jett likes him, obviously, so he must have some redeeming qualities. Right?

“I brought you some baklava,” I say, holding up a bag from Tony’s.

“You are my favorite Fake Girlfriend,” he says, grabbing the bag from my hand and flopping down on the couch.

I set my bag down near the door and join him.

“I hope I’m you’re only Fake Girlfriend.” He pulls out one piece and holds it up. I dive forward and take a bite before he can bring it to his mouth.

“Hey, hey! You said you brought this for me.” I smile through my mouthful and he glares at me before turning his head and taking a bite. Guess he’s not worried about sharing my germs.

I chew and swallow and then clear my throat. He rolls his eyes and holds the baklava up for me to take another bite.

“Fanks,” I say through another mouthful. He shakes his head and finishes the last of that piece.

“Are you going to hate me if I tell you that I have to do homework?” Jett says, setting the bag down on the coffee table.

“Yes. I hate you. You’re a terrible Fake Boyfriend. You’re the worst. Fuck you, asshole.” I cross my arms and turn my head, but I can’t stay like that for long.

“No, I have homework too, dumbass. I was hoping you weren’t going to hate me for needing to do mine.” I pick up my bag and bring it over, dropping it with a thud.

Jett’s pretty lucky because a lot of his work can be done on his laptop. Not that it makes it any easier. I can’t imagine staring at a graphics program for hours at a time and tweaking images just a teeny tiny bit at a time to get them right. That might make me crazy.

I spread my books out and line up my pens and stack my notebooks. I have a different one for each class, in addition to little sticky note flags for each one. I also have my assignments typed out and I’m ready to cross those bitches off.

“I like doing my homework to music. If you like silence, I’ll put my earbuds, but I usually just play it,” Jett says.

“No, I listen to music as well.” But probably not the same kind of music. “I usually go with classical. Or something mellow.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of the opposite of what I listen to when I’m working. If techno is the opposite of classical.” I have no idea if it is or not, but I don’t think I can do homework to techno.

“Can we compromise? What’s in between techno and classical?” We both think about that for a moment and then Jett pulls out his phone.

“Got it.” He set his phone on his speaker dock right near the television and “Bohemian Rhapsody” by Queen blasts through the apartment. I can’t help but giggle.

“Close enough,” I say as Jett turns it down a little bit and comes to sit down again.

With Queen belting it out and Jett beside me, I start working. Let’s hope it goes better than last time.

I set up a reward system for myself. That’s the only way I’m going to get anything done. Read two pages, glance at Jett. Read two more. Look at Jett. I allow myself a stare when I finish one chapter. He’s so focused on his work that he doesn’t even notice me.

Or maybe he does? He keeps shifting in his seat and his hands aren’t doing a whole lot with the keyboard. Lots of scrolling and squinting a little at the screen. Something tells me that’s not part of his assignment. I check the first item off my list and do a little internal victory dance. Is there ANYTHING better than checking an item off a list? I don’t think so.

And then Jett props his head on his hand and leans to the side and I decide that lists aren’t that great after all. Still, I pull my second book over, along with my second notebook. Jett sighs. I almost let it go, but I can sense that he wants to talk, but doesn’t want to interrupt me. All the while Queen is singing about girls with big butts making the world go around. We do, in case anyone was wondering.

“What’s up?” I open my book to the designated page, and pretend I’m not interested in the curve of his spine and neck and head as he sort of leans forward. I’m also not interested in his ears, which are . . . beautiful. Can ears be beautiful? I’ve never really noticed ears before. Unless they stick out. But his don’t. They’re graceful and perfect. Huh. Who knew ears could be so seductive?

“Nothing, just stuck on this project.” He shuts his computer and scrubs his face with his hands. “Best thing to do is leave it and try something else.” He pulls an artist’s pad out from under the couch and grabs one of my pens. I almost get mad at him for taking one of my pens, but I’m too curious to see what he’s going to do with it and the paper.

He turns to a fresh page and leans back against the couch so I can’t see what he’s doing.

I lean forward and he chuckles and leans back even more.

“Just go back to your homework, Shan. Don’t mind me.”

“But I want to know what you’re working on.” Shoving my textbook aside, I lean even more until I’m nearly on top of him. He holds the pad of paper out of my reach, and I struggle to get at it, but his arms are longer than mine so I give up.

“You suck.” I throw another pen at him and he ducks.

“All’s far in Fake Dating and war,” he says with a shrug and goes back to drawing. I try to go back to my studying, or at least giving him the appearance of it. I don’t want him to catch me being so distracted by him. It’s embarrassing if you’re the only one who can’t focus.

The sound of his pen on the paper is a soothing undertone to the Queen music. The words on the page in front of me are just lines and dots and curves. There are also charts and pictures, but none of them mean anything to me. I dive back into taking notes and hope that something penetrates my brain. This time though, I catch Jett glancing up at me from the pad of paper. Just little flicks of his gorgeous eyes up to me and then back to the paper.

“Stop looking at me,” I say, keeping my eyes on my textbook.

“You wouldn’t know I was looking at you if you weren’t looking at me,” he says. He makes one long stroke of the pen and then readjusts himself. I shake my head and turn the page of my textbook even though I wasn’t done with the previous page.

“You’re still doing it.”

“Is this another Rule you want to add to the list? No looking?” More pen strokes.

“Whatever.” I decide to drop it and turn myself so I’m leaning on the arm of the sofa and my back is three quarters of the way toward him. He sighs again and folds the cover back over the pad and drops it on the floor. Then he pulls something else out from under the couch.

“My God, how much stuff do you have under there?”

“I have to hide my stuff in weird places. Javi has a tendency to take my stuff and move it around when I’m not here. Funny, but he never looks under the couch.” He opens the wooden box he’d gotten from under the couch and pulls out a few squares of bright paper. He starts folding one of them and I can’t help but watch.

“Who taught you how to do that?”

“My dad.” That’s all I get. I figured out a while ago that his family is a sore subject, so I’m actually surprised I get this much. “It mellows me out. Helps me focus on other things.” He makes a crease in the paper and presses his fingers along the new crease to make it sharper. Then he folds again, and again. It’s almost hypnotic. I can see how this would be soothing. Jett keeps folding and turning and I have no idea what he’s making. It takes dozens of folds before he holds up another crane, but this one is different. He pulls on its tail and its wings flap. I resist the urge to clap with glee like a little kid as he makes it flutter.

“You’re really talented.”

“Yeah, if only origami could pay the bills. There are some people who do insane stuff, but that takes years of training and a shit ton of paper. I could make you a whole zoo if you wanted, but these are my favorite.” The crane he made is out of red iridescent paper, and he starts making one out of blue. I watch him do that one, and then there are two little cranes. I move them so their beaks are touching, like they’re kissing.

“Want me to teach you how to make one?” Jett says. Hm, learn something from my sexy Fake Boyfriend or read about business ethics? That’s a really hard decision.

“Yeah,” I say, shoving my book away, where it falls on the floor with a clunk. I didn’t mean to be that enthusiastic, but it just kind of happened.

It’s not like I’m not already ahead on my homework.

Jett and I spend the next hour going through more of Queen’s greatest hits while he teaches me to fold paper cranes. It’s an odd combination of things, but somehow they all make sense.

It takes me about twelve tries to get it right, and I ruin quite a few pieces of paper. And my crane’s head is a little wonky in comparison to its tail, but at least it’s bird-shaped.

I yawn, even though I’m wide awake.

“Are you tired?” Jett says, arranging our little family of cranes on the table. So much for homework.

“No, but I’m definitely hungry. Should we make some more insane nachos?”

He smiles and stands, holding his hands out to pull me up. Wow. Strong. Deceptively strong. I mean, he’s not a walking ad for steroids like Javier, but he’s definitely not a wimp. In fact, he’s so strong that it pulls me off balance and I smash into his chest. He catches me of course, because he’s graceful and I am not. I used to be. I definitely fell a lot less before I met him.

He holds me, pressed against his chest, our hands between us. Totally squished into my boobs. Jett has had more contact with my boobs than even my doctor. To be fair, they do kind of get in the way. They’re a little hard to avoid if you’re near me. No joke, I’ve actually smacked people in the face with them.

Because they have a mind of their own, my nipples harden under my shirt and I take a step back so Jett can’t feel them. Nipples are a bit like the female equivalent of getting a boner. Only on a smaller scale. Still, it’s embarrassing when you’re flashing your headlights for everyone to see.

Jett’s hands are still linked with mine and he leads me into the kitchen.

“Nachos?” he says.

“Nachos,” I agree.

This time the nachos have leftover steak, more Velveeta (I really need to buy that boy some actual cheese) jalapenos, cilantro, olives, some pearl onions, and I cave and let him add the hot dog pieces.

“We should open a restaurant where it’s just nachos. We could do breakfast nachos and desert nachos. It would be a hit,” he says, taking a huge bite after the thing has melted in the oven. I wipe some cheese from his chin and stick my finger in my mouth. It feels like a natural thing to do now. Then I grab a chip that’s loaded with the mess of ingredients and pop it in my mouth.

Wow, what a . . . cacophony of flavor. I chew and try to figure out if I like it or not. It takes a while to get used to the texture and the taste because it’s such a shock.

“The other ones were better,” Jett says, taking some more and shoving them in his mouth.

“Bummer.” I go for another mouthful and I decide that I like them. I mean, they’re not my favorite thing in the world, but they’re pretty good.

“How would do you desert nachos?”

“If you could figure out how to maybe make pie crust into chips, then you could have chocolate and whipped cream and so forth. And you could do fruit nachos.”

“That would be really great for the obesity epidemic in this country,” I say, raining on Jett’s nacho parade.

“You’re no fun,” Jett says, cramming about five chips in his mouth at one time. I have to admit that’s impressive. I take one, since I don’t think it would be very sexy to cram my mouth with chips and everything else.

“Hold still,” Jett says and I freeze. With one hand, he holds my chin steady as he brings his face forward. I would ask what he’s doing, but I’ve sort of lost the ability to speak. Or breathe. Is my heart still beating?

Ever so slowly, millimeter by millimeter, Jett brings his face closer to mine. His tongue reaches out as well and licks something from my face.