Page 24 of The Fake Divination Offense
“No, you don’t. In fact, I—” My gaze moves to the window, where out in the lobby, the publicists are taking our picture, and I clench the water bottle as I face Alexo, putting my shoulder to the glass. “I need to apologize to you. I shouldn’t have lifted you up. I’m sorry.”
With another bit of muffin halfway to his mouth, Alexo gawks at me.
He drops the muffin, dusts off his hands, and bends over the table. His jacket parts as he moves, showing the text on his shirt. Black type says,THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IS THAT BOTH TEAMS HAVE FUN.
I grin.
But Alexo shakes his head at me. “Okay, I donotget you. You’re Urzoth’s golden boy. Star defensive tank. Big, bad rawball player. Brings down a corrupt arcane training camp. And you’re—you’re—” he stammers, waving at me, seemingly encompassing, well, everything.
“I’m what?” I ask, honestly curious. “You expected me to be violent and domineering? I’m sorry if I gave you that impression, but I promise, that’s not me.”
That seems to derail him. He winces and looks down at his muffin.
When his gaze swings back up to me, it’s from under his dark lashes, and I don’t think he necessarily means it to be coquettish, but it is. That look spears through me and I go rigid at the table, jostling it enough that his latte sloshes.
“You’re right,” Alexo says softly. “I don’t know you. I was making assumptions.” His lips curve up. “NowI’msorry.”
“Aw.” My smile stretches. “Was that our first fight?”
His eyes bulge in a stifled chuckle and he resumes picking at the muffin. “You thinkthatwas a fight?”
“Well, an issue, at least. Look at us, tackling conflict resolution like champs. We’re such good fake boyfriends.”
He laughs. Bright and tinkling, showing his dimples, and it injects liquid fire straight into my veins.
“And as your fake boyfriend,” I continue, liking too much how that word feels in my mouth, “I want to know: What about this arrangement was so appealing to you?”
Alexo sobers. Almost instantaneously. Smiling to a stationary look of shock. I hadn’t expected the question to hit him like that, but he tugs his jacket over his chest and folds his arms.
I see the moment he realizes that isn’t a posture that’ll look good for the cameras. He straightens, lays his hands on the table, shifts to lean more casually in his chair.
“You don’t have to tell me,” I amend. “I just thought, if we’re going to be spending all this time together, that I could get to know you.” I clear my throat and amend even further with, “Iwantto get to know you.”
Alexo’s gaze narrows. “Do you? Why?”
His question is cutting. Accusatory.
My mouth drops open. “Why?” I echo.
“Yeah.Why?Because I was some manic pixie dream guy you helped last night? Or because your god has aninterestin me?”
“Because after you sang that song, I wanted you to know that you aren’t alone.”
Alexo slams his mouth shut.
“And yeah.” I shrug. “I was fascinated with you last night. You were magical—the way you danced, the way you performed like you were putting your whole heart into the words. Which is why I want to take this opportunity for what it is and get toreallyknow you. Maybe it was some sort of divine intervention that broughtus back together, but no god will get credit for whatever we make out of this, and what I want to make out of this is—”Something real.
I cut myself off.
And everything I’ve said comes crashing back over me.
I haven’t eventriedto temper myself. I’ve been so swept up in confusion and wonder from the moment I saw Alexo in Roesia’s office that I didn’t put up any of my usual healthy relationship barricades. This whole thing already started in the weirdest way possible; nothingrealcould come out of it. And I don’t do real, for exactly this reason.
Because I gave up a massive life change for a guyI don’t actually know.
Gods, I’m a pushover.
Weak.That word beats in my head, throbs like an angry vein.Weak.
