Page 23 of The Fake Divination Offense
Make it look good.
All for show.
Coffee downstairs.
I do understand English, I think.
Oh gods, am I having a panic attack? It’s a real possibility.
A hand closes over mine where I’m gripping the leather couch cushion. The muscles in my arm jump, recognizing his touch already, the soft flex of his hand.
I look down at him, and his expression is encouraging but cautious. The way I got when Seb used to go on an angry tear and I’d have to talk him down.
“Come on,” Alexo prods. “Just coffee.”
I let him pull me to stand. Which is objectively hilarious, because if I really did need him to get me to my feet, he’d probably snap in half. But as I teeter upright, it hits me that maybe he’s being cautious because he doesn’t know me. I could be some psycho aggressive Urzoth worshipper, and he’s relegated to having to soothe me.
In a parade of PR people, we’re shepherded down two floors to the Hellhounds HQ café off the main lobby. It hasn’t hit the midafternoon pick-me-up time yet, so we have the place to ourselves, and as we cross the threshold, the publicity folks hang outside, leaving us to our ownmake it look gooddevices.
Alexo knots his hands in the sleeves of his jacket, but he’s still got his defiant, chin-up stance, facing down the world and daring it to turn on him. He starts to take charge, heading for the counter to order, when I put my hand on his forearm.
“What do you want?” I ask.
His eyelashes are dark and curled, and closer now, there’s a light gloss over his lips. Shimmery gold-pink. It matches his hair.
Those eyes narrow. Curious. Cautious. “Large iced oat milk latte.”
“I’ll get it. You pick the seat.”
I head off, not waiting to see his reaction. I order his drink, get a bottle of water for me—caffeine would be abadaddition to my body chemistry right now—and a few pastries.
When the barista pushes the order across the counter, I scoop it up and turn to see Alexo’s chosen a high table right by the glass window that looks into the lobby. The publicists will have a perfect shot of us, and something clenches in my stomach, a pang of discomfort.
This shouldn’t be fake.
I’d have asked him out for real.
I could call it off and sponsor Alexo on the cheerleading team myself. Wouldn’t be the weirdest anonymous donation I’ve told my money managers to make, but it seems like Alexo could have tried out for the cheerleading team on his own, without Urzoth’s sponsorship, and he didn’t. Why did this work for him?
I can find out. We’ll be spending a lot of time together over the next few months. Fake relationship or not, our conversations can be real.
Determined, I head to the table and slide Alexo his drink. Along with a blueberry muffin. And a chocolate donut. And a Danish. And a yellow cake pop.
Wow. Really?
Alexo looks at the spread of pastries before cocking a bemused grin up at me. “Hungry?”
“Uh—no, actually.” While Seb was right, my half-giant metabolism is impressive, I’ll hate myself tonight at practice if I eat any more crap. “I just—maybe you are?”
Alexo takes the muffin and tears off part of the top, but hesitates. “I guess I need to think about an athlete’s diet now. I’ve seen how the cheerleaders eat, and my gods, no one should be physically able to consume that amount of celery per day.”
I finally take the tall chair across from him instead of lurking by the table. “There’s always room for sweets. I ate my weight inpancakes this morning to counteract an equally absurd amount of alcohol last night, so I’ll pass. But you should eat. Your body’s perfect.” Heat burns my cheeks. “I mean—”No, nope. I physically squish my lips together to keep from overcorrecting and making what I said worse.
Alexo, muffin piece still lifted, watches me, eyes sparkling.
He takes mercy on me and pops the bite into his mouth. I let my lips relax.
After a beat, his smile dims. “I need to thank you again for what you did last night.”
