Page 9 of Mac Meyers Needs Me

“Yeah, maybe?”

“Have at it.” Cammie motions to her closet.

I’m irritatingly nervous about this first fake date. I don’t know what I was thinking saying yes to this cockamamie idea. Sure, I get to touch Mac and be close to him and spend time with him, but not because he reciprocates my crush. Being Mac’s not-real girlfriend will probably go down as one of my least well-thought-out decisions of all time. But I’ll still go through with it.

I pull two cute tops from her closet and change into the first one. “How’s this?”

“Super cute.” Cammie gives me two A-okays.

“You’re not usually this worried about how you look for a house party.” Enid swipes gloss across her pouty lips.

“I know.” I pull the shirt over my head and replace it with option two. I like it best.

“So what’s going on?” Cammie presses.

I prop my fists on my hips. I have to tell them eventually. “I agreed to be Mac’s fake girlfriend.”

They stare at me like I’ve just admitted to adopting a pet walrus.

“His fake girlfriend?” Enid repeats.

I explain what happened during our study session the other night and Mac’s proposal when he walked me back to my apartment. “He just needs a date to the hockey gala and some peace from all the girls hounding him for a date.” And some lessons in boundary setting.

“Right, so it’s not because either of you have a crush on the other,” Cammie says, rather cheekily.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I hang the other shirt and put it away to avoid eye contact.

“Of course you don’t,” Enid mutters.

“We should probably get going!” I head for the hallway, so I don’t have to answer more questions.

Enid and Cammie follow. Chase is meeting us there because he and the guys had a workout.

I tuck my feet into boots, pull on my coat, and leave my toque since Enid is driving tonight, and I only have to deal with the frigid temperatures for the walk across the visitor’s lot.

The blustery wind slaps me in the face the second we step outside. I quickly pull my hood up, tuck as much of my hair inside as I can, and pull the strings, so I look like an acorn. We duck our heads and trudge to the car.

Fifteen anxiety-riddled minutes later, we arrive at the party. A second-year hockey player and his roommates are throwing it. The space is vastly different from Mac’s off-campus house. This is a total bro-pad, complete with gaming chairs and upside-down milk crates as side tables.

Enid passes out mini bottles of hand sanitizer. “I have wipes if they run out of toilet paper, too.”

“That seems likely,” Cammie mutters.

“I’m afraid to see the bathrooms here if this is what the living room looks like.” Something unidentifiable is splattered on the wall. Maybe food? Maybe once-liquid?

Mac spots me from across the room.

My palms grow instantly sweaty and my knees a little weak as he breaks from his hockey buddies to come say hi. All his attention is focused on me as he crosses the room. Every part of my body responds at his approach.

Do I hug him? I want to hug him. I want the warmth of his arms around me. We didn’t even really talk about how we’re supposed to act tonight. Or what the parameters are.

“Hey.” He aims his pretty, dimpled smile at me.

“Hey.” I fight with my hands not to wave since only six inches separate us.

“Hi, Enid. Hey, Cammie.” He nods to the girls.

Cammie can’t help but poke at us. “Hey, Fee’s boyfriend.”