Chapter 35: Just Picking Me Up

I was sitting on a barstool in the kitchen on Saturday morning with my hair tied up in a messy bun, holding a mug of dark coffee with both hands, trying to convince myself that Friday night had been nothing more than a bad fever dream.

Then my bedroom door banged open.

Priya strutted into the hallway wearing her fluffy pink bathrobe, holding her phone out in front of her like a trophy. A high-pitched, horribly familiar squeaking noise echoed from her phone speaker, followed immediately by a heavy, rhythmic thud against drywall.

And then came my own voice, clear in digital surround sound: "Oh... Knox... oh god, YES!"

I gagged on my coffee, slamming the mug down so hard a dark splash spilled over the rim.

"Priya!" I shrieked. "Turn that off right now!"

"No way in hell, Bennett!" Priya cackled, tapping the screen to replay the fifteen-second audio clip for the fourth time.

The background noise of Brad Orwell’s friends gasping outside Knox’s bedroom door echoed out before my dramatic moan cut through the audio again. "Four thousand plays on Briar Buzz in seven hours! The top comment literally says, ’She went from throwing pucks to throwing back.’"

"I didn’t throw anything back!" I yelled, burying my burning face into the sleeve of my oversized cardigan. "It was box springs, Priya! I was literally jumping up and down on his box springs while he beat a pillow against his headboard!"

Priya leaned against the counter, her eyes dancing with wicked, unholy amusement. "Uh-huh. Sure. And what about the part where Knox growled, ’Cum for me, Nora’? Was that also a decorative pillow?"

"He was establishing authenticity for the show!" I protested, glaring at her through my fingers. "Brad Orwell was standing two feet away! If we didn’t make it sound convincing, the entire fake-dating deal was going to collapse!"

"Right," Priya smirked, taking a slow sip of her orange juice. "Well, your ’authentic pillow performance’ just saved your contract. The rumor mill completely reversed. Half the hockey team thinks you two are practically engaged."

I groaned, letting my forehead drop onto the granite counter. "I’m never going to live this down."

"Look on the bright side," Priya said, tapping her phone screen. "Nobody is questioning whether your relationship is real anymore. As far as Briar University is concerned, Knox Sheridan belongs to you, and you belong to Knox Sheridan."

My heart gave an involuntary, unsettling thud against my ribs at her words, but I forced myself to sit upright and swipe my thumb across my glowing phone screen to check my notifications.

Right under Priya’s text link was an unread message from Drew, sent at 1:45 AM after he had finished his long drive back to Oakhaven.

Drew: Hey Nora, made it back to Oakhaven safe. Guess I was pretty out of the loop... didn’t know you were dating Briar’s hockey captain. Hope everything is okay with your mom.

A pang of guilt twisted in my stomach as I stared at the screen.

Drew had driven three hours round-trip in the freezing cold just to support me, only to be confronted by Knox claiming me as his girlfriend in the middle of a crowded plaza. And because of the non-disclosure clause in Knox’s contract, I couldn’t even text Drew the truth.

I chewed on my lip, typing out a quick, vague reply: Hey Drew, glad you got back safe. Things have just been really chaotic here with classes and my mom’s recovery. I’ll call you this week.

I hit send, setting the phone face-down on the granite with a sigh.

"Trouble with Oakhaven?" Priya asked gently, this time, without her teasing tone.

"Just... hate lying to people who actually care about me," I muttered, wiping up the spilled coffee with a napkin. "It’s just business, Pri. Four weeks. That’s all this is."

"Keep telling yourself that, Bookworm," Priya sang as she marched back down the hall toward her room. "Just don’t break his box springs next time!"

I let out a sigh, standing up from the barstool to rinse my coffee mug in the sink.

I had already showered when I woke up, as I had a shift at Rusty’s Diner starting at eleven, which meant I needed to grab my tote bag and catch the ten-thirty bus.

Just as I reached for my canvas tote bag on the counter, my phone vibrated hard against the granite.

I picked it up. A new text from Knox flashed on the lock screen.

Walking STD: Contract Clause 4: Public appearance required tonight. Pick you up at 7 PM. Dress nice.

I stared at the text, clenching my jaw before typing back.

Nora: I have my regular shift at Rusty’s until 6:30. Pick me up at the diner.

Knox’s reply came back five seconds later.

Walking STD: Fine. Bring your outfit. Don’t be late.

"Unbelievable," I muttered under my breath.

I set my phone down, ran back into my bedroom, and pulled my favorite dark emerald knit sweater, fitted black jeans, and short ankle boots out of the closet. I shoved them into my tote bag alongside my work apron, zipped it up, and rushed out the front door to catch the bus.

—

My shift at Rusty’s Diner was pure torture.

Every time a group of Briar students walked in to order burgers, they nudged each other, pointing at my yellow apron and whispering behind their hands.

Halfway through the afternoon, a table of three sorority girls literally played the fifteen-second audio clip from Briar Buzz on their phone speaker while I was serving their milkshakes.

I wiped down the soda fountain aggressively, keeping my chin up and pretending I couldn’t hear them, even though my cheeks burned hot the entire afternoon.

By six-fifteen, the dinner rush slowed down enough for Denise to take over the register.

"Go ahead and get ready, sweetie," Denise said, giving me a warm smile. "You worked hard today. The back employee restroom has hot water and clean towels."

"Thanks, Denise," I said, grabbing my canvas tote bag from under the counter.

I locked myself in the small back employee restroom, took a quick ten-minute hot shower to wash off the grease and coffee smell from the diner, and blow-dried my hair using the small travel dryer in my bag.

I put on a touch of lip gloss, changed out of my work clothes into my dark emerald knit sweater, fitted black jeans, and short ankle boots.

When I unlatched the restroom door and walked back out into the main diner at exactly six-fifty-eight, the low rumble of Knox’s black pickup truck was already idling right outside the front glass window.

Through the glass, I saw Knox step out of the driver’s side. He wore a black leather jacket over a white button-down, his dark hair damp and neatly styled back, looking like he belonged on the cover of a magazine rather than a greasy diner parking lot.

Denise let out a low whistle behind the counter. "Well, well, Nora. Now I see why you were rushing to change."

"He’s... just picking me up," I stammered, my cheeks heating up as I shoved my work apron into my bag.

"Honey, a guy who looks like that doesn’t pull up to a diner at seven on a Saturday just to ’pick you up,’" Denise chuckled.

Stepping out into the freezing night air, I unbolted the door to find Knox waiting. He turned, his dark eyes tracing a slow path over me, igniting a sudden, traitorous prickle of heat along my spine.

"You clean up well, Bookworm," Knox said, his voice a low, dry rumble as he opened the passenger door for me.

"I wish I could say the same for you, Sheridan," I muttered, crossing my arms as I looked him up and down.

Knox let out a low, dry scoff, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Ouch, Bennett. Here I was trying to be nice. Not like I actually meant it anyway."

"Don’t strain yourself," I replied, rolling my eyes as I stepped past him. "Are we going or what?"

"After you," Knox said smoothly, gesturing into the warm, leather-scented truck.