EIGHT DATES

(East)

Here is a fun fact about me. I never plan to say the dumbest thing in the room. It just happens.

"Eight dates," Dom repeated.

"Eight," I said. "Pay attention."

His laugh came out a little thinner than before. Good. Three years I had waited to see that crack in his face.

"This is a joke," he said, glancing around the bar like someone might jump out with a camera. "Ivy, he's messing with you. He doesn't even like you."

Ivy hadn't said a word. She just stared at me with those wide brown eyes, like she was trying to figure out which one of us had lost his mind.

Honestly, same.

"Tell you what," I said to Dom. "Go home. Tell Sloane thanks for the hoodie. We'll handle the rest."

His jaw tightened. "You'll regret this."

"I regret a lot of things. Wearing my own skates to your birthday party, for one." I smiled. "This isn't one of them."

Dom looked at Ivy one more time. She didn't flinch, and that made me happier than it should have.

He stormed out.

The bar slowly went back to normal. Somebody turned the music up. A guy at the dartboard muttered "damn" like he'd just watched a movie.

Ivy slid off her stool and grabbed her jacket.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Outside. Away from you."

"Rude."

"Accurate."

I followed her out anyway.

---

The night air was cold. She stood under the streetlight with her arms crossed, breathing hard, looking like a very angry little storm.

"Okay, Whitaker," she said without turning around. "What's your angle?"

"No angle."

"Everyone has an angle."

"Fine. My angle is that your ex is a walking disaster in a nice jersey and I would enjoy seeing him lose."

She spun around. "So I'm a weapon."

"You're a plan."

"That's worse."

"It's honest." I shoved my hands in my pockets. "Look. You told a whole bar you'd bring someone better to the gala. Now you've got nobody. I'm offering."

"You've barely spoken to me in three years."

"I spoke to you."

"You said my poster looked like a hostage situation."

"It did. You'd drawn his face with glitter."

She almost smiled. I saw it, the tiny twitch at the corner of her mouth, and she killed it fast.

"Why would you do this?" she asked.

That was the question, wasn't it. The one with the answer I'd swallow before I ever let it out.

Because I've watched you for three years. Because every time you cheered for him, I wanted to shake him. Because he never deserved you, and I knew things about him I couldn't say out loud.

"Because I'm bored," I said instead.

"Bored."

"It's October. The season's getting long."

"You're unbelievable."

"I get that a lot." I leaned against the lamp post. "Here's the deal. Eight dates. We show up places together. Campus stuff, games, parties, wherever he'll see us. And at the end, I take you to the gala like you own the building."

"And what do you get?"

"The joy of watching Dominic Prescott choke on his own ego."

She studied me for a long moment. I held still. It's hard to look relaxed when somebody is staring into your soul.

"I'm not a toy in your little rivalry," she said quietly. "I won't be the thing you two fight over."

"Then walk away anytime. I mean it. One word and we're done."

Her eyebrows went up. "That's it? No contract? No blood oath?"

"I can get a pen."

"I hate you a little."

"A little is a good start."

Her phone buzzed. She looked down, and I watched her face change. Pain first, then anger, then something steely.

She turned the screen so I could read it.

Dom: You'll come crawling back. You always do.

My hands curled into fists inside my pockets. I wanted to go find him and finish what I started in the bar. Instead, I kept my voice level.

"He really is a piece of work, huh."

Ivy stared at the message for a long second. Then she locked her phone and slid it into her pocket. She lifted her chin.

"Fine," she said. "Eight dates."

I put out my hand.

She glared at it like it might bite.

Then she took it.

Her palm was small and cold, and her grip was firm. Way firmer than I expected. It was a handshake that said I will ruin your life if you lie to me.

I felt that handshake all the way to my ribs.

"Deal," I said.

"Deal," she echoed. She dropped my hand fast. "I'll text you the rules tomorrow."

"There are rules?"

"There are so many rules, Whitaker."

"Can't wait."

She walked off down the street with her jacket zipped to her chin. Her boots clicked on the pavement. She didn't look back once.

Of course she didn't. Ivy Sinclair never looked back at anything that hurt her. It was one of the reasons I liked her.

One of about four hundred reasons.

I stayed under the streetlight like an idiot until she turned the corner.

"You done?"

I closed my eyes.

"Theo," I said. "Not now."

Theo Marsh stepped out from the shadows by the bar entrance. My best friend. My left winger. My conscience, when I was too stubborn to grow one.

He had his hood up and his arms crossed, and he was looking at me the way my mother did when I broke a window.

"You followed me?"

"I saw you leave with that look on your face." He walked closer. "Tell me you didn't just do what I think you did."

"I made a deal."

"You made a deal with Ivy Sinclair."

"Keep your voice down."

"There's nobody here, East." He lowered it anyway. "Are you out of your mind? She's going to find out. She's going to find out, and she's going to hate you."

"She won't."

"You can't date her. Not after what you did."

The words hit me like a cold bucket of water.

I'd been feeling pretty good about myself for about fifteen minutes. Now I remembered why I'd been avoiding my own reflection for three months.

I looked down the street where Ivy had disappeared.

"I'm not doing it for revenge," I said quietly.

Theo studied my face. His expression softened, just a little.

"I know you're not," he said. "That's the problem."

I laughed, short and tired. "Thanks for the pep talk."

"You want a pep talk? Here." He clapped my shoulder. "Don't screw this up. And whatever you do, don't let her find out from someone else."

"She won't."

"East."

"I said she won't."

But as I stood there in the cold, with her handshake still burning my palm, I knew he was right.

Eight dates. Eight chances to make her laugh. Eight chances to make her trust me.

And one secret, sitting in my pocket like a live grenade.