Page 27 of Lessons in Chemistry

Casey blinks. “Are you asking me if I can kiss?”

“Bingo.”

He shrugs.

Does that mean he’s never kissed anyone or that he doesn’t know if he’s any good at it or not? Emory did say Casey wasn’t interested in dating and that he’d never had a girlfriend. Emory hasn’t kissed anyone yet either. Why can’t my threesome fantasies come true? It would be sexy to have two cute virgins in my bed. I clear my throat. I am a bad person.

“What does Emory like to eat? Does he have a favourite meal?”

If Casey is jealous, he could easily steer me wrong. That’s a chance I’m willing to take. The whole point of this exercise is to find out whether or not Casey likes Emory so that Emory will have the courage to tell his best friend how he feels. I’m doing them a favour. It’s just a shame the thought of them falling into each other’s arms leaves me feeling a bit cold.

Hold up. Come again? It must be because I want to fuck Emory. No other reason. Right? Right.

Stick with the plan, Auggie. Be a good friend, not a jealous arsehole.

“Is he vegetarian? Vegan?” I ask.

“No. He likes pasta but prefers creamy sauces to tomato-based ones.”

“Likes or loves?”

Casey smiles. “Loves.”

“Bacon?”

He nods.

“So spaghetti carbonara would be a good dish to go with?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. What about dessert?”

Casey shrugs.

“Do you think he’d like something palette-cleansing like lemon sorbet, or would that be too tart for him? I don’t know how much of a sweet tooth he has.”

“Um, he prefers sweet desserts.”

I pat Casey’s shoulder. “Great. Thanks.” We’ve reached the canteen. “Coffee?”

Casey pulls away from me. “You don’t have to. I’ve told you everything you need to know, so I’m going to go.” He turns around, takes two steps, and then stops and comes back. “You know what? I do have something else to say.”

I lift my chin. Casey is two inches taller than me. Although he’s dressed for the cool weather, I can still tell he has a strong physique beneath the layers he’s wearing. I imagine those broad shoulders are perfect for powering through the water. And there I go, imagining him in very tight, very skimpy swimming trunks again.

“Don’t mess Emory around.”

I knew that was coming, but damn, I didn’t expect Casey to look so hot while taking on the protective best friend role. He narrows his dark eyes and furrows his brow, creating a crease line down the centre of his forehead. He presses his lips into a thin line and sets his smooth jaw into a hard one. This is normally the moment I’d make a flirty comment—another flirty comment—but I’m certain it won’t go down well. Don’t flirt with the guy who thinks you’re dating his best friend.

“I won’t. I like Emory. He’s a great guy.” Says the king of fuck and run relationships. Except I don’t want to hurt Emory. I like him. A lot. Fuck.

This. Is. A. Fake. Date.

Casey folds his arms. “You’d better not.”

“Let me get you a coffee.” I soften my voice. “I should get to know you if I’m going to date your best friend. And you can tell me what you’ve got in your kitchen so I know what I need to bring over.”

Casey relaxes his jaw a fraction. “I’ll have water, thanks.”