“Any requests, man?” Shawn asked next, and the fact that he was talking to Clay and Clay was at my table was about as close as I’d ever been to being in the same universe as my crush.

Clay eyed me with that damn smirk still securely in place. “How about ‘Just Say Yes’ by Snow Patrol?”

I rolled my eyes again, and as Shawn began to play, Clay leaned in even closer.

“Are you out of arguments yet?”

I sighed. “So, let me get this straight. We would be in a fake relationship, in which you, hypothetically, would help me get Shawn, and I…” I blinked, coming up blank. “Would do what, exactly? I mean… what’s in this for you?”

A shadow of something washed over his face then, and he sat back, shrugging a bit before he drank half his beer in one gulp. “Maliyah.”

I frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“I know my girl,” he said, his eyes more determined than I’d ever seen — and that was saying something, because I’d seen this guy power down the field for an impossible interception more than a few times. “I know that she still loves me, still wants me, but she thinks there’s something better out there. She’s always wanted the best.” He paused. “She’s been brought up with that desire. It’s just part of who she is.”

I had to fight to keep my lip from curling at how he made all of that sound like a good quality.

“But when she sees me with someone else, when she thinks I’ve moved on?” He shook his head with a devilish smile. “That green monster will get her. She’ll be begging to get me back.”

I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t know, Clay… I don’t want to play those kinds of games.”

“Trust me — everyone plays them. So, if you’re not playing — no, if you’re not winning?” He shrugged. “You’re losing.”

His words made something in my gut tighten, my eyes skirting to where Shawn strummed his guitar on stage. My heart did a backflip just like it always did when his gaze washed over me, even though it was so quick I barely registered the color of his golden eyes before they were gone again.

I was invisible to him. I always had been.

I would never admit out loud how many times I’d fantasized about him, particularly when I’d re-read Thoughtless. Every time he played at this bar and glanced my way, I wondered if it would be the night he’d end his set and walk right over to my table, demanding to know me, demanding to take me home. When would he suddenly realize the wallflower girl who watched every set, who knew every word to his original songs, who sat quietly in the corner while every other girl threw themselves at him?