Fake Girlfriend (A Behzinga Fanfic/AU)(unfinished)

NINE

Ethan had avoided me the rest of that week. He was probably scheming and brewing up ideas to make my dinner with him and his mother as realistic as possible, but little did he know that I was full of ideas, too.

He made dinner with my dad miserable, after all. It was only fair I did the same.

But he must have realized at some point throughout the week, because he walked in during my first period on Friday to approach my desk.

"What would it take for you to not do what I did on Monday?"

I smirked, leaning back in my chair as I adjusted my blue, silk short-sleeve shirt that buttoned up. I'd managed to convince my dad that it was a 'casual' day at work, so he didn't bug me too much about the fact that I was wearing black skinny jeans.

"A lot, if I'm honest."

He glowered as he stared into my eyes. "I'm serious."

"Believe me, I know you're serious," I teased. "I'll strike you a deal, Coach. Let me do another demonstration with this class on color, and I'll be an angel at dinner."

His glare softened slightly. "You mean paint my hand again?"

I nodded, biting my lip after realizing how dumb that sounded. But he let out a loud sigh and cracked his knuckles.

"Fine. Make it quick, though."

He slouched down at the empty table closest to my desk and rested his elbow on the wood, seemingly uninterested.

This time, there were different colors. He tried not to show too much emotion, but my Drawing and Painting students were able to call out at least a couple. They said he looked almost proud, which I didn't understand but I included anyway, and they said he also looked calm. The whole painting was a mixture of purples and blues, so I decided to turn his hand into a galaxy.

He was much more cooperative, probably because he felt bad for how he acted on Monday, but I took it to my advantage and expanded the painting. At that point, I'd told everyone else to get back to work, but painting always calmed me down, so I continued. He didn't interject, he just sat quietly and watched as I painted his tattoo-less arm.

Eventually, I stopped, having been lost in thought for so long and not realizing I'd gotten carried away. "Sorry. You can go wash this off now."

"That's alright," He shrugged and stayed put, staring at his arm.

"Seriously, you don't have to feel guilty about anything. It's all good," I continued. It was true—my dad was fine, and I shouldn't have been anxious. But something inside me tore me up, probably from all of the lying.

Instead, I stood and walked away, cleaning up my area and rinsing off the paintbrushes. I didn't meet his eyes, purely because I was a bit embarrassed. He was a gym teacher, not just some guy I could spill all of my feelings to.

"Mr Payne?" I heard one of the freshman girls ask him.

"Yeah?"

"Can you help me with this?"

"Oh, uh, I don't know art. Ms Wright is over at the sink, though."

I smirked. I thought it was cute that she asked him for help. The fact that he was flustered was even cuter, since he was a muscular, grown man that couldn't even offer to help a teenager paint a portrait of her friend.

I turned around and smiled. "I'm coming."

*****

Photography class was fourth period. Almost every single student decided they wanted to go back outside and take pictures again, so I agreed. I set an alarm on my phone to let me know when class would be over.