Dirty Little Secret| Eddie Munson x Reader

Bad Habit

Y/N's POV
Tuesday, November 19th, 1985.

"You gonna eat those?" Steve asked, his mouth full, as he pointed to the Ziplock of pretzel sticks on the table in front of us. Before I could say anything, Steve decided he didn't care for my answer as he stole a handful from the bag and stuffed them in his mouth before slinging his arm back around the back of my chair. I'd began to regret my decision to start sitting with the gang at lunch again as Steve munched happily in my ear, the sound making my skin crawl. My claustrophobia was heightened as Steve basically sat in my lap, his chair pushed right up against mine, his hand resting on my shoulder as he played with the ends of my hair. I tried my best to chalk up this proximity as him being his usual, affectionate self, but I couldn't lie, I felt weird being so close to him after what happened between us this weekend, especially after his admission that he'd had a thing for me the entire time I'd known him. Seemingly, I wasn't alone in my discomfort, with Nancy gawking across the table at the two of us. I became even more flustered, trying to avert my eyes from Nancy's as I hoped desperately she didn't know about what happened. My internal squirming under Nancy's scrutinizing gaze didn't last long, thankfully, it being interrupted by Fred Benson slamming his body down in the chair across from me.

"Where the hell were you during newspaper?" Fred asked pointedly, his glare on me being even more ferocious than Nancy's.

"I had to meet with Mrs. Glenn about my AP bio grade," I answered back sheepishly.

"Yawn, who asked?" Fred rolled his eyes.

"You did, actually," Robin said matter-of-factly beside me, smiling smugly over to the boy.

"Whatever, Buckley, I wasn't talking to you," Fred spat at Robin before turning back to me. "Anyways, y/n, I've got a story for you. The big rival game is on Friday and I buttered up Chad Beasley, y'know, the quarterback," he paused to fan himself dramatically, making me giggle briefly, before continuing, "to agree to do a post-game interview and I thought you'd be perfect for the job. What do you say?"

"Actually, I need y/n to cover the water fountain in the west wing being repaired," Nancy piped up before I could answer, tearing Fred's intense eye contact away from me.

"Just shove that one off to one of the sophomores or something," Fred waved off Nancy dismissively.

"I'm the editor and I know best, okay?" Nancy pressed, staring Fred down determinedly.

"But, Nancy-"

"Fred, this is not up for discussion," Nancy insisted before scooting her chair back and walking away from the table.

"What the hell is her problem?" Fred scoffed.

"Beats me," I shrugged, my movements constricted by Steve's heavy arm over my shoulders.

"Listen, I'll talk to her, 'kay? 'Kay," Fred said, giving me a tight-lipped smile before rising himself and running after Nancy. "Nance, wait up!"

I scrunched my eyebrows together, utterly confused at Nancy's vitriolic insistence to swat the rival game story away from me. She'd been thwarting me away from any sort of interesting story lately, actually. That, on top of her weird behavior: snide comments under her breath, dirty glances when she didn't think I was looking, made me wonder just how much she actually knew. About me and Steve, possibly about me and Eddie. While my head reeled with anxiety over the situation, Steve was blissfully ignorant, per usual, as he leaned further into my side to grab another handful of pretzels.

"Y'know, if you wanted, we should go to the theater after school," Steve offered, his lips too close to my ear for comfort before he popped the pretzels into his mouth, crunching obnoxiously between words. "They're showing Nightmare on Elm Street 2."