Jamar: We’ve been outed.
A moment later, the link to a TikTok video appeared. Taylor clicked on it and waited for the video to open in the app. It started with an image of Jamar handing her a pineapple in Whole Foods. Whoever posted the video had added thought bubbles just above their heads. Taylor’s said “best couple ever” and Jamar’s had “couple envy”—as if either of them would ever think those words.
Taylor had to admit she was impressed by the editing, but as the nineteen-second clip played, she realized their covert videographer had followed them around the store, snapping pictures of them in the produce section, the deli, and at the checkout counter. It freaked her out a bit.
Taylor: Oh well. It was only a matter of time. At least I look cute in all the pics. :)
Jamar: Very cute.
Her stomach executed a perfect somersault. Before she could spend a single minute overanalyzing the meaning behind those two words, he followed up with another text she longed to overanalyze.
Jamar: Maybe we need to go on a date that isn’t at the grocery store. Give the public something to really talk about.
It wasn’t as if this was coming out of left field. She was the one who’d written “several pretend dates” in the playbook sitting right there on her countertop. So why did this suddenly feel too much like the real thing?
Taylor: I guess we should.
Jamar: What are you doing today?
Taylor: U mean besides kicking ur ass in the gym?
Jamar:
Jamar: What are you doing after you’re finished with my ass?
She was smiling so much that her cheeks ached, but she couldn’t stop.
She wrote: this is starting to get dirty. But then she erased it. Maybe it was just her own dirty mind’s interpretation. Instead, she typed: Is this how u talk to all ur girlfriends? Then she erased that too. She meant it as a joke, but what if he didn’t read it that way?
Jamar: What?
Taylor: What?
Jamar: Those dots keep appearing like you’re trying to text, but then they disappear.
Shit. Technology could be a real son of a bitch at times.
Taylor: Yes. Time to take our fake relationship to the next level. Wine and dine me, 23.
Jamar:
Taylor burst out laughing. Just then, the video hub on her kitchen counter lit up with an incoming call, undoubtedly from her mother. Her parents had sent her the device for her birthday, and they were the only ones who used it to call her. Well, her mother used it. The Colonel was satisfied with a quick Just checking on you text once every other week.
She pressed the green answer button. “Hey, Mom, what’s up?”
Her mother stood at the granite countertop in their newly remodeled kitchen, unloading groceries from a cloth grocery bag. Her sensible bob cut didn’t have a strand of hair out of place.
“What are you smiling about?” her mother asked.
Taylor looked up from her phone. “Nothing,” she answered.
Taylor: I need to go. TTYL.
She added a heart emoji without thinking, and hit send.
“Fuck!”
“Taylor Renee!” Gail Powell screeched. “I’m sorry!” Taylor said. “Give me a sec, Ma.”
