“No, you won’t,” I mutter, my mouth lifting at the corners. “I’ll outlive you.”
He snorts a laugh because we’ve had this discussion before, too. With an exasperated sigh, Rodney shakes his head. “You probably will, you smug bastard.” Looking down at the paper in front of him, he runs his fingertips across the top of a cluster of orchids, where his and Leif’s names are printed in an elegant font.
“Has Ned seen your art?” he asks.
“No.” With a heavy sigh, I lean back in my chair and cross my arms as I glare at him. “Why? Would you be jealous?”
He barks out a laugh. “Are you kidding? Of course, I’d be jealous. Mostly, I’d be relieved.”
My eyebrows lift. “Why?”
“Because it would be a sign you’re taking this thing with Ned seriously. That it could be something real.”
My heart leaps into my throat. “Itisreal,” I snap. “Have you seen my Instagram feed lately? Ned Corbyn is all over it.” I’ve made sure to post at least one photo for every date, as proof of our ongoing relationship. What’s the point of conning someone into being my boyfriend if no one sees him acting the part?
Grabbing my phone, I open the app and scroll through my feed to the photo I took of Ned and I out at Eat Street last Friday night. I hold it up, so Rodney’s forced to look at it. “See? You cannot possibly say we don’t look like a real couple.”
“You do, of course you do,” he assures me, a hand on his chest. “You know how much I love the ‘gram. I post photos with Leif all the time, and that pic of you with Ned is super cute.”
“I thought so too.” Turning the phone back around, I stare at the post. Ned has his arm slung around my neck and we each have a churro in hand. We’re holding them up like cigars and laughing as we bite the ends off. It’s not the best picture of me because I’m laughing so hard, but Ned claimed to love it for the same reason. It is a super cute photo, and even after this is all over, it’s a night I won’t ever want to forget. “We look real to me.”
“Toni.” The gentle admonition in Rodney’s voice makes my teeth clench, and when he clasps his hands together on the table, I know I’m about to cop a lecture. Ugh, I hate it when he acts all superior just because he can keep a man and I can’t. It’s not like there have been many men I’ve wanted to keep. Most of my dates have only been good for a few wham bams anyway. If the handful I would have liked to continue dating didn’t want to stick around, that’s not my fault.
“When I use the word real,” Rodney says, opening his lecture, “I’m not talking about how things look from the outside. I’m talking about the developing connection between you and Ned, the one no one else can see or feel or touch.”
I swallow hard, pulling a smirk onto my face. “Don’t you worry, we’re connecting in all kinds of ways.”
Rodney tuts in exasperation. “I don’t mean sex, either—although sex is part of it. I mean true intimacy. All the stuff you share when you’re alone. When the two of you are hanging out here, or at his place. When you’re talking about your day, snuggling on the couch, cooking a meal. That sort of thing.”
Ned and I have never done most of that stuff—hung out at home or cooked together. Unless you count putting bread in the toaster as a culinary bonding experience. Every date over the past four weeks has taken place in public. We’ve gone to restaurants. Seen movies at the cinema. We’ve danced in my favourite club.
Okay, there was the time Ned took one look at me and nearly keeled over in his eagerness to get inside my pants. Our date that night involved hours of sweaty, dirty sex, followed by takeout when we both realised we were famished. I can’t say I regret spending half the night edging him, Ned is a beautiful sight to behold when he begs, but I wouldn’t call it evidence of growing intimacy.
Ned has made a few attempts at digging deeper, I suppose. He’s asked me questions about my past, about my interests, and my opinions on different issues. Honestly, the whole thing has made me a bit squeamish. I’m much more comfortable focusing on others rather than myself. It’s harder to scare people off that way.
“We prefer to go out and do stuff,” I tell Rodney. “Deep and meaningfuls have never been my strong suit. People prefer fun-Toni. Besides, cooking-Toni could potentially hurt someone. He should not be allowed near a kitchen.”
Rodney drops his head in his hands. “Goddamn it, Toni. It’s the same old bullshit. You are dating a rock star,” he cries, “I will not let you mess it up without a fight.”
My eyes widen. “I am not messing it up, and what does any of this have to do with you anyway?” I may have invented the relationship as a way of saving face in front of him, but that does not mean he gets a say in how it plays out.
Rodney groans out loud. “Hello, I want to be able to skite about how Ned Corbyn comes over to my house for dinner on the regular. I can’t do that if you guys break up. Which means your usual turtle routine isn’t going to cut it this time.”
I’m a turtle now? “What the hell are you even talking about?”
He takes a deep breath before levelling a glare at me. “Every time a man shows real interest, you shut down. You pull your head back into your little Toni shell until they give up on you and go away.”
I gasp, choking on the strength of my indignation. “That is not true.”
“Then you act all surprised and pissed off about it,” he continues, “as if you never saw it coming.”
“Oh, and you always did, I suppose,” I scoff. “Well, let me be the first to thank you for the heads up you didn’t give me.”
He presses his lips together in a thin line. “I’m giving you one now,” he says in a low voice. “If you want this relationship with Ned to last, then eventually you will have to let him in.”
“Let him in,” I repeat in a hard tone. “Into my office, you mean? You think Ned will stay if I let him in my office.” Digging into my pocket I pull out the key that prompted this argument and toss it onto the table with a clatter. “Do you think this is magic? Is it the key to a fantasy land where I have potential boyfriends lining up at my door?” I burst out of my chair, pointing to the offending portal. “For fuck’s sake, Rodney, there is nothing in there worth seeing.”
Rodney’s frown deepens and he shakes his head sadly. “That’s the one thing you’ve never understood, Toni. Everything in there, every single thing you’ve ever created and hidden away, it’s all worth seeing.” He considers me for a long moment before he stands and picks up his bag. Slipping the pages I printed for him carefully inside, he does up the zipper and slips it over his shoulder.
