Our table was right by the bar, lit in neon colors that bounced off Maison’s gold chain and made him look even finer than usual. The DJ was still going dumb, blending bounce with throwback R&B, and the hookah had the whole section hazy like we were inside a music video.
“I ordered us a blueberry-mint mix,” Maison said, passing me the hookah hose and leaning back.
I took a slow pull and let the smoke float out my lips like a spell. “Oh, this real smooth,” I said, blinking slow like I was in a commercial.
He smirked. “Told you. I don’t miss.”
The waitress brought out our drinks—two frozen daiquiris, one purple, one green, both in glasses big enough to bathe a small child. “Now we official,” I said, clinking mine against his.
“Cheers, girlfriend,” he teased.
“Period, boyfriend.”
We had just started sipping when the couple at the next table leaned over. They looked about our age, matching designer fits, both fine as hell and clearly on the same time we were on.
“You two are so cute together,” the woman said, grinning. “How long have y’all been together?”
Before I could say something basic, Maison said,dead serious, “Five years. She was my waitress at a waffle house.”
I almost choked on my daiquiri.
“She spilled orange juice on me,” he continued, “and told me I looked like the type to cheat.”
The other couple was laughing so hard they had to wipe their eyes.
I played along, fanning myself dramatically. “And he told me I looked like the type to key a man’s car over an Instagram like.”
“You do give that energy,” the other woman said, nodding.
“Exactly,” Maison said, wrapping his arm around me. “That’s when I knew I wanted her forever. Ain’t nothing like chaos to start a real love story.”
We all laughed, but then he turned to me with that mock-serious expression he wore too well. “Ain’t that right, babe? Even though you still bring up that time I forgot our anniversary…”
I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes. “Because you took me to Golden Corral and called it luxury.”
The man at the next table spit his drink out. “Not Golden Corral!”
Maison clutched his chest. “Don’t do that. I let you get the buffet and a to-go plate!”
“Oh, you’re real generous, huh?” I said, fighting my smile.
“You see this?” the woman told her boyfriend. “This is that real love.”
They were eating it up like we were on a reality show, laughing and vibing and taking shots with us. But what they didn’t know and what they couldn’t feel, was how turned on I was by the whole thing.
It wasn’t even the game we were playing.
It was the way he was playing it with me.
The way he was so effortlessly down for the chaos. The way his hand found my thigh under the table. The way his thumb rubbed small circles intentionally. Like we had been together five years, and not just a few days into a thrill ride.
He leaned over, lips brushing the shell of my ear, and whispered, “You like being my fake girlfriend, huh?”
I exhaled slow, drunk off more than daiquiris. “You just like how real it feels.”
He looked me in my eyes. “Well, wait ‘til we get outta here. I’m about to make you forget this whole day was a lie.”
We were drunk. Not tipsy. Not “oops, I feel it in my knees” drunk.
