She does the sad eyes thing, where she feels sorry for me.
“Quit doing that.” I wave a hand in front of her face. “I’m a perfectly capable reader now.” As a child I’d had dyslexia so severe I eventually found myself in a school specifically designed to meet the needs of children with the diagnosis, and teach ways to overcome the learning disability. But not before being teased relentlessly in my first school, where I’d clam up and stutter when it was my turn to read out loud. “It should please you to know I’m going to start an account.”
Eden’s eyes widen, excitement dancing in the light brown.
“But I won’t be running it,” I add.
Her eyebrows pinch in confusion.
“A marketing firm will do it all for me.” I think. Right? A tingle of trepidation trips down my spine. I don’t fully know what I’ve gotten myself into. I’ll learn more on Monday at the meeting Paisley invited me to attend with her team.
“With what money?” Eden asks. Paisley’s mother hit the nail on the head when she called me a starving artist.
“Well, here’s the thing—” I cut off, every muscle in my body stiffening as Oliver gets the ball.
He takes one touch. Then two. Fakes out a defender with a step-over I taught him last season.
He winds up, kicks the ball, and it sails into the net, just out of reach of the goalie.
Eden and I jump up and down, arms pumping the air as we shout. Oliver looks at us and beams. He points at me and recreates the step-over.
Cupping my hands around my mouth, I shout, “Way to go, bud!”
The game resets in the center of the field, and Eden says, “You were saying?”
“No money is exchanged,” I answer, my heart still battering my chest bones as the excitement fades. “The owner of the marketing firm is someone I know from college. We bartered.”
Eden’s eyebrows shoot up her forehead. “Bartered? What did you have to offer? I highly doubt anybody wants your collection of pewter Lord of the Rings figurines.”
“Ha ha,” I deadpan.
Eden stares at me. “Spit it out. What did you offer this person?”
“My...” My brain scrambles for a word. “...services.” I wince. That was a poor word choice.
Eden’s face twists in horror. “Like a stud?”
Rolling my eyes at my sister, I shake my head. “No. I?—”
She holds up a hand. “Never mind, I do not want to know.”
“Paisley’s ex-boyfriend is marrying her little sister, and a joke went sideways, and now her family thinks I’m her boyfriend, so I’m going to be her pretend boyfriend for a week while she handles my book marketing.” I explain to her the logistics and location.
Eden stares at me. “That’s either really smart, or really stupid. I’m not sure which.”
“I’m aware.”
Eden punches me lightly in my arm. “What’s Paisley like? Maybe you should try real dating her, instead offakedating.”
Crossing my arms, I say, “She kind of dislikes me.”
Eden shakes her head as if she’s heard me incorrectly. “You’re going to spend one week on an island pretending to be attracted to somebody who kind of dislikes you?” She throws her arms in the air. “What could possibly go wrong?” Sarcasm oozes from every word. “It sounds more like a bad idea than a good one, Klein.”
I shrug, feigning indifference. Bad idea or not, I made a deal. Also, there’s no way I’m touching social media. “It’s low risk, high reward. I want to make my dreams of becoming an author a reality. All I have to do is fly across the country and spend a week on an island watching the wedding shenanigans of the wealthy. There will likely be loads of top-shelf alcohol and good food.”
Eden taps her chin, considering my words. “And cake,” she adds, getting on board. “You do love a good cake.”
I nod. “Precisely.” It’s a running joke in our family that as a kid, I was the first in line for every birthday cake, even if it wasn’t mine.
