Tiff joins a second later, her medical scrubs wrinkled, microbraids yanked into a bun that means she’s halfway through a double shift. “If this is another rant about rookies, I’m hanging up.”
“It’s worse,” I say, my heart already thumping like it knows this story’s about to ruin me.
Tiff groans as she rolls her eyes. “You didn’t send another email to the wrong thread, did you?”
“Worse.”
“Oh, this is going to be good.” Maria’s grin spreads as she takes a long sip of wine.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, willing the words to come out in some sort of logical order. “Okay. So, you know how my mom’s been on her whole‘When are you going to find a nice man?’crusade?”
“Every conversation for the last six months?” Tiff responds, motioning for me to pick up the pace of the conversation.
“This morning, she called while I was in the elevator, and there was this guy next to me—tall, unfairly attractive, obviously allergic to silence—and she asked if I was seeing anyone.”
“And?” Maria leans forward, eyes gleaming.
“And I panicked and said yes.”
Both women freeze.
“You told your mother you have a boyfriend?” Tiff asks carefully.
“Yup.”
“Oh my God. Did he hear you?” Maria gasps like she’s just discovered a plot twist in her own soap opera.
“He did.”
Tiff’s groan could shake the earth. “Alycia.”
“And then,” I continue, heat crawling up my neck, “because apparently I have zero survival instincts, I bribed him to be my fake boyfriend so my mom would get off my back.”
There’s a full beat of horrified silence before the inevitable explosion.
Maria nearly chokes on her wine. “Youbribeda man to pretend to date you?”
“Fifty bucks felt fair.”
“Fifty?” Tiff sputters. “Girl, that’s gas money, not emotional labor. Does he even know your last name?”
“I don’t think so, but that’s not even the end of it.” I squeeze my eyes shut, words tumbling faster now. “He went along with it, and my mom invited him to dinner tonight so she can get to know him better.”
“I know you said he was hot, but how hot are we talking? On a scale of one to ten.” Maria’s shriek hits a pitch only dogs should hear.
“Maria,” Tiff warns, but even she’s leaning forward now. “Why does it even matter?”
“He’s… fine.”
“I need this information to determine how screwed she is.” Maria arches an eyebrow.
My mouth opens, then shuts again. “He’s so hot that my brain short-circuited for a full three seconds, and I forgot my own name.” “Oh, no.” Tiff bites back a laugh, shaking her head slowly. “We’re talking…tall and ruin-your-credit-scorehot?”
I cover my face with one hand, laughing despite myself.
Maria is laughing so hard she’s crying. “You’re my hero. You’re out here living in a Hallmark movie directed by Quentin Tarantino.”
“It’s not funny,” I say, though my voice is already shaking with laughter. “She wants him at dinner tonight at seven. I’m meeting him in thirty minutes at a coffee shop to go over fake backstory details so my mother doesn’t see through the act.”
