Chloe’s helping clear tables—because of course she is, even though there’s staff for that. I watch her fold napkins, stack plates, move efficiently through the room like she’s trying to be useful.
Trying to earn her place at her own sister’s party.
It breaks something in me.
I catch her wrist gently. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
We say our goodbyes—Maya hugs Chloe tight, whispers something I can’t hear. Derek shakes my hand, holds it a second too long.
“See you at practice,” he says.
It’s not friendly. It’s a warning.
I nod. “See you.”
“Well,” I say, pulling out of the parking lot, “that was a disaster.”
Chloe looks at me, startled. “What?”
“Oh no,youwere great.” I flash my most reassuring smile. “And I think Maya and your parents are sold. But there’s no way Derek believes us. Not to mention I bowled like someone who’s never seen a ball before.”
“You weren’t that bad.”
“I was objectively terrible.”
She almost smiles. “Okay, you were pretty bad.”
“See? Disaster.”
“And I think we convinced most people,” she offers.
“Most people aren’t the problem. Derek is. And the couples shower is in two weeks.” I grip the steering wheel tighter. “We need to do this better.”
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t know you were good at bowling. I didn’t know you went to college here. I don’t know your middle name or your favorite movie or—” I stop myself before I sayHow to make you laugh every day the way you did while bowling.
She’s quiet.
I continue. “We don’t really know each other. Not the stuff real couples know. And Derek’s going to figure that out.”
“So what do we do?”
I glance at her as I merge onto the highway. “We fix it. A real date. Not a performance. Just us.”
CHLOE
We fix it. A real date. Not a performance. Just us.
The wordreallands in my chest like a stone dropped into deep water, and I’m nodding before my brain catches up to what I’m agreeing to, which is how people end up in cults or time-shares or other situations that are universally assumed to be bad news.
“Okay,” I manage. “I’m free Monday.”
Earth to Chloe—what part of “fake boyfriend” do the two of you not understand?
He glances at me as we merge onto the highway. “All right, then, Monday it is. I’ll pick you up for dinner. Seven.”
I turn to the window and thank God for the darkness hiding my furiously blushing face.
