Theo:You still up for dinner? Need me to make up an excuse to cancel?
Fable:Depends on the excuse.
Theo:Sorry, we can’t come. Fable got arrested for murder.
A choked laugh bursts out of me, and I start to reply, but more excuses come through.
Theo:She’s taking her boating exam.
Theo:She’s writing an essay about why Aragorn was her first crush.
Theo:That last one is the most believable.
Fable:??
Fable:I’m going to dinner. That insulation isn’t going to install itself.
Theo:I’ll pick you up at six. It’s a date.
Fable:It’s a work dinner.
Theo:It’s a dating work dinner.
This is business. These are work events.That mantra has served me well for the last three days, and I’ll keep a grip on it until my nails bleed. No matter how much Theo teases me about it.
With a frustrated groan, I swipe out of the text chain and open my contacts. My first instinct is to call Mia for fashion advice. She’s been curating my clothing choices since ninth grade, when she called an intervention because I’d been wearing my soccer jersey to school every day. (You’re a spring, she told me, flipping through her mom’s color analysis book.You look like a corpse in this shade of red.)
However, aside from a few texts back and forth—Mia: omfg Theo told me you’re fake dating??? Fable: It’s more like a business arrangement. Mia: Debra Messing and Dermot Mulroney had a “business arrangement” in The Wedding Date, and we all knowhow that turned out??—we haven’t had our usual once-a-week, catch-up-for-hours phone call. And I don’t have the time or stamina to argue with her about how this is nothing like Debra and Dermot.
I scroll to my next best option.
“Cute bra, but you forgot a shirt,” Tessa points out when she appears on my screen, lying on her couch, a charcoal mask smeared over her face, and a purple Popsicle in her free hand.
“That’s why you’re here.” I prop the phone up on my nightstand and step back until she can see me from the knees up. “What the hell does a person wear to their fake boyfriend’s best friend’s house for dinner? I need my most fashionable sister’s advice.”
She points her Popsicle at me. “I’ll help if I can tell Millie you gave me that title.”
“I’ll put it on a mug. Now, how are these jeans?” I turn for her to see the full view of how the black denim hugs the curves of my hips.
“Literally perfect. Bring a towel though, because Theo’s going to be drooling all night.”
I laugh that off, even as the thought settles low and heavy in my stomach.
“I know you’re going to cover up that bra, but just so you’re aware, that would kill him.”
Glancing down at the emerald-green lace, I smile to myself. Lingerie is one of my favorite forms of self-care. Ilove how the silky, delicate fabrics are just for me—simply because they make me feel beautiful. Sexy. Strong. It’s not really something I have the budget to indulge in lately, but I found this matching set tucked into the back corner of my dresser and thought it deserved an outing. And even though no one—well, except Tessa, I guess—is going to see it, it makes me feel pretty.
“This is aworkdinner. We’re not trying to kill anyone.”
She lets out a skeptical “Mm-hmm,” then asks, “Where is that sage-green sweater you wore to dinner in Wilhelmina last month?”
I turn and scoot Knocks out of the way to rifle through the mess until I find it. Pulling the sweater onto my shoulders, I fold the sides across my body and tie the string to hold the wrap in place.
“That’s the one.” Tessa bites off a chunk of Popsicle and crunches through it a few times. “You look hot. Leave your hair down, add your sexy leather jacket, andbam. RIP, Theo.”
Stepping toward the phone, I examine my reflection a little closer. The neckline brushes smoothly over the top swell of my breasts, then dips down to a vee in the middle, giving away a subtle hint of cleavage. The fabric hugs my stomach and ends right at my high-waisted jeans.
I’ll be honest, I’m not trying tokillTheo, but the thought of him being a little...torturedtonight sure does make my insides all warm and fizzy for some reason.
