Brandon looks like he's having an out-of-body experience. “We're not… I mean, we don't…”
“That's right,” I jump in, my voice pitched about an octave higher than normal. “What I mean is, I usually stay at his place. Because it's bigger. And has a better…shower.”
The lies are just pouring out of me now, each one digging the hole deeper. Brandon's staring at me like I've lost my mind, which I probably have.
“Perfect!” my mother exclaims, clapping her hands together. “Then I'll just stay here in Stella's apartment for a few days, and you two can continue your normal routine at Brandon's place. Problem solved!”
The room goes completely silent. I can hear the air conditioning humming, the distant sound of traffic outside, the rapid beating of my own heart as the full magnitude of what just happened hits me.
“That's…” I have absolutely no idea how to finish that sentence.
“Wonderful,” Brandon says faintly, though he looks anything but convinced. “Just…wonderful.”
“Well, it was lovely to meet you, Brandon, but I'm absolutely exhausted. All that traveling has worn me out,” my mother says, settling onto my couch like she owns the place. “Don't let mekeep you from your evening plans. I'm sure you two want to get back to Brandon's place and get settled.”
She's looking at us expectantly, clearly waiting for us to pack up and leave so she can take over my apartment.
“Right,” I say weakly. “We should…go do that. Get settled.”
Brandon nods slowly, his charm starting to slip. “Settled. At my place. Where we…usually stay. Together.”
“How sweet,” my mother coos. “Young love is just so precious.”
And that's how Brandon Grimaldi, who, ten minutes ago, was my neighbor offering to give me dating advice, becomes my live-in fake boyfriend for the next week.
I really need to work on my impulse control.
eleven
. . .
Brandon
I unlockmy apartment door and step aside to let Stella pass, watching her as she paces a tight circle in my entryway like a caged animal.
“Fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck,” she mutters, wrapping her arms around herself. “I just told my mother you're my boyfriend. My mother, Brandon.”
“Stella—”
“She's going to expect us to act like a couple. Like, a real couple.” She stops pacing and stares at me with wide, panicked eyes. “What have I done?”
The sight of normally composed, always-has-a-plan Stella completely losing her shit is, honestly, kind of endearing. I should be pissed. Any sane person would be pissed about being volunteered as someone's fake boyfriend without so much as a heads up.
But instead, I find myself wanting to laugh.
“She loves hotels. She's up to something. I think she's forcing us together because I said it was new and early and she's trying to make sure it turns into something!”
“Breathe,” I tell her, closing the door behind us. “It's not the end of the world.”
“Not the end of the—” She gapes at me. “Brandon, I just dragged you into the most ridiculous fake dating scheme in the history of fake dating schemes. You should be furious. You should be throwing me out of your apartment. You should be?—”
“Making you some tea and figuring out how to pull this off without your mom realizing you're a terrible liar?”
She blinks. “You're not mad?”
I should be. I really should be. But the truth is, watching Stella panic is actually making me feel weirdly protective. Plus, there's something about the way she looked when she asked for my help with the whole flirting-with-guys thing earlier—although it still irritates me that she thinks landing a decent guy is some kind of impossible mission she needs my expertise to complete.
“Look, you were cornered. Your mom ambushed you.” I head to the kitchen, mostly because I need something to do with my hands. “Besides, didn't you just ask me to help you get better at talking to guys? Consider this an intensive workshop.”
