"What?" I finally growl when we're a few minutes from her place.
"Would you really help Tye hide bodies?"
"In a heartbeat."
"Why?" she asks and then seems to think better of the question. "I mean…never mind. Obviously, it's because he's your bestie. That's why I asked you to date me, you know. I trust you."
Considering that I want to defile her in ways that will send me straight to hell with a smile on my face, I'm the last man on the face of the planet she should trust.
"Why do you want to date anyway?"
"I already told you that my life is over if I don't."
"Why, Hattie?" I growl.
"Because my mom has decided that I need a date for Tye's wedding. If I don't find one myself, she's going to find one for me." Her wide eyes meet mine when I glance over at her. "She makes terrible decisions, Sidney."
"Can't be that bad," I lie, already planning murder. No one is dating Hattie. They'll die first.
"Oh, yeah? She wants me to go with her friend's son, Cory," Hattie says, her tone rife with offense. "I went out with him twice when I was on break last summer. He spent the entire second date planning our future. I was supposed to quit college, pop out five kids, and then be a doting housewife with no goals of my own except to cater to his needs." She glowers at me. "I don't even know how to cook!"
"Jesus H. Christ."
"And then," she says, as if what she's already revealed isn't bad enough, "he had the audacity to criticize my interests. Apparently, romance is demonic and onlylow-quality womenread it."
My brows furrow. "What the fuck is a low-quality woman?"
"Me, apparently." Her scowl blackens, which would be fucking cute if I weren't so pissed on her behalf. Who the fuck teaches men this bullshit? They should be publicly stoned. Men doing dumb shit? I get that. We're fucking human. We screw up. Epically, sometimes. Just ask my idiot brother, who is currently trying to fix his epic fuck up. But men thinking they're superior to women? That's some bullshit. Men like that don't even deserve to breathe the same air as women.
"I cannot go to this wedding with Cory," Hattie swears. "I will die."
"You aren't going with him."
"You're right. I'll find someone else," she sighs.
I snap. I swear to God, I do. I can't even explain what happens. I see a vision of her in a gorgeous dress, draped on the arm of some asshole who doesn't appreciate her for the treasure she is, and that's all I can think about—Hattie, laughing with someone who isn't me. Hattie, happy with someone who isn't me. Or, worse, Hattie, miserable because of some prick who doesn't deserve the honor of existing in the same space as her.
"No!"
She gapes at me.
Well, shit.
I turn into her driveway before turning to face her. "I mean…that's not necessary. You're going with me."
Tye is going to kill me. Or I'll die trying to keep my hands to myself. But there is no world where I willingly let her go with someone else. That world simply does not exist.
"I…" Her expression turns hopeful as the streetlights spotlight her face. "Really? You'll date me?"
Fuck.
"I mean, you aresonot my type, so it'll only be pretend," she says in a rush, like she's trying to sweeten the deal. "I just need you for the bachelor/bachelorette weekend, the rehearsal, and the wedding, then we can fake a break-up or whatever. I'll even tell Tye that you're just doing me a favor so he doesn't turn into a drama llama. But my mom can't know it's all for show. She'll never let me get away with it."
I'm not her type? Fuck me. Why does the thought of her having a type piss me off?
Right, because there is exactly only one woman on this planet who is my type…and she just told me that I'm not hers. Fuck that noise. If she wants to think us dating is pretend, I'll let her.
At this point, I'm just desperate and unhinged enough to take what she's offering and run with it…all the way to the damnaltar. Preferably before her brothers find out, because there won't be a break-up.
