My determination to help Barry triples.
“She’ll be honored to spend the weekend with a hero, Barry,” I say in a hushed tone. “You don’t have to worry.”
His low grunt is barely audible over the speakerphone.
When my color-coded screen betrays me, I slowly lower myself into my chair.
Oh no.
No.
The whole weekend is booked solid. All four of my sisters have already been assigned to jobs this weekend. With whales. Akaveryrich men. There is no way I could cancel those appointments without damaging our reputation.
But I can’t let Barry down, either.
No. An intuition tells me I’ll regret it my whole life.
I have no choice but to be Barry’s escort at the wedding, do I?
“Um.” I wet my lips. “Just so I can set your date’s expectations up front. Will you be…requiring physical pleasure of any kind?”
“No.” He answers right away. “God, no. I wouldn’t make a woman do that.”
Makeher? As in, it would be a chore?
Focus.
I’ll have to hire a temp. Make up some excuse for missing work.
When is the last time I lied about being sick? Can I get away with it again now?
“I’ll just take some details, Barry, including your credit card information. And then we’ll pick a meeting spot. You should meet your temporary girlfriend an hour or so prior to the event,don’t you think?” I swallow the trepidation in my throat. “She should learn a few things about you first. We wouldn’t want anyone to be the wiser. And don’t worry. You will beveryhappy with the girl I’m sending for your Girlfriend Treatment package.”
I sound so convincing, I almost believe myself.
Almost.
two
Barry
I keepmy head down as a group of people enter the diner.
My hands are folded on the table in front of me. The hood of my sweatshirt is pulled up as much as possible to hide the right side of my face. I’m trying to make myself as small and unnoticeable as possible, but I barely fit in this glittery red booth. The edge of the table cuts into my hard stomach, my knees pressing against the opposite booth.
A bead of sweat rolls down my spine.
I’m here to meet a woman.
My date for the wedding.
She’s probably going to take one look at me and dive out the glass window.
Although, the girl on the phone seemed so positive everything would be all right.
Christ. Am I taking the word of a nineteen-year-old?
That must be what happens when a man has no human contact for two years, except over the phone. A nineteen-year-old starts sounding wise.
