“Rules?” I’m still trying to get my brain to restart. “For fake dating?”
“Yeah. Like boundaries. Things we will and won’t do. So nobody gets confused or uncomfortable.”
Too late for that. I’m already completely confused and uncomfortably aware of how much I want to kiss my best friend again.
“That’s actually smart.”
She grabs the same notepad I used for the note I left for her this morning. “Okay. Rules for fake dating. Rule number one ...”
We both sit back down at the table, careful not to touch. I try to focus on making a list instead of replaying that kiss in my head.
I fail spectacularly.
Because now I know exactly what it’s like to kiss April Hansen, like I mean it.
And I’m not sure how I’m supposed to go back to pretending I don’t want to do it again.
And again.
And again.
“This is harder than I thought,” she admits.
It sure is.
“Rule one,” I say slowly. “We tell each other the truth. About everything. No secrets.”
Except for how I feel about her. That’ll end things before they even have a chance to begin.
She writes it down. “Rule two: No dating other people while we’re fake dating each other?”
“Is that a thing people do?”
“I don’t know! I’ve never fake-dated before!”
We’re both laughing again.
“No double fake dating. Moving on. Rule three: We check in regularly. Make sure we’re both okay with how things are going.”
“Good idea.” I lean back in my chair, getting comfortable because April is the only person in the world I could really fake date. Whitaker never expressly said I was fake-dating any of the women he set me up with, but for me, it wasn’t real. We’ve been friends for years, but what would I say? How do I tell him I fundamentally disagree with his approach to my career? I realize that it’s not the best logic, but I didn’t want to risk losing his friendship and potentially April if I’d asked to take her on a real date.
Letting out a breath, I say, “Rule four: We establish a special word.”
“A special word?”
“Yeah. Like if things get too weird or uncomfortable while in public, either of us can say it and we take a break.”
“What’s the word?”
I look around the apartment. My eyes land on Howie the garden gnome, who’s sitting on my kitchen counter because he found his way into my home from the arena last night. As one of the newer guys on the team, I sense it’s an initiation. Like they want to see what I do with it.
“Howie,” I say.
“The gnome?”
“Why not? It’s random enough that we won’t say it by accident.”
She writes it down. “Okay. Rule five: We keep the dogs out of it.”
