Because you don’t fake date in private. You fake date in public. That’s the fucking point.
My chest tightens as I remember the way the media wrote about me after Heather died, the stories they told about us as a couple, the assumptions they made about how I felt.
But Remy’s not asking me to talk to the press, or the fans, or anyone, really. Fact is, Remy only asked me to escort her to a few wedding events. I’m the one who wanted to stick it to her ex by making a whole deal of this. Calling her my date. Saying I’m her guy.
I really didn’t think this through, I realize, as I approach the Golden Gate Bridge.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this whole thing?” she asks, breaking the silence. “It’s not like we’ve announced we’re dating or anything. We can just…go back to being co-workers again. I can go to all the wedding events by myself. I’m a big girl.”
Or she could find some random dude to be her arm candy.
The thought grinds my gears. I yank the car over into the visitor center and park at a scenic overlook by the water, the majestic orange arches rising in front of us.
I can’t believe it’s our first non-date, and I’m already fucking up. Then again, maybe I can.
I blow out a breath, look her in the eyes, and speak from the heart. “Look, I’m pretty private, so all the planning and stuff threw me. But of course you can tell your boss.”
“And what if Ivan asks you something? Or another guy on the team?”
“I’ll say it’s none of their fucking business who I date,” I say.
She hitches in a breath like that answer worked for her. “Good.”
She was probably worried her fake boyfriend was backing out before this even started. No fucking way am I going to be that guy. “I’m in, Remy,” I tell her, making sure she knows I mean it from the bottom of my scarred heart. I meet her eyes, lingering for a few seconds, wishing I could touchher shoulder, her arm, her wrist to reassure her. But I resist. “That’s a promise.”
Her shoulders relax. Her gaze softens. “And don’t worry about Daniel. He’s pretty cool about all things, and he kind of likes me a lot,” she says with ago figureshrug.
“What a shock,” I deadpan.
“Hey, what does that mean?” she asks, teasingly.
“Remy, everyone on the Foxes likes you. You’re just…likeable. And I’ll go along with whatever you need to say. I don’t want it to be weird for you at work. Or when it ends.” Not that I want to think about that right now. “I’ll make sure everything is accounted for in your spreadsheet,” I tease, pulling back on the road. “You spreadsheet nerd.”
“There’s a lot more to cover from that spreadsheet.”
“Can’t wait to find out.”
“In due time, Lake,” she says, smiling, and everything is right in the world again.
I head onto the bridge, across the gleaming water, then through the rolling green hills of Sausalito. “Thanks,” I say.
She gives me a curious look. “For what?”
“Just for this,” I say.
Thisbeingputting up with me.
I focus on driving to the surprise date this woman planned for a broody, closed-off grump.
And I know why I insisted we fake date. I just want to spend time with her, and this feels like the only way I can. I’ll take what I can get, and I better not mess it up.
A few minutes later, she points to an exit, and I follow her lead. At the end of the off-ramp, she directs me until she has me pulling into the parking lot of a…Costco.
Weird. “Do you need to run some errands?”
She shakes her head. “Nope.”
“Do you need a jumbo size of something?”
