And that should worry me more than it does.
“What?” I ask.
He shifts his helmet bag higher on his shoulder.
“Fake date me.”
I actually laugh.
Not because it’s funny.
Because my brain rejects it on impact.
“What?”
He says it slower, like I’m the one having trouble keeping up.
“Fake. Date. Me.”
I stare.
He shrugs one shoulder.
“You need people to stop looking at you like you just got run over by a love story.”
My jaw tightens.
“And your idea is…”
“You date me.” He gestures vaguely between us. “For show.”
I blink at him twice.
“You cannot be serious.”
“I’m completely serious.”
“You are literally the last man on earth I would choose.”
He grins again.
“Perfect. That’s how you know it’ll work. Besides, we both already know the chemistry is there. People will buy it.”
I look around, just to check whether I am perhaps being filmed for some new hidden-camera trauma series.
Nope.
Still my life.
“Drew.”
“Isa.”
“Why would I fake date you? Especially since last time we chatted you were an ass.”
He counts off on his fingers.
“One, people stop pitying you.”
