The words land between us, heavy. His voice is rough enough to make my panic spike, because he’s right and we both know it.
“That’s what you’re really worried about, right?”
My face burns. I rub at my cheeks and tug my T-shirt that’s suddenly too tight. “No. That’s not—I’m talking about the store.”
“It’s okay if you aren’t.”
“But I am.”
I think I am.
I don’t want todatedate Jack Murphy. I don’t care how good he looks in his dumb glasses. And to be clear, it’s really fucking unfair just how incredible he looks in them.
I toss up my hands. I can’t believe I’m doing this. “I will go on three public dates, but only if you agree to my rules.”
“Great.” He rocks back on his heels, and I can see him trying not to smile.
“Good,” I echo back, less convincingly than I’d like.
He glances at the clock and scratches the back of his neck. “All right. Good then. You have my number, and I have yours. I’ll text you soon.”
“Sure.”
He pushes at the door, then stops, spinning toward me. “Hey, Izzy.”
“Yes?”
“You just agreed to go out with me.”
“Only for pretend, Murphy. Oh, and one last thing.”
He raises his eyebrows.
“You have until New Year’s, then we’re done. Three dates or not.”
His lips split into that perfect, handsome grin, reckless as ever, and I try to squash down the butterflies in my stomach.
“Challenge accepted.”
The bell chimes as he steps out, like it’s mocking me.Ring—You’re making a mistake. Ring—what were you thinking? Ring—What the actual fuck?Through the window, he pauses on the sidewalk, shake his head, then pull his hat down low again and stuff his hands in his pockets.
I’ve just agreed to fake-date Jack Murphy. I’m either a genius or an idiot, and I have a sinking feeling I won’t know which until it’s too late.
Chapter 9
Jack
“You didn’t tell me that you were leaving me for a younger woman,” June says.
Before I can answer, she throws her head back and cackles at my confusion.
“I-17!” Mr. Leechman adjusts his red square glasses and gazes out over the crowded rec room at the senior center like a king surveying his kingdom, smugly satisfied.
Bingo and ABBA are both serious business in this town.
I scan the row of bingo cards my grandmother and her friends dared me to buy. Dammit. No I-17 on any of these. They’re kicking my ass.
They’re roasting me too.
