Page 55 of The Wild Card

“You know,” Foster says, pulling out his phone, “we should exchange numbers. In case this one—” he jerks his thumb at me “—ever needs an intervention. Or you need someone to complain to.”

“I won’t need an intervention,” I mutter.

Emmie snorts, already typing her number into Foster’s phone. “Done. Use it wisely.”

“Oh, I will.” He pockets the phone with a satisfied look. “I’m going to send you every embarrassing story I have on this guy and there are many.”

“I’m counting on it.”

They’re grinning at each other now, and something hot prickles at the back of my neck. This is fine. My partner and my fake girlfriend exchanging numbers to bond over my shortcomings. It’s exactly how I wanted this evening to go.

“So.” Foster leans in, dropping his voice like they’re co-conspirators. “How’s Operation Fake Girlfriend going? He loosening up at all?”

“Marginally. He let me pick the movie last night.”

“Groundbreaking.”

“Right? He only complained twice.”

I stand there, arms crossed, while they discuss me like I’m not here.

“She’s good for you,” Foster says, finally acknowledging my existence. “I stand by what I said at happy hour. You’re punching above your weight class.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.” He turns back to Emmie, expression shifting. “Listen. You ever get tired of this one—if the brooding gets old, if he forgets how to use words—”

“Foster.”

“—just say the word.” He winks. “The offer stands.”

Emmie laughs. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Something dark twists in my gut. He’s joking. I know he’s joking. This is what Foster does—pokes and prods because he thinks it’s hilarious. But watching him lean into her space, watching her smile up at him, watching them have this easy thing that I can’t seem to manage—

It doesn’t feel like a joke. It feels like a threat.

“We should mingle.” I reach for Emmie’s elbow. “Daniels is watching.”

“Daniels is talking to the mayor,” Foster points out.

“Someone’s watching.”

“No one is—” He stops, studying my face. His grin widens. “Oh. I see what’s happening here.”

“Nothing’s happening.”

“You’re jealous.” Foster grins.

“I’m not jealous.”

“You’re absolutely jealous.” He looks delighted. “This is the best night of my life.”

“Goodbye, Foster.”

He backs off, hands raised. “Alright, alright. Far be it from me to get in the way of… whatever this is.” He disappears into the crowd, and I’m left with my hand on Emmie’s arm and something I refuse to name burning in my chest.

“You know he’s just messing with you, right?” She tilts her head, studying me. “The whole ‘take you off his hands’ thing.”