I’m gullible enough to believe Zoey needed to use the restroom, which is why we raced home. And so, I was blindsided when she brought up Jess being at the church, and worse yet, her nonsensical plan to pretend we’re a couple just to anger him.
It has disaster written all over it.
But like always, she has that whole Angela debacle hanging over my head, and I’m just her little bitch who bows down like a pathetic dog.
Angela—the thorn in my side.
Every man’s worst nightmare.
Angela was a psychotic maniac who staged a fake pregnancy to get me to settle down. Apart from Zoey, she had major trust issues with any woman who stepped foot near me. At first, I thought I was lucky to score a hot chick who had her head screwed on straight—stunning body, great career, and a stable family.
Then, the alarm bells started ringing. She would turn up at my work almost every shift, certain I was fucking another colleague. My cell would constantly disappear, and later, I found out it was because she would raid my messages, looking for anything incriminating. She would constantly stalk my social media and bully any woman who commented on my page which, in turn, she would cyberstalk.
It was the worst three months of my life.
And even after a restraining order was put on her, I still had to pretend I had left the country. Zo, of course, hatched one of her foolproof plans and luckily it worked, and Angela moved on to another man.
But this? Argh.
Again, disaster written all over it.
Just the sound of his name makes my skin crawl. Yet there’s something in Zo’s eyes that sparkle when his name graces her lips. The mere fact he was at the wedding should have been a good reason for Zoey not to go. I don’t understand why she, or women in general, need closure and all that bullshit.
Fucking move on I say—sayonara.
The past is the past. Let it remain that way.
“So maybe we should come up with a plan?” she suggests, tampering with the radio once again. She settles on Billy Idol, dialing the volume down slightly, enough so we can still converse as White Wedding plays through the speakers.
My hands clutch the steering wheel as I continue to drive in silence. It’s an hour trip to the outskirts of town where the reception is being held. Enough time for Zo—and these suit pants—to drive me fucking insane. My balls feel restricted, confined in my extra-tight boxers. If only I could unzip and let it hang free. Now that right there would be an entertaining conversation.
“It just has to be believable, you know, me being your girlfriend.”
Raising an inquiring eyebrow I’m slightly offended. “You don’t think it looks believable?”
“Well, no. Only because I went on and on about how you were more like a brother and how nothing could ever happen between us.”
It doesn’t surprise me. When it comes to our relationship, we’re forever defining it. Like brother and sister, best friends, roomies, you name it. But something about her comment irks me. I could so be her boyfriend. Or at least make everyone in the room believe we’re a couple.
“Why did he hate me so much? I did nothing for him to think there was something going on between us,” I point out. “And I brought women home all the time.”
“He had a complex about you. And he thought when we were alone, you and… you know…” she trails off awkwardly.
“What?” I probe.
“Bumped uglies.”
I laugh at her terminology and her innocence. “Firstly, you’re beautiful, so it’s impossible for Zoey Richards to ‘bump uglies.’ As for me, I would like to think I don’t fall into the ugly category.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You know you’re all hot and yummy,” she rumbles under her breath. Taking her Lipsmacker out, she applies it over her lipstick. What an odd thing to do.
The small tube has the Fanta logo stamped on it. I love Fanta, not that I drink much soda. I bet she would taste so good.
Rambling on, she continues, “So, all I’m saying is that we need to make this couple thing look believable. No awkwardness, okay? Like when I kiss you or something.”
Or something. That could be open to much interpretation.
If Zoey wants a boyfriend, then a boyfriend is what she’ll get.