“And you’re probably not even ready to date again,” I offer, and then I wonder why I’m saying that. Why am I pointing out that it’s too soon? Oh right, I’m doing it because it’s my armor. Buckle it on, tighten it up. I need the steel covering to protect myself, lest he realizes I once wanted more from him.
“I haven’t really dated since Denise left,” he says.
The mention of her name makes my jaw tick. I hate that Denise hurt him. How could she not see what she had in front of her? Ingrate.
“I hear ya. You’re not ready to get back out there,” I say.
“Exactly. But I do need help. You don’t mind?”
“I don’t mind at all,” I say, as the front door swings open and I spot a mane of chestnut hair and a pair of big green eyes. My cousin, Emerson. “Listen, Em’s here, but we should come up with a plan. Backstory and all that.”
“Let’s make a date,” he says, then corrects himself. “I mean, to plan our backstory.”
We agree to meet before the party to spin our fairy tale, and I tell myself I don’t care that it’s all make-believe.
4
Savannah
Emerson arches a brow as she pulls back the pool cue, giving me an “I can’t believe you did that” lecture with just one look. I suspect I’m about to receive an earful too.
“So, let me get this straight,” she says, eyeing the red ball as she lines up her shot. “The guy you’re into asked you to go on a fake date.”
I gulp, then put on my best confident face. “Yes. He did. But I’m not into him anymore.”
“Right.” She studies the table then meets my gaze. “And you said yes?”
“I said yes.”
She nods like a professor employing the Socratic method. “And you thought this was a good idea?”
I lift my chin. “Sure. He needs help.”
“And you don’t think that’s a recipe for disaster?”
“Why would it be?”
She shoots me another knowing look. “Gee, I wonder.”
I try to make light of my decision. It’s going to be fine. I’ve been friends with Gavin for a while now, and it’s all good. “We both know the score,” I say, leaning on my pool cue. “Besides, it wasn’t even really him who asked, so it’s not like it means anything.”
Emerson pulls back the cue and lightly taps the white ball, sending the red one rolling across the green felt and into the corner pocket.
“Nice.” Even though we’re competing with each other, I can’t help but admire such a beautiful shot.
I was raised by parents who made pool balls, bocce balls, and croquet balls. I was encouraged in all leisure pursuits from a young age, ranging from music to crochet to pool. Because I’m an awesome cousin, I taught Emerson how to play.
“Thanks,” she says and returns to the topic. “And this fake date—it wasn’t even arranged by the guy you crush on, but by Eddie? He had the bright idea for Gavin to take you to his sister’s engagement party?”
“Yes. It’ll be fun,” I say, all cheery and peppy. But I do think the party will be entertaining. “Gav and I have a great time together. We have fun when we grab lunch, and we had a blast playing badminton on the company team. He’s a good, good friend.”
Emerson smirks, nodding several times as she lines up her next shot. “Oh, yeah. He’s a great friend. A friend you harbor no feelings for or fantasies about. Just like Nolan and me.”
I laugh, then point a finger at her. “See! You admit it. You have a crush on your co-host and everything’s fine,” I say. She’s been hosting a food show on YouTube with her best friend for a year, and the show is rising up in the online world. I’m seriously proud of her.
She laughs a little humorlessly. “Yes, it’s fabulous lusting after my best friend and business partner.”
But the thing is—I’ve so got this. I just need to convince her so she won’t worry. “If I was able to shut my feelings down the entire time he was involved with Denise, I can do it now. And the party will be fun.”
“You don’t think it’ll be, how shall we say, tempting?” Her lips go all sexy pouty, making it clear exactly where she thinks the party will lead.
Scoffing, I shake my head. “It’s just a party. Now, come on, keep going,” I say, urging her to take another shot.
She works her way around the table, and when she misses the purple ball, it’s my turn, and I angle myself toward the middle pocket.
But before I can start, she beckons me, her fingers waggling, and dresses her voice in a whisper. “Don’t let him take advantage of you.”
My brow knits. “What do you mean? How the hell is he going to take advantage of me?”