I stare at him. “You stole a car when you were nine?”
“Borrowed,” he corrects primly. “I brought it back. Even parked it in the exact same spot. But apparently that’s ‘dangerous’ and ‘illegal’ and ‘not appropriate Scout behavior.’” He does air quotes, looking entirely unrepentant.
I burst out laughing. “Oh my god, you’ve been an absolute menace since birth, haven’t you?”
“Pretty much. My brothers have stories that would horrify you.” He smirks.
“I’m going to ignore that. OK, most importantly,” I say, forcing myself to get serious again, “we both need to remember this is purely a business deal. Nothing more. No getting confused about what’s real and what’s fake.”
“Hey, I’m the one who suggested it,” he points out. “If anything,youshould be the one promising not to fall forme.”
I roll my eyes. “We’re going to fake break up before we even fake start at this rate.”
“Nah. We’re going to be great at this. Best fake couple Dark River has ever seen.” He leans back, completely at ease with this bizarre scenario.
“We’re really doing this?” I ask one final time, giving us both one last out.
“We’re really doing this.” He holds out his hand across the bar. “Shake on it?”
I stare at his outstretched hand for a long moment. This is it. The moment where I either come to my senses or commit to the wildest idea I’ve ever agreed to.
I reach out and take his hand. His grip is firm and warm and real, and I wonder again what the hell I’m getting myself into.
“Why do I feel like I just made a deal with the devil?” I say, resigned.
“Because you kind of did. But a very helpful devil who’s going to make you Instagram famous.” He stands up, already pulling out his phone. “Actually, there’s a Callahan Spirits event in Seattle next weekend. Black tie, industry people, lots of photographers. Perfect for our public debut.”
“Nextweekend?” My internal panic meter shoots to eleven.
“You’re right, that’s pretty far away.” He frowns, clearly thinking the opposite of what I meant. “We’ll need to soft launch way before then. Start the rumors, get people talking.” He’s already typing something. “Coffee date tomorrow morning? Very public, very visible.”
“Um, OK,” I manage. “Sure. Late morning though? I’m going on a run early and have errands.”
“Perfect. Give me your number. I’ll text you the details later tonight.”
I recite it and watch him save it in his contacts. My phone buzzes immediately with a text:Your new fake boyfriend
“I still can’t believe this is happening,” I say.
“Believe it.” He pauses at the door, turning back with that grin. “I’ll text you tomorrow morning about coffee. See you soon.” And then he’s gone, the door swinging shut behind him.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
CHAPTER 6
LARK
My alarm goes off at 6:30 AM the next day and I consider throwing my phone across the room. But I promised Maren I’d meet her for our morning run, and I’m trying really hard to stick with this whole “productive morning person” thing.
I drag myself out of bed with all the grace of a zombie in a horror movie, pull on running clothes and try desperately not to think about last night. About the deal I made. About how I’m about to lie directly to my best friend’s face. I basically sold my soul for Instagram followers, and am now taking the title as officially the worst friend in the entire history of friendship.Great.
The morning air is already warm when I step outside my apartment, July in Washington bringing that summer heat that promises another scorching day ahead. Maren’s already at the trail entrance when I arrive, looking like she also just crawled out of bed. Her blonde ponytail is lopsided, though she’s wearing the new running shoes I convinced her to buy last month.
“We both actually made it,” she says, looking mildly surprised by this achievement. “I nearly talked myself out of it entirely.”
“Same,” I admit, laughing. “I could have slept for another three hours.”
She starts stretching her hamstrings. “How was it closing the bar last night? Jayson said it waseventfulbut when I asked what happened, he said to talk to you.”
