I almost type that I think she’d look pretty fucking good no matter how messy her hair was, but I think better of it and catch myself. Wrong message to send for a fake relationship. Instead I say:
Me:Well if you change your mind, I’m always happy to take you. I promise to follow all posted speed limits.
Lark:Sure you will. And I’m secretly Dolly Parton.
I smile down at my phone, then realize Theo’s watching me with a knowing look on his face.
“I assume that’s Lark?” he asks, setting down his water bottle.
“Uh, yeah, we’re going to a thing in Seattle.” I tuck my phone away quickly, suddenly very interested in adjusting the weight plates on the nearby bench press. “One of Robert’s fancy events.”
“So you’re really doing this?” he asks, his tone careful. “Dating Lark. I mean I know it’s only been a few dates, but like I said the other day, you’re playing with fire here, Jack.”
Theo, if only you knew the truth.“Relax, I actually really like Lark,” I say, which isn’t technically a lie. She’s great—funny, talented, smart, no bullshit. “I wouldn’t date her if I thought it was going to crash and burn spectacularly.”
Nice, another strategic half-truth. Man, this whole fake dating thing isn’t nearly as difficult as I thought it would be.
“Good. I’m glad to hear that.” Theo turns to face me fully, giving me his complete attention. His tone is light but there’s something more serious underneath it. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do with your life—well, maybe I am a little bit—but I’m just watching out for both of you. Lark’s great, really great, and I don’t want to see either of you get hurt. And I definitely don’t want to see you create another complicated mess.”
“Listen, we’re taking things slow,” I say, loading heavy plates onto the barbell for squats. “Getting to know each other properly. It’s not like my usual thing at all.”
“That’s exactly what worries me. You don’t do slow, Jack. You don’t do relationships that last. You do three weeks of intense fun and then you’re gone, off to the next thing.”
“That was before.” I position myself carefully under the bar, feeling the familiar heavy weight settle across my shoulders and upper back. The tension in my traps is a welcome distraction from this increasingly uncomfortable conversation. “I’m twenty-six now, not twenty-one anymore. Things change. People mature.”
“Do they though?” He’s smiling slightly as he watches my form with a critical eye. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re still fundamentally the same Jack who went through all the women in Dark River before you even turned twenty.”
“Now come on, that’s a gross exaggeration,” I counter. “I never dated Lucy Hardwick.”
“Why do I even try with you?” Theo looks up toward the ceiling like he’s seeking divine intervention. “You’re impossible.”
I laugh. “You worrywaaaaytoo much, Theo. You’ve gotta learn to relax a little.”
“Impossible with you as my brother.”
I move into my next set of squats, really focusing on keeping my core tight and my back perfectly straight. Theo’s watching my form with that critical coaching eye, but he doesn’t offer any corrections or adjustments, which means I’m executing it correctly.
My phone buzzes again from where I’ve set it on the nearby bench. I finish my entire set before checking it, not wanting to break my focus.
Lark:OMG the label just emailed! They said the Instagram post you did a few days ago has them “very excited about trajectory and growth potential.” Their exact words not mine
Me:Hell yeah! That’s amazing! Damn we might actually pull this whole thing off.
Lark:Scary thought. But eeek!
I smile, feeling unexpectedly pleased for her. Lark’s a great person and she absolutely deserves this break, this opportunity. She’s working her ass off for this dream, and it’s about time someone noticed. I’d spent an entire evening earlier this week listening to nearly all her music on Spotify while doing recovery stretches, and she’s crazy talented. It’s insane that the label hasn’t scooped her up already.
“You’re grinning at your phone again,” Theo observes, adjusting the weight on the cable machine for his next exercise.
“Shut up,” I respond automatically with an eye roll, tucking my phone away and refocusing on the workout in front of me.
“Jack Midnight?” A female voice suddenly interrupts our banter.
I turn to see a woman in her mid-twenties, blonde hair pulled back in a high, tight ponytail, wearing perfectly color-coordinated workout gear. She’s giving me a very thorough once-over, her smile widening considerably as our eyes meet.
She’s attractive. Objectively. The kind of girl I would’ve definitely talked to a few months ago.
“Oh my god, I thought it was you but I couldn’t believe it,” she says, twisting a strand of hair around her finger in what’s probably supposed to be a flirtatious gesture. “I’m a huge Formula One fan. Like obsessed.”
