When I got off of work at noon, I knew that lying in bed until I had to face my responsibilities was the best course of action. It only feels right to scroll on my phone and wrap myself in my softest duvet after such a long week. My alarm is set for 4 p.m., so I don’t accidentally fall asleep and miss happy hour with Patrick. It would be embarrassing if I fucked up the fake relationship on our first date.
Fake first date? First fake date?
Whatever.
The need to set an alarm while I nap is a valuable lesson I learned the hard way. I would be lying if I said I did not miss anything important while napping after an opening shift, sotriple checking my alarms is necessary before I actually allow myself to relax.
My blankets feel like a cloud, and it is not helping that my eyelids are getting heavy. Closing my eyes for just a second, I go in and out of consciousness. The temptation of sleep is so close I can taste it, but as soon as I start to drift, my alarm blares right next to my face.
Ugh, it can’t be 4 o’clock already. Please let me die.
There’s a loud voice through my door that sounds suspiciously like Nick. “Ellie! Get up! You need to get ready to meet your fake boyfriend!”
It takes all of the strength I have in me to unravel myself from my blankets and stand up. Throwing my pillow at the door so it lands with a thud does very little to deter him, but it makes me feel better.
“Ugh, go away! I’m up!” I yell back. While I don’t need to tell Nick everything I’m doing, if I don’t say something, he’ll barge into my room in five minutes to make sure I’m actually up.
Staring at myself in the mirror, I realize I look like garbage. My rat’s nest of a bun is barely holding together, and the bags under my eyes are an homage to the lack of sleep I got this week. When I look down, all I can wonder is when the last time I shaved my legs was. Two weeks ago? Maybe?
Even though I wasn’t planning on taking a shower before I left, I'm in desperate need of one.
Thankfully, I didn’t snooze through all of my alarms, so I have about twenty minutes before I have to leave. My shaving routine needs to be modified, so I can get out of here on time.The modification being to only shave the parts of my legs that will be seen through the holes in my jeans. Some people would consider this laziness, but I call it innovation.
It’s not like I’m taking my pants off tonight anyway.
There was no suggestion of a dress code from Patrick, but I imagine it’s best to keep my look casual since we’re just going to a bar. Pulling on some barely ripped mom jeans that make my butt look amazing and a tight black t-shirt, I decide that it's good enough. The shirt is fairly cropped, but it’s just long enough for me to tuck it into the jeans.
Just don’t raise your arms, and you’ll be good.
My tan and blue flannel gets tied around my waist in case I get cold, and I pull on my black boots and grab my purse. Throwing my hair up into a purposefully messy bun, I am just about ready to walk out the door when I see Nick sitting on the couch.
In a gesture of good faith, I do a little spin for dramatic effect and ask, “So, how do I look?”
“If you weren’t fake dating someone, I’d have to take you out.” He says with a low whistle.
There’s only a small amount of traffic on my way to the bar, but it doesn’t help that this place is a couple towns over—and the traffic outside of D.C. is always atrocious. It makes sense that the bar would be close to their office, but the longer I drive, the more my stomach churns at the thought of being late… in a new location… with people I don’t know.
Fuck, I barely even know Patrick, so this could be a complete disaster waiting to happen.
After a brief attempt to calm my nerves, my hands are still shaking as I pull into the parking lot. This was a terrible idea. How am I supposed to fake being someone’s girlfriend in front of all of their coworkers? I feel dumb for not realizing that this is way more than just convincing Greg. The repercussions of leaving right now seem a bit too daunting, and it doesn't seem worth it to bail this close to the date. It's important to stay and do what I promised. Also, if Patrick says we are dating, his coworkers would believe it, right?
Grabbing my phone from the cupholder, I send a text to Patrick.
Ellie:Just parked. Should I wait for you?
You can’t back out now.
Patrick:We’re inside already. At the high tops in the back. I have a red rose in my shirt pocket, so you recognize me *winky emoji*
His humor catches me off guard, and as I’m laughing, most of my anxious energy evaporates and is replaced with eagerness. I take a deep breath, turn off my car, and go inside.
What’s the worst that can happen?
Chapter 9
Patrick
Wegottothebar about five minutes early, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit anxious. I’m not normally like this, but there is something about being around Ellie lately that has me concerned.
