“Alfie Spencer,” she says, leaning forward, “I am currently wearing underwear with days of the week on them because I think it’s cute. I don’t think anything is stupid.”
My brain short-circuits at the word ‘underwear.’ My dick twitches and I have to cross my legs to hide my very noticeable reaction.
“Okay,” I say, mostly to distract myself. “My family is old school.” She nods, waiting. “Like, really old school. My parents have this thing about bloodlines and alliances. They always planned for me and Drake to marry into the right families, make the right connections.”
Her face stays carefully neutral, which somehow makes it easier to continue.
“Drake’s followed the script. Got engaged to the perfect society girl. But I have zero interest in dating anyone my parents pick, let alone marrying them.” I take a breath. “There’s this woman, Marcie. Their best friend’s daughter. They’ve been pushing us together since we were kids, but she’s...” I search for a diplomatic way to say ‘entitled nightmare’. Truthfully, Marcie’s notthatbad, but the whole ‘being destined for each other’ thing has always put me off. “She’s not my type.”
“Can’t you just tell them that?”
“Yes and no. I have. They don’t listen.” I tug a hair at the nape of my neck. “Then last year I made this stupid drunk bet with Drake. Agreed that if I was single thissummer, I’d give it a real shot with Marcie during the family vacation.”
“So, you told him you’re not single because you’re dating Crystal?”
“Right.”
“Hm.”
“What’s ‘hm’?”
“Well”—she wraps her hands around her tea—“why can’t you just be honest? Tell him you don’t have a girlfriend but also don’t want to date Marcie? Really, how important is a bet?”
If only she knew. In my family, a bet isn’t just a bet. It’s binding. Sacred, even. Grandpa drilled it into us.‘Spencers keep their word. Follow through. Never make promises you can’t keep.’
“In my family,” I say carefully, “bets are important.”
“Well,” Tara says, stirring her tea absently, “you’ve got yourself in quite the pickle here, Spencer.”
“Thanks for that brilliant observation.”
“Have you tried dating apps? I bet there are plenty of girls who’d love to help you out.”
I can’t help the way my face twists. “Yeah, because ‘Must be willing to face Spanish Inquisition from old money family’ makes a great Tinder bio.”
“Could be worse. Could be ‘Must love black clothing and emotional unavailability.’” Her eyes sparkle with mischief.
“Not helping.”
She leans forward, and I catch a whiff of her shampoo. Roses and vanilla. “Seriously though, you could find someone. There has to be?—”
“I can’t.” The words come out sharper than intended. “Ican’t just... subject some random person to my family. To their scrutiny, their expectations, their—” I stop, realizing I’m saying too much. “It wouldn’t be fair.”
She’s quiet for a moment, studying me with those big brown eyes that see too much. “But you can’t ignore it either, right?”
“Nope, they’re coming next weekend.”
The phone isheavy in my hand as I stare at Drake’s contact. Just call him. Tell him there is no girlfriend. Deal with the fallout. Tell him I am a grown man and I’m going to make my own decisions about who to date and they need to stop pushing me towards Marcie. I thought about what Tara said, why can’t I just be honest? Sure, he’s going to be on at me for not fulfilling my end of the bet, and I’ll have to put up with years of shit from him about it.
But I don’t really have a choice right now. I have no girlfriend and the 21stis fast approaching.
My phone buzzes, Mother’s face filling the screen. I almost decline it, but it’s so unusual for her to actually call me, rather than email, that I answer.
“Mother.”
“Darling. I’ve been thinking about you.”
Something in my lungs feel like they’re being compressed, an old, childish hope that never quite dies. “You have?”
