“Weekly partner events, public scoring, social media requirements, audience voting, and three appearances outside normal training.” She said it without looking at the packet.
“When?”
“Before you texted.”
“So you were curious.”
“I was assessing the competition’s effect on gym access.”
“And Evelyn entering?”
A pause. “Partly.”
I should have left it there. “She thinks you’ll quit.”
Amy’s expression cooled. “That is not a reason to enter.”
“No. And I shouldn’t use her to sell you the idea.”
The apology shifted her posture by half an inch. Progress. Amy looked toward the mural. A gust of wind moved her hair across her face. She tucked it behind one ear. I tried to remember the next part of the argument. Low emotional risk. Right.
“We’d have rules,” I said.
Amy aligned her coffee cup with the table edge. “Rules do not repair an unethical premise. The application requires a romantic partnership, and we would be lying for financial gain.”
“Acting for a prize.”
“That distinction will not survive an audit.”
“We pretend-date temporarily.”
“You are usingdateandpretendas if they cancel each other.”
“The activities will look the same.”
“That is precisely the problem.”
I sat back. Amy took a drink of coffee. She had not left. That was something.
“Why me?” she asked.
I answered too quickly.
“Because you need the prize.”
“I told you I don’t.”
“Because Evelyn is entering.”
“That is a bad reason.”
I counted on my fingers. “The challenges overlap your training, and we already know each other.”
“One includes a blindfolded smoothie, and we have known each other for three weeks.”
“Feels longer.”
“It does.”
