“Shut up.”
“Not me either.”
“Shut. Up.”
“Not Mom.”
“Ego, I'm fucking serious.”
He points dramatically.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the defendant is obsessed.”
I throw another dirty gym sock.
This one hits him.
Victory.
Small victory.
But I'll take it.
The truth is, the fake dating thing started as a joke.
Mostly.
Okay, maybe not mostly.
Maybe fifty-fifty.
The school needs publicity.
The gym project needs attention.
The permit situation stinks.
Nobody can prove Jonas has anything to do with it.
But nobody can prove he doesn't either.
I’ve been researching.
And people are talking.
They're already talking about me.
They're already talking about Mary.
Might as well control the narrative.
That's all.
Totally professional.
Completely strategic.
Has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I've spent every morning this week finding excuses to stop by Our Lady of Grace Academy.
