“Uh, yeah,”he looks at me weirdly. “Although I paid with a twenty, I got some other things too.”
My mouth falls open as I blink at him. “Greyson, do you know how much this is worth?”
“Uh, no?”
“Thousands, hundreds of thousands.”
Last year there was a sage green framed body Diablo 1902 that sold at auction for almost one hundred grand, and Greyson has this one—that he paid five dollars for—sitting on his desk, no doubt collecting dust.
And I’m fucking jealous.
Do you think he’ll notice if I steal it?
Hearing rustling behind me, I spin to see Greyson standing from the bed, phone in hand as he walks toward the desk where I am. He looks at the typewriter before typing something into his phone and then gasps. “Holy fuck!” Turning his phone screen toward me, he shows me the article he’s on. “This same one,” he points to the typewriter. “But in green, sold at auction last year for almost one hundred grand!”
“I know.” I can’t help but smile at the way he looks completely amazed by this little piece of information.
He shifts through multiple articles on his phone, and I stand there admiring the gorgeous typewriter. My fingers reach out, tapping away at some of the keys, and a satisfied sigh escapes my lips when they press down smoothly. I thought with it being old that the keys would be stiff and impossible to press down. But it’s the opposite. It feels like it’s brand new and has never been used before, and it’s clear that whoever owned this before giving it to the thrift store had taken care of it like it was their baby.
“Have you got any blank paper?” I ask, leaning to look at him.
“Uh…” He opens the top drawer of his desk and fumbles around, bringing out a stack of papers, handing them to me. “Are these okay?”
“Sure.” I nod, grabbing them from his hand and place one into the top.
Please have ink, please have ink.
Pressing the “L” key, a satisfying clink echoes in the room. Peering down, I grin once I realize it does have ink. My fingers continue typing letters, and a content sigh escapes me after each clink.
“You’re writing your name?” Greyson chuckles from beside me.
“I’ll write yours too if you feel left out.” I grin as I finish typing my last name.
“Uh, no!” He swiftly bumps his hips with mine, moving me along slightly. “I want to type my name.”
“So demanding.” I roll my eyes playfully.
He looks at me and smirks. “I’ve never used one of these before.” He confesses as he starts typing his name, pressing down on the keys harder than I did.
I smile as I watch him, and my mind circles back to earlier when he told Kyle we were dating. “I can’t believe you told Kyle we were dating.” I laugh, leaning my hip against his desk.
“He’s a dick,” Greyson shrugs, typing in the last few letters of his surname. “Plus, what’s the harm in that?” He peers at me. “If he believes we’re dating…ifanyonebelieves we’re dating.”
I freeze, twisting slightly to get a better look at him. “What do you mean?”
He sighs, lifting his fingers from the typewriter and takes a couple steps back. “Would it be so bad if people believed wearedating?”
“Uh, no…I guess not?” I mumble, picking at the skin on my nails.
“Look,” he takes another step backward. “You need a fake boyfriend to get that fucker to realize you’ve moved on, and I need…a tutor.”
Taking the halo off my head, feeling like it’s giving me a headache, I place it on his desk and lean against it with my hands either side of me, palms flat against the cold wood, and my legs crossed at the ankles.
Pondering his words, I tap my nails against the wood. Before I originally blurted out to Kyle that Greyson and I were dating, I hadn’t thought about fake dating someone before. Plus, there’s so many pros and cons that come along with fake dating. If I agree to do this, we’ll need to set some rules, some boundaries...how would it even work?
Pursing my lips, I tilt my head to the side. “Wait, a tutor?”
“Yes.”
