Page 67 of The Golden Scoop

You know, we’re in our honeymoon but you guys have been awfully quiet, and now I don’t know if I should be good stressing or bad stressing!!!

I’ve purposefully tried not to bother you.

No stressing needed. We’ve not killed each other yet.

Julia

So… how’s the sex?

A gasp escapes me, nearly dropping my phone like it’s evidence. Not a question I needed while surrounded by a dozen strangers whose uniforms are more luxurious than my whole wardrobe. I take advantage of the fact that they’re setting up to excuse myself into the bathroom.

Nonexistent!

I’m here for work.

Julia

Are you sure that’s all it is?

It’s been two weeks and you haven’t complained.

At all.

Tough question.

My phone rings almost instantly.

“Care to explain?”

I groan. How do I explain we’ve been going on fake dates for the past two weeks and that we’ve both kind of admitted we don’t hate each other as much as I thought? That it started as work and now I can’t tell where that line is anymore?

“Matt’s not who I thought he was,” I mumble. “It’s inconvenient.”

“No surprise there. How did you get to this conclusion?”

“It wasn’t hard. Matt’s been intent on showing me everything I assumed about him is all an act,” I say, trying to make it sound logical when it absolutely isn’t. “Then he started planning these ‘outings.’ He took me sailing, threw me overboard—only to jump straight in to save me. Things started getting weird, so I ran the opposite direction and went out with Tom instead.”

“Who’s Tom?”

“Guy from work. Matt showed up to the same restaurant, at the same time. When I confronted him, he said he was jealous⁠—”

“Josh owes me fifty bucks.”

“You’re betting on my love life?!”

“Not exactly. We bet on how long it would take Matt to come clean about the massive crush he has on you.”

“Technically, he still hasn’t,” I say, immediately regretting how that sounds.

There’s a tap on the bathroom door.

“Miss Miller? We’re ready for you.”

“Wait. What about your feelings?” she asks.

My reflection in the mirror goes still, waiting for the answer.

“I don’t know, Jay. Did you know he speaks, like, five languages? He went surfing with me,” I blurt. “But how can I trust there’s not like… another Matt I don’t know about?”