Page 69 of Joey

“Brooke likes me,” Joey says, walking over to stand in front of me and block out the sun. “She’s already getting attached.”

“Hey, Brooke,” Huck says. “You can get attached to me instead. I’m not allergic to feelings.”

I smile a little. But it’s weak.

“She doesn’t want to pretend.”

“I never really said that,” I say in my own defense. “I said…” But I don’t really know what I said. It was just a bunch of confused feelings about… well, feelings. Or lack thereof.

“She thinks I should be jealous,” Joey continues.

“Jesus Christ,” I say. “Can you just drop it already? I get it. It’s a job. But…” Then I have to look at Huck and Wald. “But I’m not going to sleep with you guys. That was a mistake.”

“Why?” Wald asks.

“Because you guys like her that way, and I don’t,” Joey adds.

“Why are you such a dick?” I ask.

“I’m not a dick. I’m being honest. I don’t do relationships, Brooke. Ever. This is a business deal, that’s all. But if you want to fuck my friends, that’s fine with me. I don’t care.”

“I know,” I say, suddenly hot. “You made that clear last night. And my response was, ‘Then I’m not going to pretend to be your fiancée.’”

“That was the deal,” he says.

“No,” I counter. “The deal was I’m your long-time, on-and-off girlfriend. So that’s it. I’m not shopping for a ring with you and you’re not putting my name on that house.”

“We are getting a ring today,” Joey says. “And your name will be on that house. It’s part of the lie I’m selling.”

I look at Huck for help. He just shrugs. “Take the ring. Pick a nice one. Then sell it later if you want.”

“Get dressed,” Joey says. “We’ve got things to do today.”

“We’ll pack up the truck,” Wald says. “And meet you at the house when we’re done. What time are you signing the papers?”

“Five thirty,” Joey says.

“Cool, text me when you have the keys and we’ll meet you there.”

Then they disperse. Wald and Huck both get up, not one word to me, and Joey steps aside to let them pass through the curtains.

He locks eyes with me once they’re gone.

“What?” I say.

“Don’t fuck this up for me, Brooke. This is my daughter.”

“I’m not the one fucking this up. You telling me to sleep with your friends because you give no shits about me is what’s fucking this up. You have some kind of… emotional detachment problem, you know that?”

He says nothing for ten whole seconds. Just stares at me with what is now his very familiar serious face.

Then he says, “What kind of ring do you like?” as he walks over to me and takes a seat on the lounge chair. So close to me, our legs are touching.

“No ring,” I say.

But he’s on his phone, pulling something up on the internet. “There’s like a million different styles. Which kind do you prefer?”

“Are you just ignoring me?”