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“She sounds fun. I’d take her to girls’ night.”
“You really wouldn’t. She didn’t believe that my sister was my sister for a year and a half. I still don’t think she entirely believes me now, and she pulled out her fucking passport once.”
I laughed, choking on a fry. “Okay, that’s a little too crazy, even for my girls’ night.”
“Does your girls’ night get crazy?”
I snorted. “The last one ended with me going on a fake date with you. It’s not balls to the wall partying, but it’s hardly a snoozefest.”
“No wonder my sister picked your ad. She’d fit right in with your friend group if that’s the case. Pretends she likes to party, but she’d rather be in bed.”
“I feel that in my soul. Being in bed doesn’t involve heels.”
“Ah, I don’t think you’re going to bed with the right people.”
“I’m going to bed with my cat. As long as I pet him between the ears, he doesn’t care what I wear to bed.”
Mason laughed and picked up a wing. “What a hot date.”
“You have no idea. Henry has it going on.” I met his eyes with mine and quickly dropped my gaze so I didn’t burst into giggles. “Okay, where do I need to be on Friday?”
“I’ll pick you up,” he said, covering his mouth with a napkin. “That way, I know you won’t run away halfway through.”
“Damn it, it’s like you read my mind.”
“Call it a sixth sense.” He smirked. “My grandpa is kind of ornery, so dinner is early. Can I pick you up at five?”
Damn. That was early. “Sure. Do I need to dress fancy? I’m not sure I can take two fancy nights in one go.”
“No. Make sure you wear shoes you can run in, though, just in case we need to make a break for it. All my elderly relatives will be there, and things can get a little…crazy.”
“Crazy how?”
“Well, my great-aunt Pru likes cocktails with dirty names,” he said slowly. “And my great-uncle Charlie has a book of checks for sexual favors that he carries around with him and hands out to women he thinks are hot.”
“Oh. Wow.”
“And Grandpa Ernie just thinks he’s hot and that every woman wants him. He once tried to do a striptease. At my parents’ anniversary party.”
“Wow,” I repeated. “And that’s just the dinner?”
“Sadly. That’s just the dinner.” Mason paused. “Maybe you should see some family tapes to be adequately prepared for this hellhole I’m dragging you into.”
I looked down at my half-eaten hot dog. “I think I’m gonna need a meal a whole lot fancier than a hot dog.”
***
That was how, the next day, Mason Jackson ended up in my apartment between his work shift and mine. He’d come armed with a laptop tucked under his arm and a cheeseburger from my favorite burger bar in town.
What? I wasn’t going to be eating dinner because of this. I needed sustenance if I was going to work until midnight.
I still had my doubts about this, but my sister was right—there were worse things I could do than pretend this hunk of hotness was my boyfriend.
Having a fake boyfriend was better than no boyfriend at all, right?
I sat down next to him on the sofa with my burger and wriggled to get comfortable. “All right, let’s do this.”
“I don’t think you’re ready for this.”
“You’re probably right.” I picked up the burger and took a big bite. “But let’s do it anyway.”
Mason side-eyed me. “I think I might know why you’re single.”
I shrugged, chewing the burger, then swallowed before I spoke. “I don’t care. Take me at my burger-eating, hot-dog-loving, full-mouth-speaking self, or get outta here.”
He looked at me for a long moment before he chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re refreshing, do you know that?”
“Like a box full of ice-pops,” I replied. “Now play these videos.”
“All right. The first video is from my sister’s twenty-first birthday.” He double-tapped the trackpad on the laptop and the screen filled with a video. It was of an older woman, dressed in a knee-length, bright red dress and a while shawl. White curls framed her face, and I watched with mild amusement as some country music kicked in and she grabbed a handful of her skirt and kicked up a line dance.
Slowly, a host of other elderly people joined her, and the music changed to some weird remix of Luke Bryan. None of them missed a beat.
I was impressed.
“See, I can’t line dance now,” I said, wiping the corner of my mouth to get rid of some wayward ketchup. “So the fact they can do it at, what, eighty? That’s impressive.”
Mason wrinkled his face up. “You’re weird.”
“Yes.” I drew the word out slowly. “I think that was established with my weirdo ad offering my fake dating services.”
“Huh. I didn’t think of it like that. Not sure what that says about me.”
