He coughed again, thumping his chest. “What’s the deal with the wedding?”
I peered over at him. “What?”
“What’s the deal? Is it a one-day thing? A weekend?”
Was he considering this? Being the date for a crazy redhead who watched him sleep?
I didn’t, but it sounded more dramatic that way.
“A four-day thing,” I said slowly. “It’s down in Key West. Arrive Friday morning, leave Monday night. The wedding is Sunday evening.”
“This Friday?”
I nodded. “It’s okay. It was a ridiculous idea. I panicked.”
“Hey—I didn’t say no. I was just confirming it was this weekend.”
I stared at him.
No. He wasn’t going to agree, was he?
“I couldn’t get there Friday morning because I have a work meeting, but I can drive down after and meet you there.” He rested his arms on the counter and leaned forward. “If you want me to, that is.”
I blinked quickly. “You—you’d pretend to be my date for the weekend just so I’m not tortured by my mother?”
“Yes, but if the situation is ever reversed and we’re both still single, I fully expect the favor to be returned.”
“You’re going to be my fake boyfriend?”
“Does being your fake boyfriend include real sex?”
Well, that was a scenario I hadn’t considered. Judging by the night before, though…
“I’m gonna have to release stress some way, and I’m really not a runner. Plus, last night wasn’t exactly terrible.”
He grinned, confidence fully shining through. “I agree. Look, Red. I’m free. I can do it. Just as long as it doesn’t get too awkward.”
“Why would it get awkward?”
His smile faltered for the tiniest moment, and he looked at me as if he didn’t understand why I was asking that question. “I’m your fake boyfriend,” he said, almost as an afterthought. “And all I know about you is how to make you orgasm.”
“That’s solid knowledge. That’s all you really need to know to make the weekend a success.” I gave him my own half-grin.
“All right, Red. Let’s do this.”
***
“You’ve lost your damn mind,” Avery said, pulling the cork out of the wine bottle with a little pop. “I can’t believe you’re doing this. Does he have a magic dick?”
Maybe.
“He’s just helping me out,” I said warily. “I mean, he gets something out of it, too. He gets sex.”
“Oh, well, that’s okay. You get your mom off your back for a weekend and regular sex.” She stopped, wine bottle ready to pour. “Wait. I see your logic.”
I laughed, tucking my feet beneath my butt. “It’s crazy. I know it is. I don’t know anything about him except that his name is Adam, he has a really nice house, he has a magic dick, and he makes a mean omelet.”
Straight-faced, she met my eyes and said, “Marry him.”
“Avery—”
“I’m serious. Omelets are hard, girl. I don’t think I’ve ever made an omelet that hasn’t ended up as scrambled eggs.”
“You burn toast.”
“I did that one time, and that was because my dumbass brother turned the dial-up. You know that.” She finished pouring the second glass of wine and handed it to me. “I’m just worried about you. You know what your mom’s like.”
“Exactly. That’s why I’m glad I have a date.”
“A date you don’t know.”
“I know him quite well,” I said. “I know how to make him come.”
“Oh, well, slap my ass and call me Suzy—that’s the kind of info your mom wants to know!”
I paused. “She might stop asking questions if that’s what I come out with.”
“She’ll call her local priest and send you in to confess your sins!”
“Lies. It’ll be an exorcism.”
“Which, ironically, she needs on occasion,” Avery mused.
“On occasion?”
“Hey, she’s still your mom. I’m just being real about it.”
“Being real would be comparing her to the devil himself. Or herself. Has anyone ever confirmed Satan’s gender?” I twirled my glass.
Avery shook her head. “Stop trying to distract from the matter at hand. Your date being someone you don’t know from Adam.”
“Good thing my name isn’t Eve, then.”
“Poppy.”
I sighed. “Avery.”
“Have you actually thought this through? I mean, from beginning to end, all the implications, your mom from the second you walk in until the second you leave?”
No. Not at all.
“She’s going to wonder why you haven’t mentioned him to her. She’s going to ask where you met, how long you’ve dated, what his job is, how rich his family is—”
“And I’ll give her the same old reply that money isn’t everything.”
“Says the girl from money.”
“Who lives with her best friend and works at the Cheesecake Factory,” I reminded her. “My parents have money. I do not.”
She let go of a sigh. “Point well made. But, still. She’s going to ask you all kinds of questions before you have a chance to figure out any answers, and you just know she’s going to bombard him the second he arrives. Don’t you remember senior prom?”
“As a rule, I try to forget it.”
“She stood at the end of your driveway for thirty minutes until Percy Hamilton got here, only to interrogate the poor bastard over his family’s financial situation and what his intentions were with you. You were eighteen.”
“And, if I remember correctly,” I said slowly. “He was so fed up with her by the time she got to the intentions thing that he told her he intended to take my non-existent virginity.”
Avery snorted into her glass. “I thought she was going to shit a cow. A legit cow. She was furious, but she had to let you go.”
“And that was exactly why Percy didn’t get laid that night,” I reminded her. “I was eighteen and she took away my car keys.”
“Has it ever occurred to you that your mom is a control freak?”
“Every single day since I was old enough to understand what such a thing was.” I nodded solemnly. “Which is why I think I might be able to get away with taking someone who is basically a stranger to the wedding.”
“I don’t see your logic at all.”
I sat up straight, running my fingers through my hair. My elbow propped up on the back of the sofa, and I rested my head on my hand. “Think about it. It’s Rosie’s wedding. She’ll be so caught up in making sure nothing goes wrong, that she’ll forget about Adam pretty quick.”
“You underestimate your mother.”
“I’m an optimist.”
“Your t-shirt has three wine glasses. Two are half-full and labeled optimist and pessimist, and the third is empty and labeled realist. You’re the realist, Pop. The only thing you’ve ever been optimistic about is how much cheese sauce you’ll get on your fries.”
“Well, if there was ever anything to be optimistic about, it’s that.” I grinned. “I think I’ll be okay. We live an hour away from our hometown. My parents can’t possibly know who he is, and we don’t talk enough for them to be concerned about whether or not I have a boyfriend. Besides, Mom hasn’t even asked me. I think she just believed me when I said I had a date.”
“That’s because you told her disbelief against your daughter was a sin, and she’s so menopausal that she believed you.”
“She manipulated puberty. Menopause is my toy.”
“I don’t think it works like that.”
“Probably not, but the notion of it is charming.”
Avery snorted. “You need to stop watching British sitcoms. You’re starting to talk ridiculous.”
“Look, just because I have an obsession with The Crown and you keep using your ex’s subscription for Friends doesn’t make me ridiculous,” I told her. “At least use Greg’s passwords for something decent. Like ordering midget porn to his apartment building.”
She paused, tucking her dark hair behind her ear. “Could I do that?”
“I would,” I said. “But I’m an asshole.”
“He did cheat on me.” She genuinely stopped and considered it. “Where would I find midget porn?”
“I’ll send you a link.”
“You know where to—” She froze. “No. You subscribed your mother to it?”
“No. Rosie did. I just found the subscription,” I said. “I’m not that evil.”
“What did she ever do to Rosie?”