Big Rock

Here’s the thing. I can’t tell him I’m faking it for Mr. Offerman.

If my dad knows that I just pulled that engagement out of my ass for the sake of his business deal, he’ll think he has no choice but to apologize to Mr. Offerman. He’ll walk up to him, fix on his Honest Abe look, and say he’s sorry, but his son was just joking. That’s the kind of man he is, and the kind of business he runs. And if he has to go back to his hand-picked buyer, tail between his legs, and confess that his party-boy son put his foot in his mouth, that’ll screw up his big sale in a heartbeat.

Nope. Can’t let that happen.

I won’t put my dad in the position of being in on this fake engagement. But the fact is, he needs me to be engaged. I saw the look in Mr. Offerman’s eyes when I dropped the E word. As Single Spencer, Man About Town, I’m the wild card in this deal that’s not quite sealed. With a ring on Charlotte’s finger, I become the golden child.

So I do something I don’t want to do, but I have to do it.

Pad the lie. Make it airtight.

“It just happened last night, when I asked her.”

“I didn’t even know you were dating,” he adds.

A woman in a tight pink skirt and black heels walks in our direction. She shoots me a flirty look, and I’m about to smile back when I realize I need to cut myself off.

Ouch. I’ve just handcuffed my favorite appendage for the next few weeks.

But that’s okay. I can do this. I can pretend to be engaged. I can put my dick on ice. So to speak.

“I wanted to tell you right away, and well, ‘right away’ was this morning.”

“How long have you been together?”

Keep it simple. Keep it short.

“It all happened so quickly, Pops,” I say, adopting a look of wonderment and hopefully puppy-love for my bride-to-be. “We’ve always gotten along so well, as you know, and been great friends. I think it was one of those things where the one for you is just right under your nose, but we didn’t realize it for the longest time. Then one night a few weeks ago, we admitted that we had feelings for each other, and…bam. The rest is history.”

Wow. Did that sound believable or what? I can so do this.

Dad holds up a hand. “Not so fast. What does that mean? The rest is history? How did you propose? And for Christ’s sake, where did you get the ring from? If you say Shane Company, I will disown you,” he says in mock seriousness.

I need a ring, stat. A big-ass ring. The son of a jewelry magnate would get nothing less for his lady.

“We fell in love fast, Dad. We dated for a few weeks.” That sounds plausible enough. But it would sound a little better like this… “That was all we needed, because it was built on the foundation of years of friendship. You know what they say. ‘Marry your best friend,’” I say, though I have no clue if anyone really says that. But even so, I might as well be slamming the basketball into the net with that one, because it sounds fucking awesome. My dad nods in understanding as I finish my ode to my fictional love affair. “When you realize that you can’t go a day without the woman you adore by your side, you need to make her yours, whether you’ve been dating a few weeks, or been in love with her for years. So I proposed last night. Couldn’t wait any longer. When you just know something is right, you go for it, don’t you think?”

He sighs in delight as a cab swoops along the road. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

He should hire me to write his ads. That was money.

“But no, I don’t have a ring,” I say, then I wink. “Would you happen to know somewhere that I could get one right away?”

He strokes his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “Ah, I just might know the place.” He laughs at his own cleverness and clasps my arm. “Come by at two, and Nina will hook you up with a beautiful stone and setting. You can’t be engaged without a ring from Katharine’s.”

“Truer words…”

My phone buzzes in my pocket. Charlotte’s ringtone—the Darth Vader entrance march. She picked it herself as a joke.

“Charlotte,” I say to my dad as I gesture to the phone.

“Maybe change that now that she’s going to be your wife,” my dad suggests. Then he points at me, a smile on his face. “Hey! That was my first official piece of advice to you as a soon-to-be-married man.”

A momentary spate of nerves lodges in my chest. What if Charlotte won’t go along with the plan? What if she laughs at me—as she fucking should—and tells me this is the craziest idea in the world, and no way is she going to do it?

I tell myself not to panic prematurely. This is what friends do for each other. They pretend they’re going to marry you when you need them to. Right?

The ringtone sounds again. Vader is marching closer.

“You should answer it now. Women like that,” my dad says. “Hey. That’s my second great piece of advice.”