Page 9 of Fake Dating the Silver Fox

I navigate the dogs up their front steps, and their owner meets me at the door. I tell Lark to hold on and put my phone in my pocket before handing the leashes over.

“Everyone pooped. Bob tried toeatpoop, but I didn’t let him. And they all got their milk bones.”

“Thank you, Mara. See you tomorrow.”

“See you. Bye Rufus, Dufus, and Bob.” I give them all another milk bone and a pat on the head. And owners wonder why their dogs love to see me coming. It’s all about the milk bones.

When I’m back on the sidewalk, walking toward home, I take my phone out of my pocket. “Still there?”

“Yep.”

“Where were we?”

“You—getting catfished. Me—remembering being slapped in the face with a banana peel.”

My step falters. “Do you have a new kink I should know about?”

“No. Well, yes, but not banana peels. I used to babysit his kid—that’s how I recognized him. That little shit threw a banana peel at me. Hit me square in the face. I couldn’t stomach the scent of bananas for a month.”

My stomach drops. “This isn’t good. Graham isn’t Graham?”

“He’s Peter.” Sympathy drips from her voice.

“This whole thing was your idea. I never even wanted a date.”

“It gets worse,” she says in a hushed voice. “He’s married.”

“No way.”

“Way.”

Determination lengthens my stride. I’m nearly home and now I’m fired up to do something. Anything. Married men on the apps disgust me.Can they get any lower?

“I’m gonna bust him.”

“That’s the spirit!” I can all but see Lark punching her fist in the air. “Expose his fishy ass.”

“He might not even be Peter.” It’s been all over social media the way men use attractive photos to trick women. “He’s probably some kid, playing pranks.”

“Ooooh!” Lark breathes heavily into the phone. “Or he’s a serial killer hoping to catch another victim. You really dodged a bullet.”

I think Lark may have been listening to too many true crime podcasts. “I’ll ask him to do a video call. That will expose him.”

“Good idea!”

We hang up, and I swipe to the app, firing off a message askingGrahamto call me before I can wallow in self-pity for too long. I thought he was one of the good ones. I should have known better.

“What’s your number?”

“How about a video chat?”

“Not a good time.”

Of course!Anger boils my blood.What a liar!“Why not? Is your wife around?”

Green conversation dots appear, then disappear. Finally, he writes back. “I’m not married. Why would you think that?”

“What’s your real name?”

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