Page 6 of The #FakeBoyfriend Bet

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The coffee shop Lena chooses for our "strategy session" is exactly the kind of place I normally avoid—all exposed brick, overpriced pour-overs, and people typing importantly on laptops. She's already there when I arrive, sitting at a corner table with two drinks and what appears to be a color-coded folder of materials.

I pause in the doorway, taking a moment to really look at her. In the dim lighting of the bar, I hadn't fully appreciated how striking she is. Today, her dark hair falls in loose waves around a face that's simultaneously friendly and somehow…perfect. Too perfect, almost, like she's been filtered in real life. She's dressed casually in jeans and a sweater that probably cost more than my weekly paycheck, but there's something calculated about the casualness. Even the way she sips her coffee seems practiced.

She spots me and waves, and I make my way over, suddenly conscious of my worn jeans and the fact that I haven't shaved in two days.

"You're seven minutes late," she says by way of greeting, but her smile takes the sting out of it.

"Traffic." I slide into the seat across from her. "Is that for me?"

She pushes a coffee toward me. "Americano with room for cream. I guessed."

"Good guess." I take a sip, surprised that it's exactly how I would have ordered it.

"I'm good at reading people." She taps a manicured finger against the folder. "So, I've been thinking about our strategy."

"I noticed. Your texts were…comprehensive."

A faint blush colors her cheeks. "I like to be prepared."

"Clearly. Though I'm still not sure why you need a fake boyfriend in the first place." I study her over the rim of my cup. "Most people just use dating apps."

Her expression shutters slightly. "It's complicated."

"Try me."

She sighs, setting down her cup with deliberate care. "Let's just say I recently went through a public breakup that didn't cast me in the best light. I need to change the narrative."

"And I'm the narrative device?"

Her lips quirk. "Something like that. You're different from my usual type, which is exactly what I need right now."

"I'm flattered, I think." I lean back, curious despite myself. "What is your usual type?"

"Polished. Professional. Usually in tech or finance." She waves a hand dismissively. "Men with expensive haircuts and opinions about wine pairings."

"Ah. The natural predator of craft cocktail bartenders."

She laughs, and the sound is unexpectedly genuine. "Exactly. Which is why you're perfect. You're the anti-Cameron."

"Cameron being...?"

"My ex. And not someone we need to discuss further." She flips open the folder with a briskness that suggests the topic is closed. "Now, about our social media strategy?—"

"Our what now?"

Lena looks up, blinking as if I've said something confusing. "Our social media presence. How we're going to present ourselves as a couple online."

I stare at her. "I thought this was just about being seen together in public."

"Well, yes, but in 2025, 'public' includes Instagram, TikTok?—"

"No." The word comes out more firmly than I intended. "No social media."

She freezes, her expression caught between confusion and horror. "What do you mean, no social media? That's the entire point of this arrangement."

"You never mentioned that part."

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