Page 13 of Fake Date with the Mountain Man

“Seems like that’s the theme of the day,” she laughs half-heartedly.

I laugh too, but it comes out weird and strained so I clear my throat as if that will somehow cancel out the other noise. Marlow pulls her eyebrows down, clearly trying to discern if I’m choking.

I am, but not in the way that requires the Heimlich maneuver.

What the hell is wrong with me right now? Blair must have really gotten in my head.

“So, my family thinks you’re my date to the wedding…”

“Right, and I’m very sorry about that, as I mentioned during lunch.”

“It’s fine, but I think it would just be easier if you…would be.”

“Would be what?” she asks.

It’s like she’s trying to make this as painful as possible.

Marlow shifts the weight of the large box in her hands. It’s like a timer – I know that my time’s up once she decides that she needs to go set it down somewhere. I reach out and grab the box from her to buy myself more time. She looks surprised and irritated by this gesture.

“My date,” I sigh. “To the wedding.”

“Oh,” she says with her eyebrows raised in obvious horror.

She’s mulling over a way to turn me down. I see it in the way her face softens and her lip catches between her teeth. Before she can launch into all the reasons that this is a bad idea (which would easily take the rest of the afternoon), I interject.

“It wouldn’t be a real date, of course. I’m just asking you to pretend for a few hours.” When she still looks like she is about to object, I add, “The way you did on Friday night. It didn’t seem to be a problem then.”

It’s a low blow. I know how bad she feels about Friday night, and I feel guilty for bringing it up again…but it’s my only hope of convincing her to go with me.

Marlow recognizes this tactic immediately. I see it in the way her gaze hardens and her lips purse together. Just when I think she might slap me, she forces a single word past her teeth: “Fine.”

“Really?”

“Yes, but under one condition,” she says.

“Anything.”

“If I do this, we’re even. I’ve atoned for my drunken mistake, and we never speak of it again.”

“Not a problem,” I say.

Marlow breaks our mutual stare by rolling her eyes and shifting her attention back to the boxes.

“Where do you want this?” I ask, nodding down at the box.

“My office.”

I balance the box in one arm while opening the door with the other. As I trot down the hall, Marlow lingers in the supply closet. I don’t look back to see what she’s doing.

After dropping the box off in her office, I head back to my own and pull my phone out of my pocket.

I type out a text message to Blair:Her name is Marlow Stephens.

Chapter 7

MARLOW

It’s been two days since Ryan asked me to be his fake date to the wedding. That is the last time we spoke. It’s the last time we even looked in each other’s direction.

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