Page 21 of Fake Date with the Mountain Man

Marlow reaches over with her fork, but I beat her to the heap of potatoes on my plate. Scooping a bite onto my fork, I hold it out for her.

She stares daggers at me. When she leans forward to capture the bite in her mouth, Marlow takes her time running her full lips across my fork. As she swallows the bite, she moans like she’s having sex rather than eating dry mashed potatoes.

In a breathy, sultry voice she rasps, “Oh, that’s so good” loud enough that only I can hear her.

Yeah, so I lost that round.

Marlow raises an eyebrow at me just to rub it in.

Our eyes snag on each other for a second too long. It dawns on me that we’re actually getting along. There’s nothing fake about the way we’re joking around. Sure, we’re lying like crazyto everyone else, but we aren’t putting on a show for anyone else right now.

Why weren’t we doing this all along? We could have been joking around and having fun at work instead of finding new and interesting ways to make each other miserable. We could probably even legitimately be friends by now if we always acted like this.

Then something snaps in Marlow. She tenses up and sets her jaw, slowly turning away from me. The anger is rolling off her in waves. I have no idea what I did wrong.

Well, it was nice while it lasted, I guess.

Chapter 9

MARLOW

The words ‘foster care’ catch my attention from across the table.

They always do. I heard those words more than I heard words like dinner, toy, or love as a child.

I tune back into the conversation just in time to hear the obnoxious woman who’s been dominating the conversation all night laugh and say, “We should have just fostered a kid first to see what we were getting into! That way we could just give it back if we get tired of taking care of it.”

It.

Lovely.

Blood rushes to my ears. I feel my face and chest turn lava-hot. The words are sitting on my tongue, fighting to burst past my lips.

“That’s not how foster care works. You can’t just ‘give them back’ because you don’t feel like parenting anymore.” I try to keep my voice calm and steady, even though I’m feeling anything but.

The woman stops laughing for a second but then sputters out a reply aimed more at the table than directly at me.

“Right, but thereshouldbe a program like that,” she says with a laugh. “It would be mutually beneficial, wouldn’t it? The kid gets a home for a little while and the parents get to figure out if they, like, hate it.”

“Please stop referring to foster children as ‘it.’ And they would be better off in a group home than placed with a family that isn’t committed to the child’s wellbeing. Rejection takes a big toll on foster kids.”

The woman finally stops laughing, realizing that I’m serious and I’m not backing down. She sucks her teeth and glares at me.

“God, who even are you? The patron saint of foster kids? It was a joke.” She spits her words across the table at me.

“It wasn’t a funny one. Foster kids aren’t starter children or dolls. They aren’t there to help you figure out what a shitty mother you’re going to be.”

The woman gasps like I just stabbed her in the hand with my fork. Her eyes search the table for sympathetic looks, but everyone is completely still.

Then I feel Ryan’s hand between my shoulder blades, rubbing a small circle to draw my attention.

“Marlow, let’s take a walk, okay?” he says quietly.

I let him grab my hand and pull me out of my seat. I’m shaking with rage as we walk out of the ballroom. Ryan doesn’t make any attempt to touch me as we walk. He’s half a step behind me, likely getting ready to lay into me as soon as we are out of earshot.

I’m sure he’s mad.

I’m mad at myself for letting that woman get the better of me.

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