Page 59 of Good Girl's Guide to Love
“Do you still not own anything fitted?”
I laugh and sit down at my vanity, figuring I’ll finish my makeup while Stella digs for things that don’t exist. “I think you know that answer.”
“I don’t know why you’re against the notion of a bodysuit,” she says. “You can pull it off. Your curves would look fucking amazing in one.”
“It’s not a body image reason, I just don’t feel comfortable,” I defend. “And shouldn’t you feel comfortable in the clothes you wear?”
Stella lets out a bark of a laugh. “No. Comfort has no place in clothing. Or in shoe selection.”
I love my sister, impractical shoe collection and all. When I told her I had a date tonight, she didn’t hesitate to tell me in no uncertain terms that she’d be coming over and helping me get ready. Because that’s what she’s always done when I’ve had a date in the past. No mind that I’m twenty-nine years old and am plenty capable of getting ready on my own. But this is what we do. I have a date. She comes over to talk me down from my nervousness. She tries to get me to wear something out of my comfort zone. I tell her no with a smile.
I needed this tonight. Stella being here is the one thing giving me normalcy for a date that’s in no way normal. She’s my best friend in the world. She’s the sibling closest to my age. We grew up sharing a bedroom and then lived together after college. She knows me better than anyone on this planet.
Which is why it’s killing me that I can’t tell her that the date she’s getting me ready for is nothing but a publicity stunt.
When Linc messaged me the name of the restaurant the other day, he confirmed to me that there would be “random” cameras that we might see when we enter or exit the restaurant. Then, I received a text from Katie, who apparently now has a group text going for the three of us, confirming the cameras and how we’re supposed to act.
We always need to be holding hands or some sort of touch. We need to look happy. But also we need to make sure we’re never looking directly at the cameras.
So now, not only am I nervous because the restaurant Linc picked is super fancy and I have no clue what I’m going to order, despite studying the menu nonstop for two days, but now I have to not think about people taking our pictures from bushes.
My brain hurts, and for the first time in my life, I think I actually need a drink.
“What’s your schedule like the rest of the week?” Stella calls from the closet.
“I work Sunday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. I might pick up another shift, but then Friday before being off for the weekend.”
“Just wanted to know what days you’re free for me to take you shopping,” she says. “If you’re dating a Fury player, we need to do something about your wardrobe.”
“My wardrobe is fine,” I say. “But I do need some new shoes if you want to go still.”
The word “shoes” is always a solid way to get my sister’s attention. “Shoes, you say? What do you need? Heels? Wedges? Boots?”
I shake my head. “No. It’s that time for some new work tennis shoes. Mine have worn out.”
Stella’s shoulders slump. “Get me all excited just to tell me we’re going for some white sneakers with three-inch cushions.”
“Exactly,” I say as my phone vibrates with an alert. “Oh. Linc’s here.”
Now, normally for a first date I’d meet the guy at the restaurant. Dating 101 dictates that it’s better to have an out and not be committed to using him for transportation in fear that it goes bad. But Katie was adamant that Linc pick me up, just in case someone realized that we arrived separate, and I’m now being greeted at my door by my fake boyfriend.
“Okay, let me look at you,” she says as I stand up, grabbing the white designer purse Maeve got me for my birthday last year. “Are you sure you don’t have anything form fitting? Maybe in the little black dress variety?”
“I think you would’ve found it by now.”
I give my sister a quick kiss on the cheek and tell her thanks when I hear a knock on the door. I know I shouldn’t feel nervous, but I am. Though, that can probably be chalked up to never going on a fake date before, and the fact that I’mjustnow starting to overthink all of this as I open my door should indicate how nervous I am.
“Hey…” I meant to say more, but that one word died on my lips when I see Linc standing in my doorway.
The crisp white shirt he’s wearing pops against his tanned skin. He’s paired it with a pressed pair of khaki pants and brown dress shoes. Which, when I look down is when I realize that his cuffs are rolled to his forearm, showing his sleeve of tattoos.
Also, when did forearms become sexy?
I quickly look back up, realizing that I’m staring, which is when I see that he’s staring too. At least I think he is. Maybe. I don’t want to assume and be conceited. But he hasn’t blinked, and I’m now wondering if I left on my eye masks.
“Hey to you, too,” he says just before running his hand over his mouth.
Neither of us say anything more for another moment, and it’s just about to become awkward when my sister comes in to save the day.
