Page 34 of Acting Merry
When he talks, everyone smiles, including me. Given how attached some of them are becoming, I may have a friend mutiny on my hands when Cole and I “break up.”
The conversation rolls along steadily until around onewhen Dylan, who works the graveyard shift, nods off and nearly hits his head on the granite countertop.
Everyone seems to take that as a signal that it’s time to call it a night. In years past, the four of us have stayed up well past three, but not only am I fine to cut things off early tonight, I’m also coming to accept that things have changed for the group.
Before you know it, our crazy single-women Christmas getaways will become quiet evenings where the women knit with cats on our laps, our husbands snore with a war movie blaring on the TV at an obscene volume, and we’re all in bed by nine.
Tyler helps Cole get the air mattress while Hannah grabs two cheap toothbrushes from the stash her family keeps handy, bless their hearts.
I’m brushing my teeth in the en suite bathroom when Cole comes in, arms full of a poorly stored air mattress, the cord for the motor hanging to his knees.
A twinge of guilt pinches my chest. I dragged Cole into this situation, which led to him sustaining injuries out on the ice, and now he has to sleep on an air mattress.
Worst fake girlfriend ever.
I rinse off my toothbrush quickly. “I’m sleeping on that.”
“Nope.”
I walk over and grab the end of the cord, standing in his way. “Cole.”
“Reese.”
“You’re taking the bed.”
“I’m not. I told you—I’m the best boyfriend you’ll ever have, and your boyfriend would never let you take the air mattress instead of the bed.”
“So, you get to be the best boyfriend, and I’m stuck being the worst girlfriend?”
He smiles at me. “Don’t worry. You’re already the best girlfriend I’ve ever had.” He takes the cord from me, stoops down, and plugs it in.
I kneel across the mattress from him and start unfolding it. It’s all warped and weird from every last ounce of air being sucked out of it. “The bestfakegirlfriend.” I feel the need to make that distinction.
He screws on the pump attachment. “Nope.”
My hands slow. Is he really saying he’s never had a girlfriend?
Like, ever?
Or that he’s just had really bad ones?
“I don’t do relationships,” he says.
My chest tightens, a corner of the blanket limp in my hands. “Hence the two-date policy?”
“Hence that.” He flicks on the switch, and the mattress starts to come to life. He puts out his hands likevoilà.
I have so many questions right now, and if I was more than a fake girlfriend, I’d have the right to ask them.
He stands up and puts his hands on his hips casually, like he hasn’t just blown my mind a little bit. “Does thissexy pad come with a pillow or blanket, or am I sleeping bareback tonight?”
Laughing, I go over to the bed, which has more than enough pillows and blankets for the both of us. I toss him two pillows simultaneously, and he somehow catches them both. Two blankets follow—one for beneath, one for on top—and by then the mattress has finished inflating.
“There’s a toothbrush for you in the bathroom,” I say. “I’ll make up the bed for you.”
“I can d?—”
“Cole,” I say, pushing him toward the bathroom. “Let me be a good fake girlfriend for two minutes.”
