Page 18 of Lessons in Faking
Wren had said this was a bad idea. And I didn’t want to admit it, but I’d had some serious doubts of my own. McCarthy was unreliable, selfish, arrogant. Those weren’t great qualities to have in a business partner. Worse in a boyfriend.
The sinking feeling of my own humiliation was replaced quickly. Now that McCarthy’s voice drawled through the air, all I could bring myself to feel was annoyance. As carefree as ever, he took a seat on the other side of the small table, right by the window. My gaze moved toward him slowly.
“Fancy seeing you here.”
“You’re late.” I dropped the spoon that had just been stirring my coffee back into the cup. His brown hair was still damp. He shrugged his jacket off, revealing the compression shirt that clung to his outline. My eyes flicked back up, ignoring the tight fit around his arms before I could accidentally linger.
“You’re early,” he corrected quickly, eyeing my cup. “We agreed on 9:30.”
“9:15.” I was sure I’d said 9:15, and I was sure he’d agreed to 9:15. Why else would I be sitting in Daisy’s Coffee at 9:15—
“You said 9:15,” he confirmed. Unfortunately, he went on, “I said I won’t make it for 9:15, suggested 9:30, and you shrugged. Which, in my world, means you agreed.” His smirk was unbearable, even before he added, “To 9:30.”
I sighed more in annoyance than defeat. In my defense, that conversation had taken place in the same Statistics lecturehehad told me to pay more attention to. And I had felt Shaw’s eyes on us the entire time we were having it. I’d been prone to agree to anything he’d said, just so he would shut up.
“Ah, she remembers.” He smiled when my gaze met his again.
“You’re insufferable, McCarthy.”
He reached across the small table for my drink, took a long sip, and placed it right in front of me again. “Just think about what you might’ve done to deserve a boyfriend as insufferable as me.”
I grimaced. “Charming,” I muttered as he wiped thewhipped-cream mustache off his face. To make sure no one saw the unfiltered urge to murder him dash across my features, my eyes shifted.
Daisy’s was the only coffee shop perfectly located between my apartment and the business buildings we had most of our classes in. It was relatively modern—painted white with accents of pink here and there, white tiles running along the front of the counter to the pastry display behind a glass front. To the right, those same tiles morphed into dark wooden planks; the light, clean floor was replaced by ancient-looking wood; and flowers and plants spread out across the entirety of the other side of the building, where the walls were red brick instead of white paint. Daisy’s Coffee and Daisy’s Daisies shared the space—a coffee and flower shop in one.
It’s what was charming about the place. Two entirely different concepts—clashing, yet somehow working together so incredibly well.
And on sunny days like this one, Henry preferred to walk to class, getting a coffee from Daisy’s on the way instead of a cup from his machine at home, before heading into the nightmare we called Accounting. That little habit of his was the only reason I was still sitting here, surrounded by flowers, fresh pastries, and a guy I wasn’t sure would come out of this alive, if I had it my way.
“So you’ve been studying?”
Right away, I knew this wasn’t about statistics. “Of course.”
To his initial email, I’d replied with a similar one:
9:20 AM
McCarthy,
Find attached a document of all the things my boyfriend should know about me. Should you not memorize each of these points, I, your future fake girlfriend, will be thoroughly disappointed, as well as forced to fake break up with you.
Insincerely,
A.P. P.
To which he’d replied,
10:35 AM
Pressley,
Find attached my own list of fun facts. I’ll be expecting just as much commitment from you as you are from me.
PS: Did you know your favorite animal tortures other sea creatures for fun? Thinking about it, I can see why you like them.
Worst,
D.M. W.
