Within less than half a day, news of my ‘engagement’ had spread like wildfire. Since then, I had been congratulated, celebrated, and interrogated around the clock. I had my script down pat and was practiced in offering up my engagement ring for examination while pretending to act coy about doing so.
Quinn was especially excited about this new—fake—development. After making me relay the ‘proposal’ story a half dozen times over the phone, she’d come to work armed with congratulatory flowers and stacks of bridal magazines, eager to bond over planning. And then she made me tell her the proposal story once more, in person.
Turns out, having a fake fiancé had granted me entrance to an exclusive club that I didn’t even know existed, where other happily taken people and I exchanged self-congratulatory smiles while quietly pitying all the poor, unfortunate single people. Sometimes we’d throw in a trite comment, like, “It’ll happen for her someday too,” so that we could pretend that we weren’t such smug and self-satisfied jerks.
Except I still was one of those single people, and sometimes, for a brief shameful moment, I seemed to get a little too comfortable in my new role and forget that important detail.
I didn’t know what my damage was. I didn’t even want to get married.
The minute I unlocked my door to let Lola in for girls’ night, she pushed inside my condo and beckoned eagerly.
“Come on,” she urged. “Let me see your ring.” I held out my left hand, stone sparkling in the light, and her eyes widened. “Damn, Thay. That’s some rock.”
“Lab diamond.”
She shrugged. “Aren’t they basically the same thing? More ethical, too. At any rate, I’d have thought it was real.”
Lola followed me into the living room and unscrewed the cap on the half-full bottle of Pinot Noir, filling both of our oversized glasses until the ruby liquid sloshed dangerously close to the rim. Bennett said he was the bad-influence friend of his group, and in this case, Lola was my Bennett.
A tray piled with snacks sat on the ottoman in the middle of us, stocked with tortilla chips, salsa, guacamole, bite-sized brownies, chocolate chip cookies, vegetables and dip, a cheese plate, grapes, and more. It was a little random, but desperate times called for carbohydrates.
Especially when my sister and Millie were due to arrive any minute for movie night. Quinn and I lived in the same building, which made it difficult to dodge her invitations. Not that I wanted to avoid Quinn so much as I did Millie, especially right now.
“How do you feel about your, uh, engagement?” Lola bit her lip, studying my face.
“It feels a little strange, but we didn’t have much of a choice. Things sort of escalated.” Again.
“Are you excited for the trip?” She rearranged herself so she was parallel to the couch, extending her long legs. Only Lola could pull off distressed boyfriend jeans and still look graceful instead of frumpy.
“Hah, no. I wish you were coming.” But I was pretty sure Lola was glad she wasn’t.
She tilted her head sympathetically. “At least you’ll have Bennett there as a buffer.”
At the mention of his name, I reached over and refilled my small plate with three more bite-sized brownies and my fourth handful of chips. Bennett was many things, but a good buffer wasn’t one of them. “Bennett is half the problem.”
“Not getting along?” Her amber-gold eyes studied my face. There must have been something written all over it, because her mouth fell open. “Or getting along too well?”
I groaned. “Both?”
Lola swung her legs around to face me, leaning forward with her expression rapt. “Did something happen?” Her eyes danced.
“We kissed.” I swallowed a gulp of wine, followed by another, trying to hide from her behind the oversized crystal goblet.
“You…kissed.”
“Yeah.” Squirming, I pulled my hands into the sleeves of my grey off-the-shoulder sweatshirt, trying to hide. It wasn’t enough. I tucked my knees into my body, hugging them against me.
“Not to be glib, but I kinda figured kissing came with the whole, pretending-to-be-engaged territory.”
Even Lola had thought that one out better than I had.
“No,” I said. “We kissed alone. And it wasn’t just a kiss. It was—” Words evaded me and I gestured in frustration. With a sigh, I sank down against the couch cushions.
“Hot?” she supplied, arching a brow.
“Scorching.”
There had been countless kisses in the span of time between my disappointing first-ever kiss with Kevin Peele at fourteen and my anything-but-disappointing first kiss with Bennett Bradford at twenty-five. First-date kisses. Breakup kisses. Drunken kisses. Awkward kisses. Good morning kisses. Goodbye kisses. Even one bumping-into-the-furniture, tear-your-clothes-off kiss.
Obviously, I had been kissed before. But none of them compared to kissing Bennett for the first time, let alone the second. He kissed me like he knew me. Like his lips—and hands—knew exactly what I liked. How to touch me, where to touch me, and what to do to leave me wanting more. It was infuriating, obviously. No one should have that power over someone else, especially not him.
Clearly, I’d lost my mind. Or maybe that happened when I agreed to this deal in the first place. I’d sacrificed my morals to preserve my reputation, and now I was paying the price by being tempted by sin in a designer suit. But no matter how pretty the wrappings or how seductive the kisses, nothing changed the fact that Bennett should have had a big, red stop sign tattooed on his forehead. Not just for my own benefit, but as a fair warning to all womankind.
Dead End: Heartbreak Ahead.
Lola’s brow creased and she looked like she wanted to say something but thought better of it. She scooped up some guacamole with a tortilla chip and shoved it in her mouth, chewing and swallowing before she spoke.
“Have you ever figured out what his issue was back in high school? Why he froze you out all of a sudden like that?”
My heart contracted painfully. “No.” Avoiding her eyes, I wiped the last of the brownie crumbs off my fingers with a paper napkin.
“Why don’t you ask him?”
Communicate? That was for normal, well-adjusted people. Not me, and certainly not Bennett.
“Why should I have to?” I gestured with my wine glass, burgundy liquid swaying. “I know I didn’t do anything to the guy. We were friends and he completely iced me out.”
Right when I needed him the most, too. Shortly before our falling out—or fight, or whatever it was—Quinn entered inpatient treatment for her eating disorder. We’d been close growing up and the abrupt separation was difficult for both of us. I felt like I was walking around without a limb. It was especially difficult given that I was sixteen, hormonal, and not exactly the picture of emotional stability.
At the same time, my mother had been navigating a hostile divorce complete with forensic accountants, private investigators, and scandalous allegations of infidelity on both sides. She was contesting the validity of the pre-nuptial agreement while my then-stepfather was trying to have us ousted from our home he owned. Between the divorce and Quinn, my mother was at her therapist’s so often, she could have collected frequent flier miles. And let’s just say her medicine cabinet resembled a small pharmacy.
In the midst of all the chaos, I was having panic attacks several times a week, while trying to maintain the outward appearance of a model student and daughter—because someone in my family needed to be the functional one. Old habits must have died hard, because that dynamic persisted to this day. Quinn was the one we handled with kid gloves, and I was the one who was expected to have her life together.
“Still…” Lola trailed off. “You guys used to be friends. Now you have chemistry. It just seems like a shame not to figure out where it all went wrong.”
“I’ll tell you where it went wrong: him.” Though it was hard to ignore the pang I felt in my gut when talking about it. Or thinking about it in general, which was why I tried not to. We were so close—until he cut me out without any warning.
“Is that why you were at the spa earlier, getting everything waxed from the neck down?” She bit into a carrot stick, narrowing her eyes.
“That has nothing to do with Bennett and everything to do with the fact that I’ll be wearing a bikini on the beach soon.”
There was a rap at the door, followed by four beeps in quick succession. When I’d given Quinn the code to my door, it had been intended for emergencies, but had eventually evolved into an all-access pass.
“Hi!” Quinn called from the entry, holding up a bottle of Sav Blanc and a paper bag containing some kind of food. “I brought treats.”
Millie followed behind her, both of them slipping off their shoes before they stepped into the hall. At least they knew the drill.
Lola and I readjusted ourselves, making room for the two of them on the couches. I pretended to busy myself with scrolling through the Netflix menu like it was some kind of complicated, time-intensive operation. The only problem was that three out of the four people in the room were far more interested in conversing over wine than actually watching a movie.
“So what’s new, Thay?” Millie’s pinned held me with such precision, I felt like a deer caught in a hunter’s rifle sight.
“Not much,” I said. “I’m sure you’ve already heard the big news about Bennett and me making things official. What about you, how are things?”
Eyes still fixed on me, she picked over the array of snacks and selected only the plain vegetable and fruit options, gingerly placing them on her plate. “Oh, I won’t subject you to those boring details. Tell me more about you.”
“Just excited for the wedding.” It seemed like a safe pivot.
Millie laughed airily, like I’d said something incredibly witty. “Which one?”
Right. I guess I was supposed to be having one of those in the near future as well.
I flashed her a broad smile. “Both, of course. Can’t wait to start planning and picking out all those little details like linens and accent colors. Sounds super fun.”
Beside us, Lola and Quinn fell into a conversation about potential art pieces for Quinn and Adam’s new house. They’d put an offer on a white picket fence deal in the suburbs. Overhearing about it almost made me glad I was talking to Millie.
“You know, I never pegged you for the marriage type,” Millie said. “Bennett either, actually. I’m pretty sure both of you swore you’d never get married.”
Leaning forward, I dumped half the tray of brownies onto my plate. “I guess it just takes the right one.”
“Whoever thought Bennett would be the right one?”
“Not me,” I said honestly, finishing the last of my wine and wishing it was tequila.
There was a pause in our conversation, and Quinn scooted closer to me, holding out her phone. “Have I shown you pictures of the listing we put an offer on? It’s amazing. Four bedrooms, three-car garage, huge yard…”
I nodded, thankful for the blessed interruption. Feigning interest, I let her show me all fifty-six listing photos and explain every selling point of the house down to its precise square footage. Quinn seemed happy so I was trying to be happy for her, even though I didn’t see how Adam could make anyone truly happy.
For the rest of the evening, I tried to put Bennett out of my mind. I didn’t need to see him, didn’t need to speak to him, didn’t even need to think about him until he picked me up for the airport in a couple of days. Despite my best efforts, however, my mind kept circling straight back to him.
Our arrangement had started with us carefully weighing kisses and measuring hugs at my mother’s dinner party, trying to strike the right balance via some kind of performative relationship calculus. Now, the initial awkwardness had begun to disappear, which was both a blessing and a curse. By the end of the night with Ian and Lauren, Bennett wrapping his arm around my waist in a crowded room felt natural, and names of affection I’d never used before with anyone tumbled out of my mouth a little too easily.
But when we were alone, things did a complete 180 again. We either argued, or…did whatever we did in my entry.
This wasn’t even a look-but-don’t-touch situation. That, at least, would be straightforward. This was a nefarious, touch-but-not-too-much situation. And it was exhausting.
