Page 8

With a resigned sigh, I tossed my phone onto the bed beside me and sat up.

Time to be a brat, I guess. I nervously chewed on my thumb, the email tab opened on my MacBook.

What did I want from Theo? What could he do to help out Book Boyfriends RE: ‘OPERATION FAKE IT’

Please read over my list of requirements.

Two date nights per week unless on an away trip. Attendance at all home games, wearing my jersey, number, or other identifying other-half attire, if possible.

Appropriate posts on SM to ensure we are Instagram Official.

Attendance at any and all team functions where a significant other is expected.

PDA required when necessary and applicable.

Your right hand says Theo’s LG with hearts and arrows on in red Sharpie

And it stays between us.

Theo

I glared at my Mac and snatched my phone from it’s errantly flung resting place, fingers flying furiously.

INDIE: Why don’t you just have me move in?

THEO: Don’t push it, little girl.

God, he was so insufferable. Little girl my ass!

INDIE: And geez, PDA when ‘necessary and applicable’?

INDIE: I mean, moving in would put a damper on my dating life

He responded within seconds, and I imagined the steam coming out of his ears with a smirk. I hadn’t gone on a date in almost a year, but he didn’t need to know that.

THEO: No seeing other people.

Two can play at that game, Theo Gerard.

INDIE: Or sticking your dick in other people.

I hit send with glee, and took a huge forkful of the sweet, decadent desert he paid for.

THEO: It might be fake, but I’d never disrespect you publicly, Indie.

INDIE: Oh, so just in private then?

The dots jumped like the balls in that damn pit we took the kids to, and I had to wonder what his response would be since it was taking so damn long.

THEO: Careful. Don’t make me take you over my knee, again.

INDIE: Promises, promises. And Eden already knows. Which also means Cole, but I swore them to secrecy.

THEO: …

INDIE: Cole is a vault.

THEO: Nia can’t know.

INDIE: Why?

THEO: The less people who know, the easier it will be for us to…fake things.

INDIE: Fine. She’ll feel bad if she knows I’m faking it and missing out on finding the love of my life to help the bookstore.

Whatever I said must have hit a cord with Theo, because the jumping dots are on a power play.

For two minutes. While I finished off my chocolatey better than sex dessert. Granted, I hadn’t had really good sex in so long I couldn’t remember it, so…

THEO: Final point.

I waited for him to explain, but even the dots were radio silent.

INDIE: Don’t leave me hanging.

THEO: Marry me.

My hand stilled, mid fork to mouth as I nearly choked on air.

Marry me?

THEO: If we’re going to really make a difference in my rep, then dating isn’t going to do it.

He had a point. Admittedly, Theo had a playboy reputation when he was with his other team, and the recent pictures of Boob Gate were enough to undo some of the Romance Hockey Boy image he cultivated.

Readers and women loved the idea, but they didn’t want an actual MMC with red flag behavior.

I should know. Book Boyfriends & Lattes thrived on the idea that fictional red flags could turn green for the right woman who melted away all the bullshit some men in real life clung to.

But marry Theo?

Granted, fake engaged isn’t actual real engaged, but still.

A memory. Like a wispy shadow snuck into my brain.

Tell you what, Indra, if you aren’t married by thirty, I’ll marry you.

INDIE: I’m not thirty, Theo.

THEO: Average age between the two of us is almost thirty, Indie.

Fork in the now empty box, I sat back against my pillows, my bun hitting the headboard and annoying me more because it in a weirdly twisted way, it made sense.

I’d been taking care of Trav off and on for a few months now, and more than once, people had commented about the two of us having a secret relationship or implying that we were really dating.

Which was absurd. Right?

THEO: And it’s fake, so it doesn’t really count.

For some reason, every feeling I had from the night he turned me came rushing back in a tidal wave of emotions I’d long since avoided or morphed into hating him. The rejection. The humiliation. The ‘I’m not good enough’ thoughts.

The ‘he doesn’t want me’ realization.

INDIE: Right. Fake doesn’t count. Makes for the perfect cover story, Dating in secret.

THEO: Marriage pact.

INDIE: They’ll eat it up.

THEO: Agreed?

I tapped the screen, hating that I was considering this crazy ass scheme, while simultaneously hating that not doing it felt like letting Nia down.

INDIE: I’ll think about it…

INDIE: But I’m never moving in.

Famous last words.

The paper fell to the floor, floating and drifting like one of the rose petals falling from the rose the Beast kept locked away.

Float.

Float.

Float.

Floor.

I stared at the letter on the floor, wishing it away, because maybe if I glared at it long enough, I’d wake up and this would all be a bad dream.

Dear tenant,

The building has been sold and henceforth on the first of the following month, all tenants are no longer in contract to lease said domicile.

Please make plans to remove your belongings before the 5th of the pre-mentioned month.

We apologize for any inconvenience, and wish you nothing but the best in your next home.

Signed,

AfG Property Management

I glanced at the calendar on the refrigerator. It was the 11th. Which meant I had less than 20 days to find a new place to live, pack, and move.

Mother. Fucking. Hell. The Universe conspired against me in so many various and sundry ways was not on my bingo card for Mess With Indra’s Independent and Kick Ass Life plan. And obviously hated that whole never shit I pulled.

Fan. Fucking. Tastic.

Why don’t you just have me move in?

Looks like I needed to renegotiate the terms of our…fake relationship…with Theo.

INDIE: Addendum. I move in.

Theo dot jumping tango.

THEO: Agree to fake marry me, and it’s a deal.

INDIE: Fine. And takeout whenever I want it. Not just twice a week.

THEO: Deal.