Page 61 of Rock Bottom Girl

“What ifIwasn’t right for any of those things?” she shot back.

“What’s the difference? If a job or a guy didn’t fit you or you didn’t fit them, the problem’s the same. The fit was wrong.”

“No. It’s not. Because if it’s not them, it’s gotta be me. Maybe I don’t fit anywhere. Ugh. This is stupid. I’m stupid. I don’t know why I called.”

“Because you wanted to talk. So talk, Mars. There’s no judgment here. You think I’ve got my shit together? I’ve got my feet up on a three-week-old box of pizza. And it just moved on its own. I’ve never been in a relationship. I’ve had a few one-night stands that extended into a week or maybe a month. But I’ve never met a girl’s parents. Hell, I’ve never even bought a woman I wasn’t related to a Christmas present.”

“You ever think that maybe you just don’t want that?” Marley suggested. I imagined her laying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, kicking one of those nice long legs up.

“I didn’t. Now, I’m not so sure.” I glanced around my grandmother’s living room—myliving room. Maybe it was her ghost that was pushing these new, weird feelings at me. She wanted her grandbabies settled, married, pumping out their own babies and organizing carpools and bake sales.

“Do you feel like you’re missing out?” she asked.

Did I? “I don’t know. Kinda. But I don’t know where it’s coming from.”

“I feel the same way,” she admitted. “But now I’m starting to wonder if I’m just meant to bounce from job to job, boring monogamous relationship to boring monogamous relationship.”

“Sweetheart, our monogamous relationship might be fake, but I can guarantee you it won’t be boring.”

She laughed softly, and it made me smile.

“Back to this fake relationship,” she said. “What does it entail?”

“I don’t know. What does a real relationship involve?” I asked, picking up a tennis ball that I used to work out shoulder kinks and tossing it in the air. Homer eyed it lazily.

“Dates. Dinner. Movies. Lazy Sundays. Spending time together.”

“Sex?” I asked.

“Usually.”

“Cool. Sign me up for that.”

“We’re not having sex in a fake relationship, Jake,” she groaned.

I tossed the ball up again and caught it one-handed. “Would it matter if I told you that I actually like you?”

“Why wouldn’t you? I’m a catch.” The sarcasm was strong with this one. “I think we’re complicating things enough with a scheme that we have to perpetuate until the holidays. Let’s not add a bigger mess to it,” she continued.

I let my gaze travel the perimeter of the living room. Speaking of messes. Maybe it was time I stopped living like I was a transient teenager.

“Let’s keep it simple then. Friends who occasionally have to hold hands and make out in public,” I suggested.

“That sounds…acceptable.”

“Good. We got a deal? I’ll give you some pointers on coaching and teaching. You be my relationship guru. And we hang out.”

“You’re not going to throw me over for Amie Jo again, are you?” She said it lightly like it was a joke, but there was something serious in her tone.

The tennis ball nailed me in the forehead, and Homer grumbled when it bounced onto his belly. “Throw you over for Amie Jo? When did that ever happen?” I demanded, doing a quick history search in my memory banks.

“Never mind. Got any actionable words of wisdom when it comes to coaching?” she asked, changing the subject. “I can’t for the life of me figure out how to get them to get along.”

I laughed. “Well, you did kinda get them at the worst possible time for a team or a coach.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“They didn’t tell you?” I knew the district had been in a hurry to fill the position, but I didn’t think they’d intentionally leave something like that out. I mean, a new coach deserved a heads up.