Page 9 of Skating and Fake Dating (Love in Maple Falls #4)

BAILEY

I ’m captivated as Carson continues his baby potbelly pig story. “I was charged with theft. Cyrus didn’t press charges because he still owed me the ten dollars I loaned him for gas back in high school. Said we’re even. As if.”

“I wish I had a fun side quest story like that to go along with my devastation.”

Carson lifts and lowers his shoulders. “Well, we could fake a relationship. Retroactive side quest style.”

I laugh into my coffee cup. “Yeah. Sure.”

“You get a ‘successful’ boyfriend for family events. I get a ‘Stable’ girlfriend to polish my team image. No feelings, no complications, and a definite expiration date.”

“One of my friends hired a guy to be her date for a wedding.”

He chuckles. “Please tell me they were exposed.”

“Why would you want that outcome?” I frame my forefingers and thumbs, forming a marquee.

“Two unsuspecting and seemingly incompatible people come together under the auspices of him being her fake date, and then they actually fall in love. We saw it in a movie. They got their happily ever after—on the screen, not my friend. ”

“Don’t believe in those either.”

“Aren’t you a ray of sunshine?”

As we come over a rise, we leave the fog behind and the dawning sun climbs from the east over the mountains, shining through the treetops.

Carson says, “I’ve sworn off love.”

“Forever?”

He nods slowly.

“Yeah. I guess me, too. For now. But I won’t lie, I did think about bringing a fake date to the wedding, but you and I could never fake a relationship. That’s absurd.”

“It’s just hypothetical.” He lowers the visor, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun.

I swish my lips from side to side, thinking. “But if we did, there would have to be ground rules.”

“Of course. Boundaries,” he adds.

“It could only last for three months, tops.”

“Through the holidays and for family and team functions.”

Continuing to help build the infrastructure for a fake relationship that won’t happen, I add, “PDAs.”

“PD-what?” Carson asks.

“Public displays of affection would be limited to hand holding and occasional hugs.”

He snorts a laugh. “No one would buy it.”

“What are you saying?”

He gives me a side-eye. “There’d have to be some kissing.”

“Tame kisses.”

“I’m not known for being tame.”

I give him the opposite of a side-eye. “Aren’t you full of confidence?”

“And coffee,” he mutters. “Here’s another one. Real feelings would not be allowed.”

“Of course not.”

But we’re not actually considering a fake relationship, right? This is just a hypothetical conversation between two people on a long drive to pass the time.

A radio commercial fills the silence as spooky music plays in the background.

“Masquerade as whoever you want to be this Halloween with spine-tingling costumes and eerie decorations to transform your home into the neighborhood’s most haunted.

Step into The Halloween Emporium and discover everything you need to bring your frightful and delightful fantasies to life, from creepy crawlies to ghostly gatherings, all for discount outlet prices! ”

“Fake like Halloween,” I say more to reinforce any notion that Carson and I would venture into fake relationship territory.

Falling back into the conversation, he says, “We’d need a backstory. Like how we met.”

“How we fell for each other.”

“And no big blowout break up. Been there. Done that. Don’t want to be in the same predicament I am now.”

“Right. This would be the perfect solution if we did it. But we’re not. Because you don’t believe in romance, so there’s no way you could pull it off,” I say, discouraged.

Frowning, he nods in agreement. “It’s a bad idea.”

“Terrible.”

“Dangerous,” Carson says.

“So much could go wrong,” I add, envisioning the humiliating carnage if anyone found out that I faked a relationship for revenge.

“This is the stuff dramatic disasters are made of. Burning our lives down dumpster-fire level.” His gaze flicks toward mine and then back to the road.

I lean over the center console slightly. “But I’m pretty good at pretending.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Are you now?”

“I convinced my entire family that I love my corporate job.”

His mouth quirks up at one corner. “The job you’re doing right now? ”

“The very one.”

“You don’t love it?”

“You don’t believe in love at all, so by that logic, how could someone love a job?” I ask smartly.

He sputters for a moment.

Giving a nonchalant shrug, I say, “A fake dating scenario would be easier.”

“Would it? We’d have to act like a couple.”

“Like hold hands?” Carson follows the signs for the detour over a bridge and past a plaza of a mid-sized logging town with a laundromat and liquor store circa the 1980s.

I nod. “You’d have to put your arm around me with affection.”

“That’s so specific.”

“You’d have to look at me like ...”

“Like what?” His voice drops lower.

“Like you can’t imagine being with anyone else. That I’m the center of your world.” My heart races, betraying me with all the things I’ve longed for or maybe I’m just riding the double specialty latte roller coaster.

He stares dead ahead, maybe thinking about his ex, perhaps questioning his strong stance on love, or it could be that he thinks I’m nuts and is just playing along until he can leave me safely on the side of the road.

He clears his throat. “So, hypothetically speaking, if we did this ...”

“Which we shouldn’t,” I interject quickly for the sake of argument.

“Right, but if we did, we’d need to stick to the rules and boundaries.”

Too quickly, I say, “Of course. Nothing that would result in us landing in the penalty box. So we’re really considering this?”

“I’m not saying yes. I’m just saying that it solves both our problems, but then what? ”

“Then we’d go back to normal,” I say, though something in me already doubts that’s possible.

“Normal,” he repeats slowly. “Right.”

“Plus, my job will take me to another team after a few months, so we could kind of string things along and then have a plausible reason to go our separate ways.”

“It’s something to think about,” he says as he follows the detour signs onto a state route.

Yes, something to think about while caught in this little fantasy cloud before reality steps back in with a boot to my baby toe.

All the same, my stomach swoops, but I’m not sure that it’s because of the twisty turns of this winding back road.