Props to Silas for attempting to alter his voice, but there’s no erasing the cockiness that bleeds through it.
“What was that?” he asks, unfazed by my calling him out. “You need to schedule another appointment since you canceled your last one to attend your weekly visit to the underworld?”
“First off, I’d kick you before I ever kicked a puppy.”
He breaks character, his tone returning to normal. “Good to know you’d protect an animal over me.”
“You’re not as cute. Sorry, not sorry.”
“There you go, battering another heart.”
“Keep talking shit, and I’ll batter your balls next.” I sit down on one of the overpriced leather dining room chairs I purchased with my first bonus check, rip off my strawberry yogurt lid, and shove a bite into my mouth.
“I take it you’re calling to ask me out on an apology date? Or is this you requesting me to be your eye candy to your work event?”
I can imagine the smug expression on his face. “Eye candy? More like desperation candy. You’re the Peeps of sweets.”
“Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart. And Peeps is the number one–selling Easter candy, by the way.”
“I’m not even going to waste my time fact-checking that because Peeps could grant immortality with just one taste, and I still wouldn’t eat them.” I’m mid-bite when something dawns on me. “Wait. How did you know I was calling? I never gave you my real number.”
“Thank you for providing the reminder that you gave me some schmuck’s number, who you kicked to the curb, instead of yours.”
“You’re welcome.” I crack a smile before licking my spoon clean. “I figured you needed some entertainment.”
“Cohen gave me your number.”
I move the phone from one ear to the other. “That little shit.”
“Technically, he’s a half-shit. He only gave me the first three numbers and then told me it was my job to figure out the rest. When you called, the first three matched up, and I took a guess that it was you.”
“What if it wasn’t me?”
“I guess I’d have had to spend my day talking someone through an anger issue. I think I have a soothing voice. Don’t you agree?”
“Nope. The cockiness triggers a migraine with me every time.”
“You know what’s good for migraines?”
“Not talking to you?”
“Orgasms.” He emphasizes each syllable of that word. “That is an area of expertise I excel in. They used to call me Orgasm Rx.”
I cover my face and hold in a laugh. “I’m seriously reconsidering this whole fake-date idea.”
“When and where do I need to pick you up?” He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Is there a certain route I need to take to the gateways of hell?”
“I think you mispronounced heaven.”
“And I think you mispronounced, Thank you, Silas. I’m so happy you’ll bless me with your time and presence.”
I finish my yogurt, toss the empty container into the trash, and stroll into my living room. “Thank you, Silas. I’m writing an editorial the next day on what it’s like to go out with a dude with an ego the size of the ocean. I appreciate you giving me plenty of material to work with.”
“Aw.” He chuckles. “My little number-changing rebel is writing a diary entry about me.”
I scoff, “You wish.”
“On the plus side, it’ll give me another opportunity to talk to Callum. I have a list of things to ask him. The first being, how can I avoid dying when I’m around you?”
“That’s it. I’m bailing.”
“Nah, we have a hot date. Send me the details and your address, and I’ll see you then. Catch you later, Princess of Darkness.”
He ends the call.
What did I get myself into?
Chapter Seven
Silas
Faking a relationship isn’t a hobby of mine.
I’ve never done it.
I’m not sure how I got myself into this mess.
Lola.
That’s how.
I’m not a relationship guy.
I tried it once, and it decayed the life I’d always known.
It ruined others’ lives too.
All because I thought I knew what love was, thought I could pull off some Romeo and Juliet shit. Over the years, I’ve grown up and learned that love is merely an infatuation with someone you want. Sometimes, that infatuation can survive marriage, children, and the mundane of life. Others see love as a shiny, new toy, but then the desire slowly wears off. They cheat and fall out of love, and everyone around you suffers. Then it’s off to the next obsession. Love is a fantasy that I want nothing to do with.
Lola and I are almost strangers, and I have no idea why the fake-date idea popped into my head. I allowed it to drop to my lips and spill from them. She’d pulled me into her web from the moment I overheard her and her fellow psychos talk about the demise of their ex-boyfriends.
GPS announces I’ve arrived at my location, and I park my car in front of the one-story townhome with a manicured lawn. The bright red door is fitting for the owner, but I expected a black home that looked straight out of a horror movie.
I hesitate before stepping out of my Audi, unsure if I should text her and say I’m here. Or if I should walk to the door, date-style … even though today is sure as fuck not a date.
I enjoy out-of-the-box shit like this. Call it a field trip, if you will.
“Ah, fuck it,” I grumble.
It’s Lola I’m picking up. She won’t assume it’s a date if I go to her door. I’m also curious what the inside of her place looks like. Waiting until a spandex shorts–wearing woman passes us with her petite, dressed-up dog, I head toward the front door, passing a black Porsche on the way up the drive. My knuckles meet the red paint on her door when I knock, and I take a step back, waiting for her to answer.
“Damn, you look hot,” I say when the door swings open and Lola stands in front of me.
A black dress hugs her hourglass shape, and her black heels are the tallest I’ve seen her sport. She texted me last night to remind me of the dress code, so I pulled out the suit I’d worn only a few times from the back of my closet.
I step forward and walk in, not waiting for an invite.
“Come on in,” she grumbles, moving to the side to allow me better access.
The open floor plan of her home provides me with a hint of Lola’s life—the plush white couch that few would dare to have in their home, for fear of staining. Three red paintings hangon the living room wall. The place is so clean that it looks almost unlived in.
I slip my hands into the pockets of my black pants. “You ready to do this?”
She shoves her phone into her bag. “Nope.”
“We can ditch and do something better?”
“I wish,” she groans, her shoulders slumping. “My father would kill me.”
“Father?” I cock my head. “I thought this was a work event?”
Meeting the parents isn’t what I expected tonight. If I’d known that was the case, I’d have called in sick to tonight’s festivities. Acting like her boyfriend around her coworkers is one thing, but around her family? Nah, that produces more difficulty and effort. I’m great at pretending. I’ve done it nearly the past decade of my life, but it’s not easy to act like you’re dating a woman without doing the shit couples do—kiss, hold hands, look at each other with stars in your eyes. Lola would probably castrate me if I tried to kiss her.