Her mouth never stayed closed for long. “I am twelve years older than you.”
“And I’m an expert in pissing you off.”
“Fuck you.” She rolled her eyes and grabbed his beer. She’d done it a million times before, but for some reason, he couldn’t look away when she pressed her lips to the rim. Her throat shifted as she swallowed. A voice in his head growled, She’s drinking my beer.
No shit, Sherlock. Thanks for the running commentary.
She handed it back and said, “There’s only one way this would work.”
“What’s that?”
“If you were my date.”
The shock on Zach’s face was so overwhelming it made Rae physically cringe. She hurried to clarify. “My fake date. You know, for the… actually, no, forget it.” She was being ridiculous. Again. Zach made her forget to corral the most fanciful parts of her brain, the imagination she usually poured into her writing.
But, to her surprise, he didn’t stay silent or laugh awkwardly and change the subject. Instead, he lurched back to life and said, “Why?”
She blinked, taken off guard. “Uh… why what?”
“Why me?” He had a slight frown as he said it, like he was confused. Or focused. Or both.
She shrugged, drowning in her own self-consciousness but determined not to show it. “I like you. You’re charming. You’ll make the whole weekend less of a living hell. You’re not some sleazy stranger who’d use the experience to try and get in my pants.” Kind of like how she’d sleazily tried to get in his pants. Her cheeks heated. “And, really, there’s no way I could get a real date.”
His frown became a scowl. “Why the hell not?”
She blinked. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have a slight problem with people.”
“Problem being?”
“I hate them.”
His laughter was incredulous. “What? No, you don’t.”
“Zach.” She leaned forward. “When have you ever seen me talk to anyone but our little group?”
He opened his mouth, presumably to give her an example. But the example never came, because—as she well knew—there were none. He looked nonplussed, snapped his jaw shut, then said, “But you’re so great with all of us.”
Their friends, he meant. “Of course I am. Ruth and Hannah are amazing.”
“And me and the guys are…?”
“Solid tens who don’t get on my nerves too often.”
“Oh, nice, Rae.” He grinned like she was actually funny. She grinned back. They were sitting there smiling in each other’s faces like a pair of bobbleheads. She couldn’t help it; she supposed there was just something about him.
And the fact that he wasn’t laughing in her face or running screaming for the door made her wild idea seem not-so-wild anymore. “I just remembered another reason why you should come.”
He arched a brow.
“Because you’re much better looking than Kevin, so he’ll have an apoplexy. Not,” she said demurely, “that I am concerned by such shallow and immature things.”
“Oh, no way,” he agreed, like he was calm about all this. “So… you really want me to come with you? As your, uh, fake boyfriend?”
She laughed, shaking her head. “It’s silly. I know it is.” But there was an equally silly seed of hope inside her, biting its lip and watching him with wide eyes.
That seed blossomed without permission when he put down his beer and said, “Let’s do it.”
She gaped. “You cannot be serious.”
“Oh, I’m dead serious.”
“Zach.” She gave a high, nervous laugh. “I can’t actually ask you to do that.”
He shot her an amused look. “Don’t come over all polite on me. You already asked. I’m saying yes.”
"I… I…” She stopped, cleared her throat, and pulled herself firmly together. “No. It’s too much to ask. Obviously, I’d get your ticket and everything, but you’d have to share my room at the hotel, and you’d have to book Friday off work, and—”
“So, what you’re saying here,” he drawled, “is that I get to attend this convention, which sounds pretty fucking cool, sleep on fancy hotel sheets, see you win your award—”
“I’m not going to—”
“See you win your award,” he repeated loudly, “and get time off work and good karma points. All in return for, what? Holding your hand in public and telling everyone how great you are? Wow, torture.”
For some reason, her mouth ran dry at those words. She croaked out, “Is that your boyfriend routine? Holding hands?”
He shrugged, as if this were a reasonable topic. “Part of it, yeah. But attraction isn’t about touching, not really. Not just that, anyway. Attraction is about energy.” His eyes settled on hers, oddly heavy, almost