The Next Mrs Russo - Jana Aston Page 0,24

given it any thought until now. He stares at me for a long moment. I think I detect a slight twitch of his lips as if he’s fighting a smirk.

“You were tolerable.”

Be. Still. My. Heart.

Tolerable.

Still, he’s not entirely wrong. I’ve always considered being tolerable one of my best traits. It’s a very underappreciated quality in a person, if you ask me, so I shrug one shoulder as if to concede this point.

To my left, there’s a snort. I tear my eyes off of Warren to make sure Miller isn’t filming this so he can upload to some app or another. He’s tapping furiously on his phone.

“What are you doing?” I ask, but it’s clearly an accusation not a question.

“Taking notes,” Miller replies without an ounce of shame. “For the book I’m going to write about the dating habits of grown-ass adults. I’m going to market it as a parody for teenagers. Unless I could spin it as a self-help guide for teenagers dealing with single parents?” He bounces his knee a couple times while he thinks that over. “Like a guide for how to communicate with the hopeless?”

I’m about to snatch Miller’s phone to take a look at his stupid notes when Warren speaks, calling my attention back to him. Apparently tuning out obnoxious teenagers is one of his many talents. I suppose dealing with reporters gives you focus. Plus, his daughter is a teenager so he has some firsthand experience.

“I have an event on Thursday,” he says, raising his eyebrows in question while my heart races in confusion.

Why am I confused? I’d for sure still make out with him given the opportunity. I’m just…

“Um, I don’t know if I can,” I finally sputter out. I really don’t. I can’t deal with making a fool out of myself in front of him, which is bound to happen. He wants a couple dates to get his mom off of his case and I want to marry him and have his babies.

Fine. I don’t know him that well yet. But we’re on buses heading in two really different directions.

“Are you seeing someone else?” Warren places his hands back in his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels while never taking his eyes off of me. It’s disconcerting. Distracting. Bewildering.

“I am!” I agree, happy to launch onto that excuse. “Gary.”

“Gary’s her cat,” Miller chips in, head buried in his phone, typing away. “She’ll do it.”

“Great.” Warren accepts Miller’s acquiescence as my own without even breaking eye contact with me to glance at him. “I’ll pick you up at five. It’s a dinner thing.”

“Wait. Wait one minute.” I hold up a hand. “What’s in it for me?”

“Civic duty?” Warren suggests with a shrug.

“Don’t try to outmaneuver me with your political fancy talk. How many events are we talking about? Are these fundraisers? Charity events? Because those are the worst. They never even send you home with cake at the end. They usually serve a bowl of fresh fruit or something else that is not cake and has no business being passed off as a dessert.” I pause here a moment to exhale in disgust. “I don’t mind pretending to like you, because I do like you and honestly my time isn’t all that valuable, but pretending not to be bored at fundraisers is a big ask.”

“A big ask.” Warren nods, finally taking his eyes off of mine. He turns before I can decipher whether or not he’s smirking. He hums to himself, a noncommittal something that sounds like “hmm,” and I consider the fact that he’s come to his senses that this is all a Very Bad Idea. That maybe one of the alternates would indeed be the easier choice. I wonder just how awful this list his mother came up with is.

“You already told my ex-wife you were my girlfriend, surely you owe it to me to fake it a few more times?”

“Heh.” I shrug. “That sounds like a you problem, not a me problem.”

“Charming,” he murmurs. But too late I realize his attention has diverted to the hallway leading to my kitchen. I don’t think he can see much from where he’s standing, but he’s frowning. “Did you call a plumber?”

“Oh, yeah.” I nod reassuringly.

Technically, it’s not a lie. I have called a plumber. Several of them, since I moved to Albany. Have I called one since Saturday? No.

Warren stares at me again for a long moment like he can read my lying mind. “Did you call a plumber this week?” he clarifies