Why? We’re not. It’s totally fake. He came to my rescue with that buffoon boys coach and Amie Jo when she was ready to claw my eyes out over the dye incident.”
“You are Culpepper’s hometown hero right now. You stood up to the Hell Beast and lived to tell the tale.”
“Amie Jo or Vince?”
She ignored my question. “Plus, you land Jake ‘Never Had a Relationship Longer Than Three or Four Orgasms’ Weston.”
“Fake, Vick. It’s fake.”
She slapped her hand over my mouth. “You will not speak that word again in my presence. You kissed him. You have a history with him. He waltzes into battle to make sure you don’t get your face punched in by a steroid-swilling orangutan or your eyes clawed out by Evil Barbie. Then he willingly signs a contract saying he will date only you for the rest of the year. A contract that he could get fired over if he defaults.”
“Semester,” I cut in. I was only here until December. Let’s not prolong this into something it wasn’t.
“There’s a lot more real than fake in that chain of events,” she pointed out.
We both turned to watch Jake as he walked his team through a cool-down of foam rolling. Some of my girls had joined them and were drooling over his meaty thighs. I couldn’t blame them. Part of me wanted to snack on those thighs.
“I can’t be in a relationship with Jake Weston,” I insisted. I felt the panic rising in my throat. “I’m a mess. A hot mess. You date guys like that in your prime, not twenty years past it.” Jesus, when was the last time I’d had a bikini wax? Or a freaking haircut? Besides, the man couldn’t be trusted. He’d thrown me over for something blonder and shinier before.
“No. Nope. This can’t be real. He’s just helping me out.”
“Why? Marley, why would Jake just help you out?”
“We have a deal. He’s going to keep Amie Jo off my back and help me brush up on my teaching and coaching.”
“And in return you have dirty, dirty sex with him?” she prodded.
“In return,” I elbowed her hard, “I’m going to teach him how to be in a relationship.”
“Why would he want to know what that’s like?” she asked.
“He says he’s ready to settle down.”
Vicky sucked in a breath and choked on her gum. I thumped her on the back until she started breathing again.
“You say that like it’s not the most momentous thing that’s ever happened in Culpepper,” she wheezed.
“What’s the big deal? I’m thirty-eight and have never been married either.”
“But not for lack of trying. You’ve dated. You’ve lived with men. You’ve been on that track.”
I winced. I’d been on that track and then fallen off of it. Repeatedly.
“Jake’s never shown any interest in doing anything resembling a relationship. Do you know how many bridesmaids and flight attendants have been spotted leaving his house at all hours of the night?”
“So he changed his mind. Big whoop.”
Vicky pinched the bridge of her nose. “How can I put this so you’ll understand? It’s like if Hostess Snack Cakes came out with a fat-free, calorie-free Twinkie that was good for you. But only one person in the world could have them.”
“I’d annihilate the competition,” I breathed, staring off into the distance, imagining such a beautiful thing.
“Jake Weston is the fat-free, calorie-free Twinkie. And only one woman can have him.”
26
Jake
I flopped down on the couch and kicked my feet up on the coffee table. Homer rolled onto his back on the cushion next to me to give me better belly-scratching access. I obliged, scruffing his tummy.
“You need another haircut, fur face.” He was part Goldendoodle, part who the hell knows what, and his pretty little curls had the tendency to get unruly. Homer grumbled at me in agreement. He had a crush on the lady who ran the groomers. I’d drop him off before work, and he’d follow her around, mooning after her with his dopey brown eyes for the day.
My phone dinged from somewhere, and I went digging for it, finding it between the couch cushions.
Marley: We need some ground rules if we’re still doing this thing.
I laughed. “Women, am I right, Homes?” His tail tapped out a beat against the armrest.
Me: Whatever pleases m’lady.
I could hear her rolling her eyes across town.
Marley: I’m serious. What are we doing here? How are we going to pretend to be together for an entire semester? Are we supposed to make out on lunch duty?
Me: We should definitely do