on the table in front of my friends, but as I drink my coffee and listen to the comfortable buzz, I’m mentally running through my options.
I’ve had dates for various social events, any one of whom I’m sure would be happy to play house with me for a month. However, none of them know me well enough to carry it off, and I wouldn’t trust them anyway.
Then there’s the decorator I dated last year for three months. When she started insisting I let her sleep over, pressuring me to cancel work trips and spend time with her and introduce her to my mom, I told her we had different ideas of where we were going. She’d responded as if we hadn’t agreed from the get-go that we weren’t looking for something serious.
Not calling her.
“How’s the fugue state working out?” Daisy murmurs so only I can hear. “You’ve been staring out the window for five minutes.”
“Not great.” I pick up the other half of her English muffin and bite into it, forcing my attention back to the table, which is engaged in a lively discussion about vacation spots.
Daisy has a sip of her mimosa before setting it down and adjusting the bracelet she’s worn on her wrist for as long as I’ve known her.
Daisy wouldn’t have gotten herself into this problem. She has her shit sorted out, and everyone else’s too.
We talk about Tris’s birthday this week as Hunter shares Kendall’s kid Rory’s new project with pride, and Serena's boyfriend Wes talks to me about a new science idea to follow up on the investment I made in his online dating platform.
Daisy jumps in from time to time with pointed questions or appreciative laughter before cutting everyone off with a political question or prod for one of our friends to get more involved in one of the charities she’s stumbled across recently.
That’s when it hits me. Daisy would be the perfect fake girlfriend.
She’s smart, articulate, attractive, single, and she knows me better than anyone.
I shove my sweater up to my elbows and bend toward her ear. “We need to talk.”
She jumps, startled, and knocks coffee onto her shirt. “Dammit.”
"How many cups have you had?"
"I swear this is my first."
She pushes back her chair, and I'm right on her heels.
“Daisy, for my birthday, I want you,” Tristan calls as D leads the way toward the hall.
“Jumping out of a cake?” she asks over her shoulder, amused.
“He’s rich, but rich can’t keep you up all night.”
“You wouldn’t know,” I retort, flipping my brother off. “You’re following in my footsteps but you’re slow to catch up.”
Laughter follows us toward the hallway. The first single-person bathroom is full, so she ducks into the second. I follow her, squeezing in behind her so the door will close.
“Did you reach your mom?” she asks as she tugs the hem of her T-shirt, running it under the water.
“Not yet.” I’m working on tracking her down, the sinking feeling in my stomach growing by the hour. But I force it away as I take a paper towel and hold it out to her. “I need a date to my awards gala.”
“I’m sure a million women would go with you.”
I lean back against the door. “I don’t want a million women. I want you.”
Daisy meets my gaze in the mirror, laughing.
“Come on. You don’t even know the details. It’s on our night, so I know you don’t have plans.”
She scrubs at her shirt. “We’ve been hanging out every Friday for eight years."
"Which means it's unshakeable."
Daisy cuts me an unreadable look from under a fringe of dark lashes. “Or… maybe it’s run its course.”
Cue record scratch.
“We’re adults. We have jobs and lives and responsibilities,” she goes on, as if she didn’t turn my world upside down a breath before.
“Which is why fucking off every week together matters more. We don’t have to pretend with each other.”
“What about when you start dating someone who wants your Friday nights?”
“I’ll manage her expectations.”
She balls up the paper towel and tosses it in the garbage before turning to face me. “Then what if I do?”
It takes a lot to render me speechless, but her words do it.
Yesterday, I didn’t blink before paying that guy in the boarding lounge for his ticket so I could get back.
I didn’t regret taking a limo straight from La Guardia to my friend’s apartment and letting myself in, because our nights together are sacred.
Last night, I felt as if she was pulling away, but I was tired enough from my