Truly’s lips curve up in the faintest of grins for a nanosecond before flattening into a straight line. “What happened? Did you guys split up?”
How I want to toy with her to see if she’s actually jealous. But that wouldn’t help my mission. “We weren’t together.”
“Oh.” She sounds delighted.
“Nora has been my pretend date at a few weddings.”
“I thought the best man for hire mostly rode solo?”
“For the most part, but sometimes the couple prefers a plus-one, or it’s easier in the circumstances. Nora was quite good at it. She’s an actress, and she wanted to workshop some characters. But she was just cast in Raiders of the Lost Ark the Musical, so she’s now unavailable.”
Truly’s eyes light up. “I want to see that when it comes to Broadway.”
“Consider it a date. I’ll order tickets tonight.”
For a second, a smile seems to tug at her lips, almost as if she likes the idea of a date. But it vanishes quickly. “Pick out seats in the friend zone.”
I take out my sad trombone and play a few lonely notes. “You love reminding me that you cruelly friend-zoned me.”
“We friend-zoned each other. It was mutual. Do I need to remind you of the morning after?”
“Only if you want me to remind you of all the things you said the night before.”
She heaves a sigh. “Jason.”
“Yes. Like that. Only with a little more of a long, lingering moan. Kind of breathy. Sort of like Jason, yes, right there. Harder.”
Her eyes never waver, never break my gaze as she leans closer, dropping her voice. “Truly, fucking hell. Yeah. That. Just like that. Your mouth on me. So fucking perfect.”
Turn the oven off. I’m cooked. Officially roasted. I toss the figurative white flag at her. “You win.”
She takes a deep bow. “Thought I might. But let’s not forget the other things we both said, mainly We can’t do this again. Malone will kill us.”
“Hmm. That does sound familiar, now that you say it. And speaking of avoiding imminent death, I have a massive boulder rolling in my direction next weekend. It’s the first of a number of weddings coming up where I have been asked to bring a date.”
“And how is this a problem? You can walk down the street and pluck a date off a tree, Jason. This shouldn’t be an issue.”
“I can’t help it if women find me incredibly charming.” I flash her a grin because it is easier if we keep things light, friendly. “But I must inform you, women don’t grow on trees. If they did, I’d be planting one in my backyard. Hell, I’d sow a whole orchard.”
“If you do that, I’ll go plant a field full of guys too.”
“Or you can play in my field.”
“I’ll have to weed you out first,” she says wryly.
I lean across the bar to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, taking my time, making sure I get every single strand, especially since she trembles a little as I touch her. “You’d never be able to get rid of me.”
“I’m feeling that’s the case already.”
“Seriously, here’s the deal: I desperately need to take a date to the wedding next weekend and to the one after that too.”
“Put an ad online. Ask one of your many female friends. How hard can it possibly be?”
I snap my fingers. “Ask a friend. Brilliant idea. Bloody brilliant.” I bat my lashes. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”
She flinches, blinking. “Nooooooooo.”
“We’re not friends? Hmm. I distinctly remember us making a friendship pact . . . albeit after the third orgasm.”
A faint blush creeps across her cheeks, and it’s completely endearing. She lowers her voice and says, “Yes, we made a pact. Yes, we’ve been friends, even though you’re five years younger,” she mutters playfully. “And we are friends, we intend to stay friends. But . . .”
“We’re great friends. Who else would conquer the wilds of Manhattan fitness with you? We do martial arts together. I took the obstacle course class with you. You even dragged me along to Punk Rope,” I say, reminding her of one of the many exercise classes she’s enlisted me to join with her.
“And how much fun did we have jumping rope and doing push-ups? Plus, the obstacle course was a blast.”
“We did kick ass on the tire run.” I sense an opportunity to remind her that, while we’re not engaging in a repeat horizontal fitness project, we have carved out a spot in the tag-teaming department. “Come along with me to the weddings. We’ll have fun, just like we do as workout buddies. You’d be a fantastic pretend date. Plus, I’m loads of fun, and you want to help a good friend.”
She stares briefly across the expanse of the bar as if she’s contemplating my proposition while checking out the goings-on in the lounge area. “I’m sure it would be a hoot, but there has to be someone else who’d be better.”
I look her dead in the eyes, dropping all teasing and jokes. “No. There’s not. I can’t have this business go belly-up. It requires complete discretion, and I need somebody I trust. Somebody I know. I can’t have it seeping over into the Modern Gentleman world. Potential clients might not be thrilled to know I’m an advice columnist by day and a paid best friend by night.”
“You really think it’d be an issue?”
“I don’t want to take the chance. How can I be the guy giving tips to other men on how to present themselves well, impress a boss with the best version of themselves, when at night I’m pretending to be Jay, who’s Peter the groom’s best friend from uni, only I met him a few days ago? But hey, I gave that rad toast. That’s why I need somebody by my side who understands how important the gig is for me and for Abby,” I say.
Truly hangs her head. “It’s not fair to play the little sister card.”
“But it’s true. I just need to get through these jobs this summer, and I’ll be nearly done with the last of the bills.”
