“Exactly. Unless you don’t want me to, in which case I will spend the time showing my hapless cousin how to fix a flat tire, because I’ll wager he can’t do that without my help.” I looked over to tell Jason, “You do know law school teaches students how to fix flat tires?”

“Exactly what law school did you go to?” he asked, rolling his eyes.

Summer laughed—a warm, happy sound that made me certain playing her beau for the night was the right choice. “So it’s between helping me and fixing a flat tire with Jason?”

“Yes, but you’re far more interesting than working on a car, I assure you.” I returned to the music, absently strumming The Beatles again.

“What is that sound? Is there a cockatoo strangling a trumpet near you?” she asked.

My shoulders sagged. “I’m playing the guitar. And I swear, you and my cousin are in cahoots. Did you go to the same school of insult metaphors? Now, would you like me to go with you, and we can show this asshat at the office that, one, it’s rude to invite an ex to a wedding, and, two, if you are such a twit that you do invite an ex, you are going to be shown up by a much sexier, much more handsome new beau?” I paused for dramatic effect. “Me.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a ginormous⁠—”

“Yes, of course. All the time.”

“Ego, Oliver. Ego.”

“If you mean ‘ego’ as a euphemism for the crown jewels, then also yes.”

“You’re incorrigible,” she said, but she was laughing again, happy again. And that was what I wanted from Summer. After all, she’d been one half of the reason I didn’t spiral into depression during high school. She’d done everything she could to keep my spirits up during the darkest days of my life. This was the least I could do for her.

“That’s better than being corrigible, isn’t it? Tell me when to pick you up.”

She gave me the details, and when I hung up, Jason stared at me, lips twitching, eyebrows arching. “So, it’s the old pretend-boyfriend ruse, is it?”

“Why, yes, it is.”

“You know what they say about that.”

I strummed another chord. “No, I don’t. Enlighten me.”

But he simply laughed rather than answering, and I didn’t give his comments a second thought.

After all, being Summer’s pretend boyfriend had always been easy.

On a Sunday evening two weeks later, I knocked on the door to Summer’s apartment. As it opened, I said, “All right, sexy fake girlfriend, get on my arm and let’s show you off like the⁠—”

My jaw dropped.

Possibly literally.

Definitely figuratively.

Because holy fuck.

Summer was a fox.

She wore some kind of dress. Some kind of fabric. Who the hell knew what any of it was except light blue and delectable.

She looked nothing like the girl I’d known most of my life, yet everything like her too.

She was sex appeal and sweetness all wrapped up in one delicious package.

“Like the what?” she asked, curious. “Show me off like the what?”

My throat was dry, but I managed to speak through the desert. “Let’s show you off like you’re the thing he most regrets.”

Because jackass or not, how could Drew not regret his fuckup? Losing this woman had to be cause for going to the hospital to check for alarmingly high levels of relationship remorse.

She smiled, and it did something funny to my chest.

Something funny that I shoved into a dark corner of my mind, determined not to examine.

I hooked her arm through mine, then we left her building and slid into a waiting Uber.

In the car, I reminded myself of our roles, and that quick reset was all I needed to ignore that dark corner of my mind.

At the wedding, it was easy, so damn easy to pretend she was mine, but that wasn’t because she was all dolled up.

It was because we knew each other. We had an ease between us. A rhythm.

During the reception, her ex strode over and introduced himself. “Pleasure to meet you. Drew McAllister the third.”

Are you fucking kidding me?

I held out my hand. “Oliver Harris the twelfth,” I said, since two could play that game. “Congrats on the wedding.”

“Yes. I particularly love the favors. I’d been hoping for a pen with your photo on it,” Summer put in.

“Thanks. They’re great for signing things,” Drew said, completely missing the point.

“As pens are,” I added, affixing a most serious look to my face. “Do they also work for taking notes?”

“Yeah,” he said, giving me a confused look. Drew scrubbed a hand over his jaw and glanced from Summer to me and back. “Have you two been together long?”

I looped my arm around her waist. “No, but when something is right, it’s just right, isn’t it?”

And since I had no more interest in him than I did in his bride-and-groom photo pens, I took Summer to the dance floor and twirled her around.

“Did you know you can also use a pen as a whistle?”

“Did you know you can use a pen to poke your brother or your cousin?” she tossed back.

“Some pens double as back scratchers,” I said.

“And don’t forget—nearly all can be used to hit that hard-to-reach reset button on modems.”