Fake It ‘Til You Feel It (Work For It #3)

2. Post-Mortems and Other Fun Friend Activities

CHAPTER 2

POST-MORTEMS AND OTHER FUN FRIEND ACTIVITIES

IVY

W e’ve begun calling it The Post-Mortem. After the anniversary party weeks ago, Mars and I started analyzing every gathering. He knows it helps me decompress, but I’m not sure what he gets out of it.

It’s become our little tradition, and now my social evenings wouldn’t be complete without it. Our work and friend groups have a lot of overlap, and there seems to be a never-ending string of get-togethers and events.

Moving to Wavecrest might be the best decision I’ve ever made.

Sylvie and her husband Will like to invite people over for casual meals and barbecues. Stuart cajoles everybody into karaoke night at least once every two weeks. And now Rocky, the owner of Coastline Books, is starting a new book club soon.

At every game night, hangout at Foggy’s Bar, and bonfire, Mars and I end up sitting next to each other. I don’t know how it happens, but we’ve become unofficial partners in crime.

Turns out Mars is insanely good at Pictionary, what with his next-level artistic skills and his refusal to be stressed out by the timer. All the doodling and sketching he does has made us almost unbeatable. It’s gotten to the point that Stuart suggested Mars’ drawing time be cut in half.

“You’ve been practicing,” Stuart grumbles at Mars when we win our third Pictionary match in a row. Mars laughs, and the fine hairs on my arms stand up. Damn that low, rumbly sound. It’s starting to be a problem.

“If you mean that I draw every day for work, then yes, I’ve been practicing.” Stuart starts to protest but Meredith claps her hand over his mouth. “Stop talking,” she grumps. Stuart must lick or bite her hand because she yelps and smacks his shoulder.

Colin, who has Joanie in his lap, lets out a mighty yawn which spreads like a virus. By the end, everyone is bleary-eyed except Stuart. “You guys don’t want to go another round? We have Monopoly.”

“No,” at least five of us shout. Stuart suggests Monopoly every time we get together for game night, and we always shoot him down.

“Nobody likes Monopoly, stop suggesting it,” Sylvie says. Will nods in agreement.

“Carla likes it,” Stuart protests.

“Yeah, but Carla’s not here, and her husband hates it,” Ivy points out.

Meredith and Stuart start putting the games away, and Mars leans closer to me. “I actually love Monopoly, but I’m not willing to start a game at ten o’clock.” His breath stirs the hair around my ear, and I suppress a shiver.

“Of course you do. I haven’t figured out if there’s anything you don’t like.”

“Sharks,” he says with a solemn look on his face.

“Says the surfer.” I laugh. He cracks a smile and shrugs. Standing up from the cushion he’s occupied the whole night, he pulls me to my feet. The temptation to lean into him is strong, but I resist.

“Come on, Ives. Let’s put this evening to bed.” Why did he have to say that? For weeks I’ve been fighting this feeling that our friendship is teetering on the brink of something. A one-sided something.

Yeah, maybe I study him way too closely, but I’ve never seen him react to our incidental touches like I do. He either doesn’t feel that same spark, or he’s really good at hiding it.

I’ve found myself standing too close sometimes, trying to catch a hint of his sea-air scent. Touching him when I don’t need to be. Catching his eye from across the room. All initiated by me…every time.

As we say our goodbyes and head out the door into the foggy night, I resolve to lock down whatever stray feelings threaten to ruin one of the best friendships I’ve ever had.

He doesn’t make it easy though.

“Shit, it’s freezing out. Post-mortem in my truck? My heater kicks in faster than yours.”

Once I’m sitting in his beach-appropriate truck—honestly, I think you can hose this thing out without causing damage—he cranks the heat, and I sigh as the warm air hits my face.

He rubs his hands together. “Okay, Ives, let’s get you decompressed,” he says like it’s his favorite thing to do.

“I love that you know this about me.”

“I know a tired Ivy is a cranky Ivy, and nobody wants that.” I shove his shoulder and he laughs. “Okay, food.”

“Perfect as usual. Meredith and Stuart have the best party snack skills.”

“Are you happy that they added pizza rolls to the menu?”

“Infinitely happy.”

“Next topic: game selection.”

“We might have to set Pictionary aside for a few game nights. I think people are starting to get resentful that we win all the time.”

Mars’ smile widens. “We make a great team.”

So much for trying to kill any feelings I have for him. My heart gives a pathetic little whump when he calls us a team.

“Music,” he says, moving on to the next agenda item, completely unaware that I’m having a little internal battle.

“Always good, but a little too heavy on Meredith’s sad, early two-thousands, emo music.”

Mars gasps in faux outrage. “Sacrilege. Meredith’s music always hits right.”

I laugh. “I’m trying to picture you as an emo teen, and I can’t see it.”

“I was only emo when I went to my dad and stepmom’s house because I knew it pissed her off. I don’t know how many times she threw out my black eyeliner.” He tosses his head like he’s trying to get long bangs out of his face.

“Nope, still can’t see it.” In the middle of my giggle, a yawn hits me square in the throat.

Mars gets out of the car and comes around to open my door. “Okay, yawn monster, time to go home. I’ll see you Monday.”

I don’t want to get out of his warm car, but I need to go to bed. I straighten and wrap my arms around myself. A thin hoodie wasn’t enough to combat the cold that comes with thick fog. “What are you up to this weekend?”

“Nothing special. Errands and cleaning, maybe a little painting for another skateboard deck.”

“I hope that company knows how lucky they are to have you and your talent.”

“That’s what the paycheck’s for.” He winks at me and walks me to my car, which is parked in front of his. “Night, Ives. Sleep tight.” He leans forward a little but stops himself, his eyebrows knitting together for a moment. I have to stop myself from sucking in a breath.

“Night.” My voice catches, and I try to shake it off. Getting in my car, I start the engine and wait for the heater to kick on. And try to quiet my brain when it starts to ask what that moment meant.

Our post-mortem was supposed to help me get to sleep, but now Mars’ unidentified lean will keep me up all night.

Mars’ phone dings with a notification, but he doesn’t take it out of his pocket. His teacup stutters on the way to his mouth, and his cheeks light up with a blush.

“You don’t need to check that?” I ask as I take a sip of my tea. We’re in Betty’s Tattoos and Tea, taking a little break from work. He shakes his head and takes another sip.

His phone dings again. He still doesn’t check it. I laugh because there’s no way I’d be able to ignore a notification. I hate any red circle on my phone and must eradicate it immediately.

“Is there a reason you’re not checking it?”

It dings again. He ignores it.

“I swear to god, if you don’t check it, I will. What if it’s work?”

Mars rolls his eyes at me. “In no universe is there a skateboard design emergency. And it’s not work.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

He hesitates, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up. Mars takes his doodling pen out of his pocket and starts uncapping it, then putting the cap back on. It’s one of his nervous tells.

“It’s a dating app.” His eyes flick to mine then back to the pen. “Stuart made me set up a profile a couple days ago.”

“Made you? Like duct taped you to a chair and forced you to create a dating profile?” I try to clear the panic from my voice. Why is this news throwing me for a loop?

“He can be very persuasive.” Mars shrugs and sits up straighter in his chair. “We were at Foggy’s, and I was lamenting my single status, so he bought me a couple shots and told me to download a dating app. I figure, what do I have to lose?”

His phone dings again.

“Apparently you’re very popular.”

A dimple pops in his cheek but quickly disappears. “I have to say, it hasn’t been hard on my ego.”

“Then why aren’t you answering any of them?” A little flag of hope waves in my chest. I’m an asshole because Mars is my friend. I don’t have any claim to his romantic life. But the tiniest, quietest, greediest part of me wants him to say he’s waiting for me. I clasp my hands in my lap and mentally squash that little flicker until it’s dead.

“I don’t know, it seems rude to look at them when I’m hanging with someone else. I’ll check them tonight.” This fucking flicker won’t die. “You should sign up.”

I snort. “Nope. No part of that is appealing. There’d be no point since I don’t want to be in a relationship.” The question is, do I mean for now or forever? Or only with Mars? Shit.

Mars’ eyebrows draw together. “Been burned before?”

“You could say that. I need to focus on building my business anyway. I don’t have time to dedicate to a relationship, and he’d end up getting resentful anyway. Then it would be months of passive aggressive digs and little acts of pettiness, interspersed with lukewarm sex and awkward dinners with his family.”

“Wow, this hypothetical boyfriend really sucks.”

“Yeah, I should dump him.” I already did .

I used to want a partner, but I learned my lesson after my last boyfriend was dismissive of my career—just like the two before him. The last straw was when he introduced me to his friend and said, “Ivy has a little ‘consulting’ business,” using infuriating air quotes. Excuse me, sir. I consult large and small companies on the best software to use for any given task. I design full-stack software solutions that have been deployed to millions of users. There’s nothing little about what I do.

The guy before that joked with his family that he had to constantly fix my computer for me. He didn’t tell them he tripped over my power cord, smashing the laptop, and I made him buy me a new one. Men and their fragile egos are exhausting.

Until they can collectively fix their shit, I’ve taken myself out of the dating pool.

Mars silences his phone and something in my chest eases. I wonder what he would be like as a boyfriend. The thought flits into my head, and I try to shake it loose, but it quickly takes hold and suddenly I have to know right fucking now .

“Hey, what do you tell people about me?” His eyebrows wing up.

“People?”

“Yeah, I mean…” I struggle to get the words out and I want to retreat. Maybe duck under the table. “I’ve mentioned you to my brother and a couple old friends from my last company.” I want to shrink with how pathetic I sound, and the feeling makes me angry.

Mars’ face softens as he takes in my clenched hands.

“Someday we’re going to have a conversation about why you’re asking me this.” He leans forward and holds my gaze. “I don’t talk to my family much. But when I mention you to people, I tell them my best friend, Ivy, is one of the smartest, has-her-shit-together people I’ve ever known. I tell them I’m glad I’m on her good side because someday my friend is going to rule the world.”

I don’t know why that makes me want to cry, but I swallow past the growing lump in my throat. I give him a wobbly smile. “Not sure I want that kind of power.”

“I know you’d use it for good. Mostly.”