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

8. Bonfire Confessions and Questionable Decisions

CHAPTER 8

BONFIRE CONFESSIONS AND QUESTIONABLE DECISIONS

MARS

I vy shivers next to me on the thick picnic blanket. We’re under two more, but the night is bitterly cold, and the bonfire we’re next to isn’t doing much to warm us up.

The bonfire was Sylvie’s idea, and I love her for it, but there are parts of me that are frozen solid that shouldn’t ever get cold.

The sky above us is showing off, sparkling and free of fog, perfect for drawing. My pen is in my pocket but I’m too focused on Ivy next to me to want to pull it out and draw the night sky.

“You see the orange twinkly one?” I point up at the sky.

“Yeah?” Ivy says.

“That’s Mars. It always makes me a little happy when I spot it.” I pull my hand back underneath the blankets.

Ivy takes a moment to look at it, an inscrutable expression in her eyes. I’d never want to play poker against her. She turns over to face me, rearranging our cover and scooting closer.

“How many times have people asked you why you’re named Mars?” I’ve been waiting for this.

“Is that your way of asking why I’m named Mars?”

“No. Maybe. Yes.” Her smile brightens up her face.

“It’s not a particularly interesting story.”

“You’re probably lying. First, is it your given name or a nickname?”

“A nickname I’ve had since first grade.” I smile at the memory.

She makes a keep going motion with her hand. I sigh dramatically.

“My given name is...”

“No, don’t tell me. Let me guess.”

I sigh again.

“Knock yourself out.” I can’t wait to hear what she comes up with.

“Short for Marshall?”

I shake my head.

“Martin?”

“Nope”

“Marsden?”

I laugh.

“I give up. Why is your name Mars?”

“My real first name is Milton.”

“Oh, no.” She sounds like she’s trying to suppress her horror.

“Yeah, pretty bad. I was named after my great grandfather and went by Little Milt until the Mars thing happened.”

“I don’t see you as a Little Milt.” She’s working so hard to suppress a smile.

“Everybody else did. My older relatives used to love tousling my hair and calling me Little Milt. I hated it, so I was looking for any excuse to be called something else. In first grade we did a school play about the planets.”

“And you played Mars?” Her voice is hopeful, like this is the perfect solution to the Little Milt problem.

“You’d think, but I played Uranus.”

“Oh, no.” She sounds horrified again, and I want to laugh.

“The kid who played Mars was a real dick, and he didn’t get better as he grew up. Was a dick in high school too. Probably runs a private equity firm or a hedge fund now.”

“We’ll look him up later. Keep going,” she says, her face lit by the bonfire. I’m stunned for a small moment, wanting to commit this exact picture to memory. Her hazel eyes dance with humor, and her strawberry blonde hair catches and holds the fire. I could trace her jaw, her cheekbones with my finger if she leaned in a tiny bit more. Fuck, she’s beautiful .

I swallow past a lump in my throat.

“Anyway, he had a big red rubber dodgeball as a prop, and as we were going to take our bows, he threw it at my face and knocked out two loose teeth.”

“And instead of calling him Psycho Billy, they called you Mars? How is that fair?”

I shrug.

“It was a blessing in disguise because I could drop Little Milt. I insisted that everybody in my family call me Mars after the nickname caught on at school. The only one who still refuses is my stepmother.”

“Do we like your stepmother?”

I shrug. Ivy’s eyebrows draw together.

“Susan’s fine.” I could say more, but I figured out a long time ago that Susan’s opinion of me shouldn’t matter. Doesn’t matter.

“That’s a ringing endorsement.” Ivy scoots closer, resting her head on my shoulder. The whole right side of my body heats, and I turn my face to take in the smell of her citrusy shampoo as she snuggles even closer.

“My stepbrother is getting married in a couple weeks, and my presence has been requested.”

“And you don’t want to go?”

“Not my favorite side of the family. But my dad said it’d mean a lot to him if I came. Honestly, I don’t think my stepmom or brother care either way. The problem is I already RSVP’d yes.”

Ivy rolls onto her side and stares at me. “What?” I ask.

A slow, slightly wicked smile spreads across her lovely face, but she doesn’t answer. In that moment I know I’m a dead man.

IVY

After last night’s bonfire and late night, I’m tired and starving. Mars is nowhere to be found—not at his desk or in the kitchen. I don’t want to but I guess I’m eating a solo lunch. Pushing open the front door of The Base, I step outside into the bright sunlight. This morning’s fog burned off early.

My step falters when I spot Mars leaning up against the building, frowning as he talks on the phone. I don’t want to eavesdrop, but I have to walk by him to get to Curly’s.

“I know, Susan, but I don’t understand why it matters if I bring a date or not.” There’s a pause while Susan says something into his ear. “No, of course I’ve never planned a wedding, but...” He rolls his eyes at something she says.

“Okay, okay. Put me down as...”

I start bouncing on my heels in front of him, waving my hand in his face. Because I’m about to do something either very stupid or very brilliant.

“Hang on, Susan.” He taps mute and looks up at me with a cute little furrow between his brows. “What’s wrong with you? Do you have to go to the bathroom?”

I huff at him and smack him on the shoulder.

“No, you doofus. I’ll go.” He stares at me for a beat. “I’ll be your plus-one. I love weddings.”

“You have no idea what you’re volunteering for. I’m not sure this wedding will be your idea of fun.”

A voice squawks from the phone, and we realize he failed to mute it. He hits the button again and shakes his head.

“As long as we’re together, we’ll have a great time. Listen, crappy family situations are always better when you have an outside observer. Someone who can tell you that you’re being gaslighted and you’re not crazy.”

He looks back down at his phone, probably to check he hasn’t unmuted again.

“You’re sure? I would owe you big.”

“You owe me nothing. If anything, think of it as payback for pretending to be my boyfriend. And I thrive off other people’s drama, so this will be perfect.”

He gives me a long look, like he’s weighing the pros and cons.

He unmutes the phone and puts it back up to his ear. “Susan, I have a plus-one. Yes, that was really fast for me. Her name’s Ivy.” He smirks. “Yes, like the invasive species.” My mouth drops open, and he winks at me.

“No, I’m not telling her what color to wear. That’s a ridiculous thing to ask of guests at a wedding. Best I can do is make a suggestion, but she might stab me. No, she won’t stab anybody at the reception. Just don’t give her a steak knife.” I stomp my foot and bare my teeth. He winks at me again.

Mars’ lips break out in a wide smile, and his eyes glitter as he holds up his phone. The call ended.

“Did she hang up on you?”

“She doesn’t like long goodbyes or drawn-out conversations with me. She has your name for the place card. That’s all that matters.”

I smack him on the shoulder again. “Invasive species? Really? After I’m about to save your bucket at the wedding?”

He’s still laughing. He grabs my hand to stop me from assaulting his shoulder a third time, and I’m momentarily stunned by the flash of heat that zips through my body.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.”

But he’s not because his head tips back and he lets a case of the giggles take over. After a moment, I join in because his laugh is infectious. Tears stream down his face as he hiccups his way through it.

“Fuck, Ivy, you have no idea how awkward this is going to be. She insists everybody wear pastels to the wedding because nothing says love and commitment like a whole photo album of Stepford guests.” The last of his laugh subsides.

“But listen to me.” His face turns serious quickly. “You don’t have to pretend to be my girlfriend if you don’t want to. I know relationships make you twitchy.” Not that twitchy. “I’ll need my friend there, not a weird facsimile of a girlfriend. Agreed?”

“We had so much fun when you were my fake boyfriend, though.” It comes out as a whine. “But if you want to play this straight, we’ll do that. Whatever you need, Mars.”

He takes a deep breath and his shoulders relax. “Come on, my tribute, I’ll buy you lunch.”

I smile and loop my hand through his elbow, swallowing down the disappointment I feel at Mars not wanting me to be his fake girlfriend.