Preston
"Why did you tell your mother you were seeing someone?" Ellie squeals with delight through the speaker.
I'm standing in the narrow hallway that leads to the men's room. There's no one around, which is why I have him on speaker.
"Because she keeps nagging me about not having anyone in my life and going on about how sad that must be for me. I thought a harmless white lie would get her off my back for a while."
"And you didn't think of the inevitable follow-up, like, say, her wanting to meet him on their next visit to town?"
I slump against the wall. "Clearly not. What do I do? I need to come up with an excuse for why he can't make it."
"Or you can just…find a guy."
I scoff. "Sure. Because it's that easy."
Even before my studies consumed my life and my condition took a turn for the worse, I wasn't exactly meeting Mr. Rights. More like Mr. Don't Have a Job, Mr. Can You Pay For Dinner?, Mr. I'll Finish and Then Roll Over.
"And what are you saying, find a guy?" I push off the wall and shove a hand through my hair. "What does that even mean?"
"Well, you're out, aren't you?"
"Yeah, we're at The Butterfly Lounge."
"Are there any single guys there?"
The guy, who was definitely real and not an art piece or figment of my imagination, sitting alone at the bar immediately springs to mind, and my chest prickles with heat.
But he's gone.
"And what am I supposed to do exactly? March on up to some stranger and ask him to pretend to be my boyfriend so he can meet my parents?"
"Exactly."
"You're crazy."
"That's never been in dispute."
I chew on my thumbnail.
"What are you doing?" I ask to give myself time to come up with something that doesn't involve public humiliation.
"I'm at home working on some pottery."
Ellie's an interior designer, and a brilliant one at that.
He's super into this thing called kintsugi, which is a Japanese art form where you glue back together and restore broken pottery, turning it into something even more beautiful than it was before, imperfections and all.
A far cry from his burn down your ex's house days.
We're both twenty-five now, so I guess this is what adulting looks like.
"Sweeten the deal," he insists, not giving up. "Offer him a hundred bucks. Maybe two hundred because, you know, inflation… Pres, you still there?"
"Yeah, I'm here."
And I'm in shock.
Not at Ellie's completely ludicrous proposal, but that the first place my mind went to was wishing bar guy hadn't left, otherwise I'd seriously contemplate asking him.
I sigh.
One day, when I look back on my life, this will be the moment I recognize my love life has sunk to the lowest of lows.
The door to the men's room swings open, and holy raspberry meatballs, bar guy walks out. At least I think it's him since he seems to be wearing the same slightly too formal black jacket. Hard to know for sure since I'm gaping at his face, not the back of his head.
And what a face it is.
Angular. Sharp. A dangerous kind of hot.
He's dressed in black from head to toe. Dark stubble runs along a brutal jawline, his nose straight except for a slight bend through the bridge.
His onyx hair slicked back and immaculate, not a strand out of place.
Two gunmetal eyes appraise me, cold and assessing.
If this hallway were already tight, now it feels like he's taking up all the room.
"Preston?"
I stab furiously at the screen a couple of times to take Ellie off speaker and bring the phone to my ear. "Gottagobye."
Bar guy saunters over to me. Maybe not to me exactly since there's no other way for him to leave other than to go past me, but still, he's getting closer.
One step, a wall light illuminates the right side of his face, turning those gunmetal eyes to something closer to silver.
Two steps, the pattern on his dress shirt comes into focus, a damask print woven into the fabric, expensive enough to be almost invisible.
Three steps, the most intoxicating, masculine scent envelops me: oud, dark rum, and leather.
Four steps. He's so close to me now that one of two things has to happen. Either I back into the wall to let him pass or I take Ellie up on his wild idea and—
"Hi."
Bar guy stops. His iron-gray eyes rake over me. Just once, but it's a thorough once.
"Hello."
His voice is deep, the word rolling past his lips smooth like honey.
"I, um…"
I've got nothing.
My pulse starts stabbing me in my neck as I take in the most gorgeous man I've ever laid eyes on standing barely a few inches away from me. I open my mouth to say who knows what when two women come barreling down the hallway, clutching each other, giggling loudly, and it shatters the moment.
When they reach us, their heads snap to bar guy.
"Holy shit," one of them exclaims. Her friend erupts into another fit of giggles and tears her away, pushing the door to the ladies open with her shoulder. "Did you see how hot…?"
Bar guy watches the door close, and then it's just him and me again.
Okay, this is it. Now or never. My one shot. I suck in a deep breath that does absolutely nothing to settle my nerves.
"I have a huge favor to ask. Can I please pay you one hundred dollars to pretend to be a guy I've just started seeing and meet my parents for, like, ten, fifteen minutes tops?"
"Excuse me?"
"I know I must sound like a psycho, but I promise you I'm not.
I just…" I vent a quiet huff through my nose.
"I panic-lied to my mom and told her I'd started seeing someone, so she wouldn't worry about me.
And with everything going on with Dad, and me and my—" I wave a hand in front of myself then drop my arm to my side.
"I just wanted to give her a moment of happiness.
They leave first thing tomorrow, and she just wants to, I don't know, make sure he's real. "
Bar guy's lips shift almost imperceptibly. "Even though you've made him up?"
"Correct." I jam my thumbs into my jean pockets. "I'd rather eat glass than ask for help, so I'm kind of majorly desperate here. I can—I can make it two hundred bucks to sweeten the deal."
The thing about me, when I commit to something, I go all in. And I need this to work since I have no backup options and a mom who won't quit.
So I hit bar guy with the most pitiful face I can muster, chin slightly down, bottom lip on the verge of trembling, my eyes wide and unblinking, silently begging this complete stranger to take pity on me and my idiotic ass.
"You don't know anything about me." He folds his arms across his chest. "What if I'm homophobic?"
Every muscle in my body tightens.
I didn't even think of that. Ohmygod. What if he is? Not only might I end up date-less, I'll also have to come up with another lie to explain to Mom and Dad why I just got punched in the face in the men's room.
"Are you?" I ask.
His eyes lock onto mine. "No."
Relief sweeps through me. "Okay. Good. So…?"
He holds off on answering.
Each passing second feels like a minute, and as more time ticks by, the adrenaline-fueled high I've been riding begins to fade.
This is so stupid. No way does this gorgeous guy, who just got accosted by me and eye-fucked by two drunk girls, no way does he not have anything better to do on a Friday night than to hang out with Christine and Eric Miller, pretending to be dating their pathetic loser son.
"Fine," bar guy says with a decisive nod. "I'll do it."