12
I’m out on another weekend day and I’m not happy about it. Granted, it’s 2pm and I’m likely to be home before bedtime, but I’m still irked. Or, I am until I see Miles walking towards me.
I’m sitting in an overcrowded coffee shop waiting for the first of our marketing strategy fake dates and he’s walking towards me looking devastatingly handsome. Plenty of female heads turn, and some male ones too, as he walks my way. He’s got his long hair down and the Jason Momoa vibes are strong today.
“Hey,” he says, grinning and dropping into the seat opposite me.
“Hey, I got you a coffee,” I say, “Though you do look like the kind of person who only drinks green tea. Unfortunately, I can’t seriously order green tea in a coffee shop, so the coffee will have to do,”
He raises an eyebrow at me, “You know, I wondered whether the amount you talked was because we had only met drunk, but it turns out you’re just always like this,” I snort and he grins, “Coffee is good,” he adds .
“So,” I say, interlocking my fingers and resting my chin on them, “Fake boyfriend, let’s start with the basics; logistics. Where is the dreaded event?”
He takes a sip of his coffee before looking sheepish and muttering, “It’s at the Ritz,”
I grin, “You’re such a privileged little white boy,” I say, “You must be hella rich,”
He snorts, “My parents are ‘hella’ rich,” he says, doing the air quote things with his fingers. He sits back and surveys me like he can see into my fucking soul. His biceps bulge as he folds his arms across his chest and I only stare for like thirty seconds before I realise it’s inappropriate. Miles doesn’t strike me as someone who goes to the gym, but how muscle-building is floristry?
I roll my eyes, “Only rich people say that.”
“It’s true,” he says indignantly, and I get a spark of pleasure out of his little pout.
“Sure,” I say, and then I sigh, “I’d love to be Ritz-rich,”
“It’s not as great as Gossip Girl makes it seem, I promise,” he says, taking another sip of his coffee.
I frown, “ Gossip Girl ?”
He chuckles, “You get my point,”
“Ah, we’re glossing over the fact you know what Gossip Girl is, okay,” I say, and then I add, “I don’t know, getting to do whatever I want all day because my parents have money sounds great, ”
“Trust me, it’s not like that at all,” he says, “You never get to choose what you do,”
“Why not?” I ask, finally taking a sip of my own coffee. Anyone else, I’d call them a whining spoiled brat, but after meeting Miles’s family, I can fully see them having a very specific life in mind for their children.
“Well, my parents certainly didn’t let me,” he says, “As you saw the other day, they don’t exactly approve of my career choices,”
I frown, “Is it because you didn’t join your dad’s business?”
He nods.
“But if your brothers both work for him, why do you need to?”
“I don’t think it was necessarily about needing manpower,” he says, putting his coffee cup down and sitting back in his chair, “I think it’s much more about how it looks for them to have a son who’s a florist,”
I nod, “Sounds like Gossip Girl got it all wrong,” I muse, wondering what the issue is with him being a florist. Like, it’s not like he’s selling foot pics for money. Not that that would be embarrassing either, we’ve all got to eat, and capitalism really fucks the 99%.
“Though it would still be nice to have the money to travel,” I add.
He nods, “You’d think, but rich people are also pretty stingy with their money. My parents haven’t given me anything since I finished university,”
“I just always assumed rich kids got everything paid for forever,” I say, thinking of some of the rich kids I went to uni with. Most of them still have flats paid for by their parents while they continue to do internship after internship, just building insider knowledge until their parents pay for them to start their own company.
“I’m sure some do if they do what their parents want,” Miles says, pulling me out of my reverie. I don’t disagree, but I also think he might have just drawn the short straw on rich-ass parents.
I frown, “So, what I’m hearing you saying is that you think I’m lucky I am working class and have no generational wealth to my name?”
“Yep,” he says, nodding and smiling that wolfish grin that transforms him into fucking sunlight.
“I mean, I was allowed to do what I wanted, but they didn’t really have anything to hold over me if I didn’t, except disappointment,”
He smiles and sets his elbows on the table, “Is it nice not to be compared to your siblings? I’m asking for a friend,”
“Oh, there would be no comparison,” I say, grinning back, “My sister’s so perfect there is literally no point,”
He raises an eyebrow, “Does she work for the family business and drive a Mercedes even though she lives in a city that literally charges you to drive a car?”
I snort, “Not quite. She’s a solicitor who married another solicitor, bought a lovely four-bed house, birthed one perfect child, and is now a stay-at-home mum,”
He wrinkles his nose, “Sounds boring,”
“Sounds like the perfect end to her perfect story actually,” I say, trying not to open the Perfect Sister box in my head. We’re already dealing with the Shitbag Ex, we don’t need more trauma, thank you very much.
“So, not the Golden Child either,” he says with a grin, “Another thing we have in common,”
I grin, “I’ll add it to the list,” I say, “Do you have a pen? Maybe we should make a physical list,”
We eventually get back to the logistics of the weddings and how the whole thing might potentially work and then he asks about Caleb.
“I don’t really know what to tell you,” I say, “We dated through school, college, and then university. I went to Manchester University but he stayed home to work for his dad at the garage. And then we split up in my third year,”
“Why did you break up?” he asks.
I shrug, still not fully ready to reveal my humiliating break-up, “I guess we just both changed,”
He nods, “So, not amicable?”
I shake my head laughing, “Absolutely not. I haven’t seen him in years either,” I say. “When I go home my best friend, Tilda, has to arrange everything around me refusing to see him and his new girlfriend,”
Miles frowns, “Are they friends?”
I nod, “Dan, Tilda’s fiance, and Caleb were best friends in school,” I say and then I snort, “Sometimes, I can’t believe how perfect I thought the whole thing was. You know, my best friend and I dating best friends,”
He nods, “I can imagine it would be awkward now,”
“He was my ideal,”
“Your ideal?”
“Everything I thought I wanted,” I say, “Or, at least, I did when I was 20,”
“What do you want now?” he asks, tilting his head to the side as though this answer will have a huge impact on our fake dating plan.
“I mean, these days I’d pretty much settle for a guy that realised big boobs fall overboard when I lay on my back,” I muse, realising I don’t really have an ideal right now. And when in doubt, deflect with humour. I’m certain a therapist taught me that.
Miles furrows his brow, “Excuse me?”
I sigh dramatically, “You know how big boobs are, like, super hot and sexy, but only if they’re in a push-up bra and usually attached to a woman who doesn’t have a brain and is a figment of men’s imaginations?”
“Sure,” Miles says slowly, still frowning like I’m speaking gibberish.
“Well, it would be nice if men knew that those boobs are only floating because of the bra and that most of the time they’re hanging somewhere around my belly button giving me underboob sweat,” I finish with a grin.
He snorts, “Wow, how vivid, Del,” he says, “I’m sure there’s a guy out there who wouldn’t mind overboard boobs though. That’s a pretty low bar to set,”
“You have a little too much faith in your own gender,” I say.
“Maybe,” he nods, “I guess I’m just an optimist,”
I snort, “I don’t think we have that in common,”
He grins, “No, probably not,”
*
“Fuck, I think we’re stopping them from going home,” I say, hours later, noting the way one of the baristas is trying to kill us with her stare over by the counter.
Miles whips his head around and snorts, “Yeah, we should leave,”
I nod and we get up, pushing out onto the busy street outside. The sun is still high enough in the sky that it’s muggy and gross. London in summer is like a greenhouse, but instead of plants inside it’s sweaty humans and pollution.
“Do you have to leave?” Miles asks.
It takes me a moment to get what he’s asking because I am distracted by how disgusting the weather is, so he’s frowning when I look at him.
I shake my head.
“There’s a pub just up the road,” he says, “We could do more planning,” he adds with a wink.
I laugh, thinking that we probably could do with getting to know each other better if we’re really going to pull this off. I follow him up the road and into the pub. He grabs us a pint each and we sit at a table by the window.
“I assumed that since you’re northern, you drink pints,” he says with a smirk.
“Actually, ladies up north get a pint and then ask for a half-pint glass to pour into,” I retort.
He raises an eyebrow, “That sounds like a lot of effort, why not just get a half pint?”
I laugh, patting his arm, “Oh Miles, because then you have to get up more often and you spend more over the night,”
He chuckles, “Who taught you that?”
“My nanna,” I say with a grin, “She also used to sneak vodka into the social club in little bottles. Great money-saving techniques from Nanna Morrison,”
Miles laughs again, shaking his head, “Northerners are weird,”
I raise an eyebrow, “I hope you’re excited to be surrounded by a fuck tonne of them soon,”
“I am. I haven’t been up North since I left university,” he adds, looking like he isn’t even being sarcastic. It’s starting to get overwhelming being around someone who isn’t sarcastic 99% of the time.
“Did you like living in Manchester?” I ask.
“I did. I lived with my best friends and it was just sort of perfect. The best I’d felt in years actually,”
I nod, “I get that. I had such a good time living in Manchester,” I say, “Caleb hated it. He hated Emme actually, but we just had so much fun. I think he was jealous, to be honest,”
Miles nods, “Caleb sounds like a bit of a tool, no offence,”
I snort, “You can say that again, and again, and again, just for good measure,”
He grins, sitting back in his chair and taking a sip of his pint. He looks me over and grins, “What year did you start uni?”
I frown, “Uh 2014. Why?”
“We just missed each other,” he says, “I left in 2014,”
“Ah, but then you worked at a bar with one of my old housemates and our fate was sealed,”
He snorts, “Hey, you turning up at the same bar as Julian’s engagement party has to be fate,” he says, “Coincidences don’t happen twice,”
I laugh, “Okay, mystical Miles,” I say, “Maybe it’s just that Julian would probably try to get with one of Emme’s marketing friends in another life, so it makes sense they’d choose the same bars as him,”
“You might be right,”
I meet his smile, “So, tell me about these friends you lived with,”
*
They called last orders a few minutes ago, and in true Delaney fashion, I decided that we had to get a pint. Even though I’m going to need to pee the entire way home, and I’m going to hit peak drunkenness just as I get in my bed. Ugh.
“Excuse me,”
I look up from where I was peeling the bar mats from the sticky bar in front of me into the face of a beautiful woman. She’s got cropped black hair, two nostril piercings, and masterfully crafted graphic liner. I’d like for one little nick of her coolness. Like, I’d give my soul for it.
“Yeah,” I say, wondering what she could possibly need.
“Is that guy you’re with dating someone?” she asks.
The first thing that comes to mind is no because, well he’s not, but he has been sitting with me all night. Why is her first assumption that we’re not dating? Is it so hard to believe? Are we going to totally fail at keeping up the facade?
“Uh, not really,” I say, because what do I say?
She grins, “Perfect, ”
I frown as she turns on her heel and saunters up to Miles. For some reason, I want to cry. I mean, it wasn’t like I wasn’t aware that he was out of my league but watching him get hit on in front of me by the hottest girl in the room is going to make me very sad.
The girl reaches Miles, and he looks up. She says something to him, and he grins, then shakes his head. The girl looks over her shoulder at me, giving me a curious look and then shrugs and saunters off again. Our pints arrive in front of me moments later and I drop into the seat opposite Miles.
“Did you just get hit on?” I ask.
He snorts, “She asked for my number, but I told her I was here with you,”
I frown, “You could have gotten her number, Miles,” I say, “She was pretty fucking hot,”
He laughs, “I’m not going to get another girl’s number when I’m on a fake date with you, Del. That’s bad fake boyfriend behaviour,”
I snort and drink deeply to cover the smile.
Of course, half an hour later when they’re kicking us out of the pub, I am desperate to pee, so I hurry back and am just leaving the stall when the girl with the cool eyeliner emerges from her stall too. It suddenly hits me that I look like a fucking bitch for telling her Miles wasn’t dating anyone only for him to tell her we were here together. She must think I’m a prick.
I smile at her hesitantly as we wash our hands side-by-side.
“I’d go for it with that guy, by the way,” she says, looking at me in the mirror. I frown, wondering if she’s stating the obvious, that she would go for Miles. Like, ya, I got that. She chuckles, “He said he was here with you when I hit on him,”
She doesn’t seem mad so I try to explain, “We’re not dating, I don’t really know why he said that,”
She grins, “I think he might want to be,”
I snort really loudly and the girl’s eyes widen, “Sorry. It’s just, well, he doesn’t. It’s not like that and I don’t think I’m his type,”
The girl raises her eyebrow, “Oh honey, you’re only going to break your own heart with that attitude,” she says and then she winks and leaves the bathroom. I stare after her for a full minute trying to work out what the fuck she means, then I shake my head and dry my hands on my dress, pushing out the door too.