Two
When Mouthwash Isn’t Enough
MIA
“YOU LOOK BEAUTIFUL.”
“Oh, thanks,” I say as I look down at the crimson red halter neck dress that I practically threw on.
I was ten minutes late to the restaurant, with all things considering, I thought it was quite good. My date, Ryan, is a thirty-year-old estate agent who is surprisingly good looking. We were, rather embarrassingly, set up by his mother, who is one of my clients.
The date so far has been ok, but my mind is elsewhere. I keep reliving my conversation with Amber, and every time I do, I inwardly cringe.
“Mia?” Ryan asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Yes?”
“Did you want another glass of wine?”
“Oh, no. I'm fine, thank you.”
“Are you ok? You seem a little distracted?” he asks.
I pick at my food on my plate and look up at him. “Yes, I'm fine, sorry. It was a busy day. I was rushed off my feet.”
Ryan offers me a reassuring smile and carries on telling me a story about work. To be completely honest, I'm not even listening. This man might be easy on the eye, but he is as dull as dishwater. How he sells houses is beyond me.
The waitress walks over to our table and takes our plates away. “Would you like to see the dessert menu?”
Ryan looks at me expectantly and smiles.
“Oh, um, do you mind if we skip dessert?” I ask him.
“Of course.”
“Just the bill, please.” I say.
The waitress walks away, and we are left alone once more.
I take one last gulp of wine and gently place the glass back down onto the table. God, I need to get out of here.
The waitress returns and places the bill in front of us. We both look at each other and then proceed to do the 'bill dance'. I reach over for it but Ryan gets in there first.
We pay and make our way out onto the pavement. I shiver slightly as the cold September chill runs through me.
Ryan suddenly pulls me closer to him and looks down at me. “So, do you fancy a nightcap at my place?”
Hell no.
I smile politely. “I have to get up early for the gym.” It's not a total lie.
He gazes down at me, his look unnerving. “Well, I can think of another workout that will be more fun.”
Oh dear, did he actually just say that?
Ryan leans in closer, and before I have time to react, his mouth is on mine. He forces my mouth open and shoves his tongue in.
Oh hell.
His tongue darts in and out of my mouth, basically stabbing my lips and tongue. Then his tongue swirls around mine.
Please, stop.
I finally manage to break free from him, and I push him away.
“What the fuck was that?” I snap as I wipe saliva from my chin.
He frowns, genuinely confused by my reaction. “What?” he asks.
“That’s not how you kiss! Don't ever do that again.” I shout. “To anyone!”
I turn on my heels and storm off.
I hear him shout something sarcastically about having a free meal before I dive into a cab.
Worst. Date. Ever.
I OPEN THE DOOR to my flat in a rush and head straight for the bathroom.
Ugh.
I need to use mouthwash.
Now.
The lingering taste of disaster—aka Ryan’s attempt at a goodnight kiss—has made my skin crawl. And his breath? It's a special kind of trauma that no amount of minty freshness will ever fully erase.
I spit the mouthwash into the sink and glare at myself in the mirror. “You're an idiot, Mia,” I mutter. “Who goes on a blind date set up by their client? Of course, he was awful.”
Turning off the light, I shuffle out of the bathroom, kick off my heels, and collapse onto the sofa. My hand instinctively reaches for the remote, ready to drown my sorrows in reality TV and red wine.
A pint of red wine.
But then I hear it.
A knock.
I glance at the door, frowning. It's nearly midnight. Who the hell—?
Another knock follows, more insistent this time.
With a groan, I drag myself off the couch and to the door, checking the peephole. Of course.
Austin.
Leaning casually against the doorframe, his dark hair is messy as usual, and that infuriatingly smug smile is plastered across his face. Why does he always have to look like a Calvin Klein ad gone rogue?
I swing the door open, my irritation on full display. “What do you want?”
He holds up his hands, his grin widening. “Relax, neighbour. I heard your door slam and thought I'd check on you.”
“Well, I'm fine. Thanks.”
“You don't look fine.” His eyes sweep over me, and I suddenly remember I'm barefoot, and my makeup is smudged all around my lips from Ryan.
“Can you not?” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Not what?”
“Look at me like that.”
“Like what?” he asks, leaning in closer, his grin teasing.
“Like you’re about to make some snarky comment.”
“Who, me?” He presses a hand to his chest, feigning innocence. “Never.”
“Austin.” My tone is sharp, but he doesn't flinch.
“Alright, alright,” he says, stepping back and holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Just tell me—how bad was it?”
“Bad,” I admit, glaring at him. “Not that it's any of your business.”
“Come on, I live across the hall. Your dating disasters are practically my business at this point.”
I roll my eyes. “He talked about himself the entire time, and—” I cringe, the memory making me shudder. “He raped my mouth!”
“Huh?”
“He literally raped my mouth, Austin. I'm pretty sure I will have a bruise on my chin tomorrow.”
Austin lets out a low whistle. “Rough.”
“You have no idea.”
“I might,” he counters, that damn smirk back. “I've been on a few bad dates myself, you know.”
“Yeah, but yours usually ends with someone in your bed.”
He laughs, and the sound is warm and irritatingly infectious. “Fair point.”
I'm about to shut the door when he stops it with his hand.
“Wait,” he says, eyes narrowing slightly. “Quick question—why didn't you want me talking to that hot chick downstairs while you were out tonight?”
My stomach drops. “What?”
“Earlier, before you left, you made some weird comment about me steering clear of her. Something about you'll tell me when you're back. What was that about?”
I sigh, leaning against the doorframe. “It's complicated.”
“I've got time.”
“Fine,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. “I might've . . . told her I'm engaged.”
His brows shot up. “Engaged?”
“I accidentally told her. It just kind of slipped out.,” I clarify, feeling my cheeks heat under his amused gaze.
“How do you accidentally tell someone you're engaged, Mia?”
“I . . . she . . .,” I stutter. “I know, I'm a dick.”
“Uh-huh.” He folded his arms across his broad chest, clearly enjoying this way too much. “So, who's the lucky guy?”
My stomach twisted, and I pressed my lips together.
“Jesus, Mia.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “You made up a fiancé? That's desperate, even for you.”
“I don't need your judgment right now,” I snap, pointing a finger at his chest. “I was under pressure, ok? Amber McVey was staring at me like I'm still the awkward teenager she used to torment, and it just slipped out that I'm engaged to . . . you.”
Austin’s eyes widen to the size of saucers. “You what?”
“It's not a big deal!” I wave my hand dismissively, but the look on his face says otherwise. This is epic disaster bad. The type of bad that gets written about in self-help books: When Lying to Your Frenemies Goes Horribly Wrong.
“You told people we’re engaged?” His voice is a mix of disbelief and amusement.
“Not people,” I clarify quickly. “Just Amber.”
He laughs, a low, rumbling sound that makes my cheeks heat. “Mia Jameson, you’re full of surprises.”
“Are you mad?”
“Mad? No.” He shakes his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Flattered, maybe. But definitely curious.”
“About what?”
“Well, she thinks you're happily engaged. Which means you'll have to—”
“Oh, my God. I have to prove it.” My? stomach sinks as the full weight of the situation hits me.
“Bingo.” Austin crosses his arms and leans his behind against the kitchen counter like he's settling in for a show. “So, when's the wedding?”
I groan, dragging my hands down my face. “This isn't funny.”
“It's a little funny,” he counters, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “You, the queen of level-headed professionalism, just fabricated a fiancé out of thin air. And it's me, no less.”
“Well, I didn't exactly have time to workshop it, ok?” I snap, pacing back and forth in front of the door. “Amber caught me off guard. She assumed you were my boyfriend and I panicked. Next thing I knew, I was telling her we were engaged.”
Austin chuckles, shaking his head. “You're unbelievable.”
“Look,” I say, spinning around to face him. “It's not like I wanted to do this. She’s always been so arrogant and condescending, and when she started talking about her fiancé, I just . . . wanted to win.”
His smirk softens, and for a moment, he looks almost . . . impressed. “I can’t believe I'm saying this, but I kinda get it.”
“Really?”
“Sure. Nobody likes feeling like they're being judged.” He shrugs, stepping closer. “But you do realise you’ve just made this a hundred times more complicated, right?”
“I know.” I sigh, my shoulders slumping. “She’s going to tell everyone. She has such a huge mouth that I’m surprised my mother hasn’t called me. By Monday, the entire building is going to think we’re engaged. And if I don’t play along, she’ll see right through me.”
“Sounds like you need a plan.”
“Yeah, well, the only plan I have right now is to move to another city and change my name,” I mutter, earning another laugh from him.
“Relax,” he says, placing a hand on my shoulder. His touch is warm, steadying, and annoyingly reassuring. “We’ll figure it out.”
“We?”
“Yeah, we. You dragged me into this, so now it's my problem, too.”
I blink at him, surprised. “You're actually willing to help me with this?”
He grins, his hand dropping back to his side. “Why not? Could be fun. Plus, I'd love to see the look on Amber’s face when she realises she can’t get under your skin anymore.”
A reluctant smile tugs at my lips. “You’re not just doing this so you can mess with me, are you?”
“Maybe a little,” he admits, holding up his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “But mostly, I just like the idea of being your fiancé. Even if it’s fake.”
I roll my eyes, but there's no denying the tiny flutter in my chest at his words. “Fine. But no funny business.”
“Define funny business.”
“Austin.”
He laughs, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright. No funny business. Scout’s honor.”
“Were you even a Scout?”
“Not the point, Jameson.”
I shake my head, exhaling a long breath. “Ok. Let’s just get through the weekend without anyone finding out this is a lie. Then we can figure out how to gracefully ‘break up.’”
“Sounds like a plan.”
As he turns to leave, he pauses, glancing back at me with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Oh, and Jameson?”
“What?”
“You might want to practice looking at me like you're madly in love. You’re a terrible liar.”
And with that, he disappears across the hall, leaving me standing in the doorway, wondering how the hell I just roped myself into the most ridiculous charade of my life.
What have I done?