Chapter 8
Ellie
“So, you and Patrick are dating?”
“Yes.”
“But, not really? It’s all for show?”
“Also, yes.”
“And you’re okay with this? It isn’t some weird male manipulation shit?”
“For the millionth time, yes! Like I said, it’s kind of my fault to begin with, so can you just drop it?”
Nick and I have been going back and forth about this for the past twenty minutes.
He had already gotten the initial run down on Friday, but so much more has transpired since then.
And, he needs to be in the loop. Despite this being my second time explaining the entire situation and everything that had happened over this past weekend, he is still drilling me with the same questions.
Nick wants my full attention, but halfway through our conversation I realized that I have to post in a discussion board before 3 p.m. So, my attention is now split 10% Nick, 90% computer.
I’m pretty sure these discussion boards were just set up to make us suffer. There might be some actual reflection in the initial response, but making us respond to each other’s thoughts is just pure torture.
Good point, Megan. I see what you’re saying, Daniel. That is an interesting way to look at it, Brad. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Who gives a shit?
Nick and I sit on opposite ends of the couch in our small two-bedroom apartment.
It makes me feel guilty that we’re crammed into such a small space when Nick can definitely afford to live on his own, but I’m convinced he likes having someone around to talk to.
If I don’t respond to his texts, he just comes into my room, sits on my bed, and recaps the purposefully ignored messages.
He knows he couldn’t do that if he moved out, so here he is, stretched out on our second-hand sofa, trying to get me to listen to him.
I wish I could lie, but I like living with Nick too. It stops me from turning this place into my introvert dungeon. Apparently, only coming out for work and food is not the healthiest thing. It has always been this way though; if I hide away, Nick drags me out.
When I met Nick five years ago during undergrad, I had no idea that he was going to become my best friend, confidant, roommate, and coworker.
He double majored in history and secondary education and spent a year working in a high school after we graduated.
However, he realized that he makes more money bartending, so he decided to quit and live his best life.
Now, he bartends on the weekends at Working Class and makes enough from the tips to cover all of his expenses.
As of recently, he also works three shifts a week at The Brew for some extra spending money—and a decent health insurance plan.
“Hello? Earth to Ellie?”
His hand waves in front of my computer screen, snapping me back to reality. “Uh, yeah. Sorry, what did you say?”
“I was just making sure you know what you are getting yourself into? Patrick seems like a decent enough guy from what I’ve seen, but are we really sure he’s not some creep?”
Soaking in the question, I realize that I don’t actually know. There is something in my gut that says no, but am I really the best person to trust? I’ve never been great at judging people. My brain instantly goes to my ex, but I shut it down before it can start.
“Uh…I don’t think he’s a creep. I was over at his house last night, and he didn’t try anything or do anything weird. He seems like a good person, and his couch is really comfy.”
Nick scoffs and kicks his feet at me, almost knocking my computer off my lap.
When I glare at him, he just goes back to what he was saying.
“You should know that a comfy couch is not a good indicator of trust, and I just want you to be safe. Don’t go over to his house alone again until you get to know him a bit better.
You’re smart enough to make your own decisions, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t worry about you. ”
This is why I love Nick. While he’s overly honest, it’s only because he cares so much. If there is anyone that you want fighting for you in your corner, it’s Nick, and I am grateful I have a best friend like him.
Seeing my phone light up on the coffee table, I lean forward to grab it.
“It’s Patrick.” I unlock my phone and show the screen to Nick.
Patrick: The first “Greg hosted social event” has been announced. It’s this Friday at 5. Happy Hour at Hidden Fox Tavern. Can you make it?
He snatches it out of my hand to get a better look. “Oooo, looks like you’ve got your first fake date.”
Nick hands my phone back to me before I have a chance to berate him about touching things that aren’t his.
When I start to immediately text Patrick back, he gives me a skeptical look.
If this were someone that I was actually trying to date, it would make sense to wait a couple minutes before responding, but the 'alleged rules' of real dating don’t apply. So, I can respond to texts as quickly as I want. It’s nice not having to worry about him thinking I’m too needy or desperate.
Ellie: Sure, I’ll be there.
Patrick: Great!
Patrick: Do you want me to pick you up or do you want to meet there?
Ellie: Very chivalrous of you to offer, but I’ll be able to make it on my own.
Patrick: Got it! I love an independent woman :)
Butterflies rush to my stomach, and I can’t help but smile.
“You better be careful.” Nick gives the warning when he notices the way I’m looking at my phone.
“I’ll be fine. I was just being funny and smiling at my own text.
” My attempt at not sounding defensive fails miserably, but it doesn’t matter.
The only thing to do now is to stick my tongue out at Nick and put my phone back on the coffee table where it was.
If my phone is too close, I will never finish this assignment, and the last thing I need is to be losing easy points in this class.
This last week has been hectic to say the least. Working my normal Monday through Friday shifts wasn't too bad. There was a brief interaction with Greg, but I’ve figured out that the perfect way to get him to stop talking is to gush over Patrick.
It sucks that I need to pretend to have a boyfriend to keep him away, but if it works, who am I to complain?
By the end of the week, he doesn’t even approach me; he just waits for his drink and leaves.
Check-mate, Greg.
I’ve always worked the opening shift since I started at The Brew.
People think I’m crazy for doing it willingly, but it gives me so much time in the afternoon.
Since I have a summer class that meets every Tuesday and Thursday from 5 to 7, working early gives me time to get myself together and do what I need to do before I have class.
Speaking of, this class has been the bane of my existence and the reason for my chaotic week.
I’ve had sixty pages of reading, two discussion boards, and a project due before class on Thursday.
Despite the decent online reviews, this professor is driving me crazy, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
I’m already past the drop deadline to get my semester’s tuition refunded, so I have no choice but to suffer through.
It does make me grateful that I had the hindsight to only sign up for one class; nonetheless, I am completely drained.
When I got off of work at noon, I knew that lying in bed until I had to face my responsibilities was the best course of action.
It only feels right to scroll on my phone and wrap myself in my softest duvet after such a long week.
My alarm is set for 4 p.m., so I don’t accidentally fall asleep and miss happy hour with Patrick.
It would be embarrassing if I fucked up the fake relationship on our first date.
Fake first date? First fake date?
Whatever.
The need to set an alarm while I nap is a valuable lesson I learned the hard way. I would be lying if I said I did not miss anything important while napping after an opening shift, so triple checking my alarms is necessary before I actually allow myself to relax.
My blankets feel like a cloud, and it is not helping that my eyelids are getting heavy. Closing my eyes for just a second, I go in and out of consciousness. The temptation of sleep is so close I can taste it, but as soon as I start to drift, my alarm blares right next to my face.
Ugh, it can’t be 4 o’clock already. Please let me die.
There’s a loud voice through my door that sounds suspiciously like Nick. “Ellie! Get up! You need to get ready to meet your fake boyfriend!”
It takes all of the strength I have in me to unravel myself from my blankets and stand up. Throwing my pillow at the door so it lands with a thud does very little to deter him, but it makes me feel better.
“Ugh, go away! I’m up!” I yell back. While I don’t need to tell Nick everything I’m doing, if I don’t say something, he’ll barge into my room in five minutes to make sure I’m actually up.
Staring at myself in the mirror, I realize I look like garbage. My rat’s nest of a bun is barely holding together, and the bags under my eyes are an homage to the lack of sleep I got this week. When I look down, all I can wonder is when the last time I shaved my legs was. Two weeks ago? Maybe?
Even though I wasn’t planning on taking a shower before I left, I'm in desperate need of one.
Thankfully, I didn’t snooze through all of my alarms, so I have about twenty minutes before I have to leave.
My shaving routine needs to be modified, so I can get out of here on time.
The modification being to only shave the parts of my legs that will be seen through the holes in my jeans.
Some people would consider this laziness, but I call it innovation.
It’s not like I’m taking my pants off tonight anyway.
There was no suggestion of a dress code from Patrick, but I imagine it’s best to keep my look casual since we’re just going to a bar.
Pulling on some barely ripped mom jeans that make my butt look amazing and a tight black t-shirt, I decide that it's good enough. The shirt is fairly cropped, but it’s just long enough for me to tuck it into the jeans.
Just don’t raise your arms, and you’ll be good.
My tan and blue flannel gets tied around my waist in case I get cold, and I pull on my black boots and grab my purse. Throwing my hair up into a purposefully messy bun, I am just about ready to walk out the door when I see Nick sitting on the couch.
In a gesture of good faith, I do a little spin for dramatic effect and ask, “So, how do I look?”
“If you weren’t fake dating someone, I’d have to take you out.” He says with a low whistle.
There’s only a small amount of traffic on my way to the bar, but it doesn’t help that this place is a couple towns over—and the traffic outside of D.C.
is always atrocious. It makes sense that the bar would be close to their office, but the longer I drive, the more my stomach churns at the thought of being late…
in a new location… with people I don’t know.
Fuck, I barely even know Patrick, so this could be a complete disaster waiting to happen.
After a brief attempt to calm my nerves, my hands are still shaking as I pull into the parking lot.
This was a terrible idea. How am I supposed to fake being someone’s girlfriend in front of all of their coworkers?
I feel dumb for not realizing that this is way more than just convincing Greg.
The repercussions of leaving right now seem a bit too daunting, and it doesn't seem worth it to bail this close to the date.
It's important to stay and do what I promised.
Also, if Patrick says we are dating, his coworkers would believe it, right?
Grabbing my phone from the cupholder, I send a text to Patrick.
Ellie: Just parked. Should I wait for you?
You can’t back out now.
Patrick: We’re inside already. At the high tops in the back. I have a red rose in my shirt pocket, so you recognize me *winky emoji*
His humor catches me off guard, and as I’m laughing, most of my anxious energy evaporates and is replaced with eagerness. I take a deep breath, turn off my car, and go inside.
What’s the worst that can happen?