Page 32 of Ice Dance Hockey

I do look and we look so gone for each other that I want it to be real. But then I come to my senses. “Okay, I get it. Yeah, we kissedas part of the charade, but ended up enjoying ourselves for a hot second.”

“C’mon,” he whines. “I won’t tell Merc. This is your business and that’s what I’ll say if he asks. He’d want you to have someone to confide in about this.”

He would, but do I want that person to be Jack? I can’t resist his stupid doe-eyed puppy stare and it would be nice to talk to someone who knows Rhett.

“I’ve never been on a date before,” I admit.

“How is that possible? You’re gorgeous.”

“I am breathtaking, but you’ve met me, right? Never said I don’t get interested parties, but interest is where it ends. In high school, too many people knew me. They either bullied me or stayed away from me—don’t youdarefeel sorry for me,” I say when his expression changes.

He holds his hands up. “Whoa, scorpion boy. I have compassion for you. Not the same as pity. Carry on, though. I feel like this is about to get good, even though it started as a total bummer.”

“Shut the hell up and let me tell the story.” He mimics zipping his lips. “This is really dumb, and probably going to bum you out, but because I’ve never been on a date, I wanted to see what it was like to be on one.”

He bounces some more. “Oh! Rhett’s good at dates. You probably have a high bar now.” I glare at him for talking. “Sorry.”

“We did talk business. Things like, how we’re going to convince people that I’m Rhett’s boyfriend, but he did all these gentlemanly things like opening my car door and feeding me steak.”

His eyes widen at the mention of steak, but to his credit, he doesn’t say a word.

“It was satisfactory as far as dates go.” I leave the fact that I’m no expert out since that’s obvious, but I’m sure that your heart’s supposed to be on fire.

He laughs. “Sorry, not laughing at you. Picturing you telling Rhett that he was satisfactory at anything. That’s going to rot his brain.”

“I wasn’t trying to. I was honest. There’s no way to make a fake date any more than satisfactory.” Then something occurs to me, and I panic. “Has Merc seen those images?”

“God, no. Merc’s never on social media. You’ve heard him say how much he hates it.”

“Everyone hates it, but it’s become a necessary evil.”

“Yeah, but he, like, old-people hates it. He barely texts. He’s one of the last people in the world who still uses the phone app. Hell, he doesn’t even call it a phone app, just ‘the phone’ as they called it in the before times.”

I take an easy breath.

“Can someone explain this to me?” Merc says, walking through the bedroom door, holding up his phone. There lie the incriminatory images.

Jack facepalms. “Fucking Meyer family group text. Who sent those?” He checks his phone. “Rachel. Jesus.”

“You weren’t gonna tell me?” Merc says.

“Fuck no. A man’s kiss is between him and … the billions of people on social media. Get an account if you wanna see,” Jack says.

“Just maybe I will.”

“And pigs will fly,” Jack says. Merc scowls at him. “You don’t know how to set one up.”

“One of the perks of having a younger man. You’re gonna do it for me,” he says, sliding a sly smile onto his face. “But back to the kiss?—”

“Don’t fucking start, Merc,” I say. “We have to be convincing.”

“You’re convincing all right. A little too convincing.” He pulls on a shirt from the closet. It’s big on him.

Jack gets up and snuggles his face into Merc’s neck. “This is my shirt, babe.”

“Yeah. I know. I …” He slides a hand through his hair. He’s struggling with something. “I fucking hate Tom Ford cologne. Let that be said.”

And I must reek of it. “Um, maybe I should shower.”

---