Page 26 of Fake It 'til You Make It

I shrug. ‘Beer?’

‘Right answer.’

Whilst he searches through drawers, eventually coming up with a bottle opener, I consider the space. A very definite sports fanatic pad. Signed baseballs decorate an area of the white walls. Signed jerseys are hanging in frames.

There are massive prints of baseball players in black and white, five in total. All signed. I’ve no idea who they are, though I’m kind of thinking one is Babe Ruth – based on my reluctant participation in a recent pub quiz.

And one is…

‘Tell me you don’t have a life-size print of yourself on display in your home.’ I flick off the heels that have been crippling my toes and hop down from the stool, moving in for a closer inspection. ‘And that you’ve signed it!’

In the picture, he’s wearing a baseball cap that partially shades his face, but it’s Mike alright.

If it wasn’t for the snigger that comes along with it, I could forget myself for a second and think that slight quirk of his lips, an almost smile, is kind of… sexy?

My capsule wardrobe is going to my head.

‘Greatness should be celebrated, babe.’

Oh my God, this guy is such a jerk. Then again, I’ve demonstrated of late that I’m not as good a judge of character as I thought I was. But I am close to certain that he’s a jerk.

I’d physically and metaphorically run for the hills if it wasn’t for: one, I haven’t finished my calzone, and two, the thought of putting my feet in those shoes again is more terrifying than being called babe.

I remove the first blockade with an elephant-sized bite of pizza and decide that the elephant feet probably won’t fit back into the slinky shoes tonight in any event, so I’ll carry them instead. The perk of being rescued by an ape in shining armor who lives in the same building as you.

‘On that note…’ I wash down my food with a mouthful of beer. ‘Thisbabeis heading to bed.’

‘There’s a bed upstairs,’ Mike says. I could swear he covers a wince with his beer bottle, as if the words left his mouth before his brain clicked into gear.Quellesurprise. A typical sports type.

‘Just to clarify, was that a genuine pick-up line or a joke? Because FYI, no way, no how, not ever.’ I slip down from the stool, pick up my shoes and rise to standing. ‘If it wasn’t for the fact I need to find a date to my parents’ vow renewal in three weeks’ time, I’d be sworn off men entirely, forever, irrevocably.’

Why did I even offer that insight? This isn’t a girls’ sleepover and that’s hardly in keeping with thenewme, who intends to fill that mental checklist, at least within the next three years. I start walking to the door.

‘Sorry, I meant to just think that last part but at least you have some context. I’ll see myself out.’

His brow is furrowed, his lips are drawn into a smirk. He’s mocking me. He raises his now empty beer bottle from where he’s still standing by the kitchen island.

‘You got it,babe. And let me know if you need that date to be super fly and hot as hell. I could bump you up my waiting list.’

Urgh. I’m standing by the open door, holding it with one hand, my fancy purse and murderous shoes in the other.

‘If you’re such a misogynistic beast, whydidyou help me out earlier? I know it wasn’t just for hazelnut chocolate spread.’

He creaks his neck, leaning his head to one side, then the other. ‘If you must know, I can’t stand cheats. It’s cowardly. It’s demeaning. It’s disrespectful.’

‘What do you know – we have something in common.’

I’m smiling, because finally I recognize this guy for who he is: the alpha male with mommy and daddy issues.

I’ve got your number, 8B.

10

TED

‘Sweet dreams, babe,’ I call as Abbey closes the door behind her.

‘Goodnight, my knight in chauvinist armor,’ she calls back.

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