Page 53 of The Match Faker

“Where’s Nicky?” a small child asks.

I reach behind me, patting the mattress in search of a warm body. “He’s right?—”

A screaming streak of brown hair interrupts me. “UNCLE NICKY.”

The carpet banshee lands on the bed between us, followed by at least three, perhaps five more noise terrorists.

“What the fu?—”

A warm hand clamps over my mouth, cutting off my profane tirade. “What thefluffis up, chicken nuggets?” Nick yells. In my ear.

I squeeze my eyes shut tight. Is this how I die? Woken too early by a family of yellers? I shove his hand off my mouth and flip over, discovering the bed now overflowing with Nick’s niblings. He is absolutely gleeful, smile full and eyes disgustingly bright, surrounded by multiple, impressionable witnesses.

Tilly knees me in the butt as she clambers over me to plop herself down in his lap, all the while glaring at her cousins for infringing on her turf.

“Everyone say good morning to Jasmine.” Nick holds out his arms, presenting me like he’s a gorgeous bottle blond from a game show.

“Good morning, Jasmine,” they all say in creepy unison. One of them, with a flop of straight black hair in their eyes, snuggles against me.

Absolutely not.

I roll out of bed and land on my feet in a move only previously seen in Rambo movies. Nick leans against the headboard, his hands behind his head. Smug bastard.

“I have to call my sister.”

He grimaces, almost like he’s disappointed.

I rip the charger out of my phone and scurry out the door.

“Bye, Jazz,” he calls, and before I can take another step, the children are laughing and squealing again.

“It is an ungodly hour,Jasmine. What the ever-loving fuck.”

“Good morning, sissy,” I sing, adjusting my earbud. I found an office down the hall from Nick’s room. It was empty and has a door that closes so it’s as good a place as any to get some peace and quiet. Though, I’m not sure I’m supposed to be in here. From what I can see, it’s the junk drawer of rooms; there are mismatched office chairs, a printer covered in dust, a computer tower but no monitor. Three decorative baskets are stacked one on top of the other in the corner, the windows have no treatments, and the computer chair behind the desk squeaks ominously as I settle into it. The room is also exceptionally cold.Already, I regret not grabbing a pair of socks or a sweater in my haste.

“Why are you awake?” The familiar sounds of Jade slapping at her sound machine comes through my earbud.

“Nick has niblings,” I say. “And theylovehim.” I try not to let my passive-aggression bleed through the phone line. “They woke us up.”

Jade yelps, then there’s a rustle of sheets. “Wait. What?” I can picture her hair, wild and spiky as she sits up in bed. “Were you in the same room as him? Did you sleep in the same bed?”

She sounds a little too scandalized for a person who requested I get “dicked down” less than twenty-four hours ago.

“It’s not a big deal,” I mumble. The last thing I want to do is admit what happened to Jade. For years, I was the one getting her to school on time, packing her lunches, making her dinners. I made sure she went to bed at a reasonable time and booked her doctor’s appointments and reminded her to floss. Even if our relationship is more sisterly now that she’s an adult, and despite how much she loves me and wouldn’t judge me, I can’t admit to her that Nick is one giant dupe, that I even fail at fake relationships. Not to mention that if I have to admit all that then I also have to admit how disappointed I am that he’s not my near perfect match.

The worst part is, I can’t even explain the dejection plaguing me. After meeting him, I thought the algorithm had gotten it wrong, so knowing that he’s not my match should be a good thing. He’s nothing like the men I date, so maybe the real Nick is. I told myself I’d trust in the process, so why can’t I do that now?

“Tell me about your night. What do you have planned this weekend?”

Jade chats away as she moves around our apartment, the creak of the hardwood signaling her entrance to the kitchen, thesqueak of the springs that she’s on the couch. I only hear every other word, though, and she asks me if I’m still there twice.

“Sorry.” I curl my toes into the rug to warm them.

“Distracted by your good deep dicking?”

“Jade Elizabeth.”

She’s cackling in my ear as a knock sounds on the office door. A heartbeat later, Nick opens it, holding a steaming mug in one hand and a pair of socks in the other. With a tentative smile, he tosses the socks to me.

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