Page 39 of Who's Your Daddy?

“I have to,” I admit, much to my disdain. “Sorry, this slipped my mind. Dyl wants to do this cringy-ass shit at the wedding, and we have to practice every Thursday. I promised Scott I wouldn’t let him suffer alone, so we’re both stuck doing it.”

“What does he want to do?”

I’m too embarrassed to even say it out loud. “I’m not telling.” I pull on a T-shirt, then sit down on the edge of my bed to pull on my socks and sneakers. “The only way you’re ever gonna be a witness to that humiliating spectacle is if you come to the wedding.”

“Guess that means I’m your date for the wedding.” She freezes as soon as the statement leaves her mouth, her playful giggle dying on her lips. “I mean...uh...That was a joke. You don’t have to...to take me to the wedding or...anywhere. I was just...”

She’s going into overthinking mode again, and she shouldn’t. I know what she meant. It was a joke, but I gotta admit, it’s not the worst idea in the world. I certainly won’t have to deal with Dylan’s mom and aunts constantly asking me when I’m going to get a girlfriend and settle down.

“Why don’t you be my date for the wedding next weekend?”

And even though I posed the question in an offhanded, nonchalant way, it still makes her uncomfortable. “I can’t come with you to the wedding. Dylan seems to be a close friend of yours. That’s so personal. I can’t...” She releases a heavy sigh. “Peter, you and I are not...together like that. I know we’re...we’re...”

“Fucking?” I fill in.

“Yes, but that’s...sort of it. I don’t want lines getting blurred and calling it a date does exactly that. I’m already in very real danger of almost...likingyou. Having a thing for sexy, womanizing manwhores is a very acquired taste. And do you understand that I am right on the cusp of acquiring that taste? Imagine if, after this encounter, I have this irrepressible attraction to Hustler University graduates. What will become of me? It’s gross, Peter. Disgusting!”

I pull my lips in to stop a smile. “I’m not that fond of you, either.”

“Good. And we need to keep it that way because...well, you’re the furthest thing from what I want in a life partner.” She’s playing it off as lighthearted, but she means every word. “You’re not exactly husband material.”

One day, I’m going to figure out why it bugs me so much every time she says shit like that. It shouldn’t because I have no interest in pursuing a relationship with her. Maybe it’s because I know that I’m just a placeholder until her Mr. Perfect comes along. I don’t know who he is, but every time I think of this nameless, faceless person putting his hands on her, it drives me up the fricken wall.

This is a very unfamiliar feeling to me, so instead of dwelling on it, I shove it aside and continue with the conversation. “Slow your roll, dollface. I’m not asking you to gallop away into the sunset with me and live happily ever after. It’s just a wedding. If you want, I’ll even help you practice catching the bouquet. We’ll make sure all the planets are aligned and nothing is left to chance when your dumb Prince Charming finally comes along.”

“That was so inspiring and heartfelt.” She clasps her hands together, tilting her head to the side in that Disney Princess kind of way. She even heightens her voice to a sickeningly sweet tone. “I feel like I’m on the verge of breaking into song.”

I grab my wallet from the nightstand and tuck it into my back pocket. “Save it for later. I need to get going. Are you going to be my date – Sorry, not date – my plus one for the wedding?”

“Well, you asked so nicely, how could I refuse?”

“Glad we got that settled.” I lean over, pluck a quick kiss on her lips, then straighten again. “I’ll see you later.”

She smiles. “See you later.”

I dash out the door and stop midway down the stairs. “Hey, Li, do you want me to pick up some food on my way home?” I yell. “Pizza or something?”

“No, I’ll cook dinner,” she yells back.

“Okay.” I run down the rest of the stairs but freeze at the front door.

What the hell just happened? That whole exchange was too familiar, too domesticated. I remind myself that I’ve only known her for about a week, yet we sounded like an old married couple. And we’re not even a couple. How did we get here?

I shake off the feeling and step outside. I feel their energy the second I get into the backseat of Dylan’s Lamborghini Urus, and they snicker when I slam the door shut.

The asshole of all assholes can’t even keep it together for two seconds and starts singing as he backs out of the driveway. “Peter and Lia, sitting in a tree.”

“Shut up, Dyl.”

Scott twists in the passenger seat to look back at me. “You brought her home...to your house? Not even the beach house. Your actual house.”

I know they’re just going to give me shit if they find out that I’ve also taken her to my beach house, so I decide to play it cool. “Yeah, so?” I reply with a shrug. “What’s the big deal? I do it all the time.”

“K. I. S. S. I. N. G.”

Scott knows as well as I do that my statement is a complete fabrication and wastes no time in calling me out on it. “Pete, we’ve been friends since the second grade. You have done that exactlyzerotimes.”

“First comes love. Then comes marriage.”

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