Page 38 of Fake Dating My Best Friend

“Anyway.” I clear my throat. “So . . . what happened with Michelle? The date ended pretty early.”

“I don’t know, Is. Jogging in the rain? That’s a new one for first-date activities.”

“I didn’t setthatup.”

“Oh, I know. Michelle insisted.” He raises an eyebrow. “Is that part of your new matchmaking criteria now? Ability to run a 5K on the first date?”

“No. But she’s a successful fitness influencer. I thought you two would have things in common. She looks . . . perfect. Polished. Instagram-worthy. Diane said clients are less frustrated when their matches seem equally put together.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“I’m still figuring it out. But . . . it seems to work for Diane and some of the other matchmakers.”

“Is that the standard you’ve set for yourself? That perfect, polished type. Is that the kind of woman you wish you were?”

I freeze, caught completely off guard. Asher turns toward me, water dripping from his fingers. His expression turns serious in a way that steals the breath right out of my lungs. Even the puppy goes still, tilting his little head like he’s mimicking Asher’s concerned stare. His ears flop to one side as if he, too, is waiting for my answer.

Now I’m being cornered by a shirtless man and a freshly scrubbed puppy dog.

Am I supposed to answer that? Because yes, sometimes I wish I was more like Michelle. The kind of woman who always knows what to say, who always looks camera-ready and completely in control. Who doesn’t get cheated on or have to prove she’s good at love for a living.

I want to be better.

I want to be someone worth choosing.

But I don’t say any of that. I just stare at the puppy as Asher scratches behind his ears, the soft sound of running water filling the silence between us.

“I wouldn’t want that.” Asher shifts, rinsing a bit of soap from the puppy’s paw. “We found this little guy shivering in the rain, huddled against a trash bin, just trying to stay dry. Michelle took one look and said we couldn’t stop because she didn’t want to ruin her running pace. I don’t care howperfectshe is.”

How about me?

Don’t go there. I already know what he thinks. He made it perfectly clear that day by the lake.

You’re amazing. You’ll find someone who sees that.

I swallow hard. “Sorry about that . . . I’ll work on the system.”

Asher flicks a little suds in my direction. “Only if it includes a category forWill stop mid-run for stray puppies.I hear that’s a real green flag.”

After several more splashes, we finally get the puppy clean and dry. He’s a different creature now, all fluffy white fur with adorable brown patches.

Asher ruffles the puppy’s fur. “We should probably name him. It’s going to be ours, after all.”

“Ours? I mean, he’s yours. You rescued him.”

Well. I’m already naming him in my head. Already picturing shared walks, vet visits, and tiny paw prints on the kitchen floor.

“True, but he likes you. It’s practically a joint custody situation at this point. And you’ve always wanted a puppy, haven’t you?”

My heart does a little flip.Raise a puppy and name it togetheris on my Love Bucket List. One of those things I want to do withthe one.

When we were kids, Connie and Fred’s old golden retriever, Max, used to be the highlight of my walks home from school. The way they’d share his care, how Fred would pretend to grumble about “that mutt” while sneaking him treats, how Connie would laugh and say Max was the best marriage counselor they ever had. Watching them, it always seemed like sharing a pet meant sharing something deeper.

I told Kyle that once. He laughed and said dogs were too messy, too needy, like having a kid that can’t talk but still ruins your carpet.

But Asher isn’t doing this because it’s on my list, is he? He saw my list, and he knows that’s a couple’s thing.

“Okay, fine. But if we’re doing this, I’m making him pancakes on his birthday and dressing him up for Halloween. That’s non-negotiable.”

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