Page 17 of Adorkable

“Yeah,” I mumbled into his chest. His arms were locked around my waist, mine resting on his forearms. After such a trying night, his familiar scent, the comfort I found in his nearness almost undid me. I was so tired of surprises. If I had to meet one more blind date, I would literally go insane.

“Jeez, Sal,” he laughed, resting his chin on my head. “If you wanted a hug, all you had to do was ask.”

I slapped his shoulder. “Jerk.”

“I’m just saying.”

Despite my protests, I stood there, embracing him longer than necessary. It’d been a hard night, and I didn’t even get a chance to really watch the movie. Lucky for me, Becks gave the best hugs on the planet. Even Austin’s kiss, sweet as it was, had nothing on the feel of Becks’s arms around me. It was exactly what I needed to clear my head.

These surprise dates had to end.

They just had to. Since demands and pleading hadn’t worked, I’d have to try a different approach. What I needed was a plan, something failsafe, something to get both Mom and especially Hooker off my back. A sure way to end the matchmaking forever. The answer didn’t come until much later, but when it did, the solution seemed so simple, so perfect.

Now all I had to do was find the perfect guy.

How hard could that be?

CHAPTER 4

“How’s that article coming, Spitz?”

I mentally counted to ten.

“Hello,” Priscilla said, rapping her knuckles twice on the table. “Earth to Spitz? It’s October, mid-season for God’s sake. I need an ETA on that sports article like yesterday.”

Taking a deep breath, I gave up the counting. Numbers wouldn’t numb the pain. Priscilla Updike’s annoying voice was like listening to fingernails on a chalkboard, enough to make my ears bleed and set my teeth on edge.

Looking up, I forced a smile. “It’s coming along, should be ready by Saturday.”

“You just make sure it is.” She fluffed her hair which was already over the limit on the fluffiness scale. Blonde, busty and a big fan of Mary Kay, Priscilla was the image that came to mind when most people pictured the Southern bombshell. “And don’t skimp on the word count. Everyone knows they only read our newsletter to check the scores and see highlights. Make sure you include those this time instead of going off on one of your silly human interest slants.”

The bossy attitude, though, was why I called her Pisszilla—only in my head, of course.

As Pisszilla moved on to her next victim, I looked down at the list I’d started at the beginning of the period. Journalism was the sole writing class Chariot High offered, and I usually paid extra-close attention. But since our evil editor was the only one talking, I didn’t feel the need. She wouldn’t even notice if I left the room. Now that she was busy biting someone else’s head off (apparently each of the horoscopes last week had ended in gruesome death, a detail Pisszilla was none too happy about), I could turn my mind to more important matters.

It seemed so obvious. I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before. Last night at 3:42 a.m., when I’d been half-asleep, half-delirious, I’d come up with the perfect solution to my matchmaking blues.

A fake boyfriend.

Hooker couldn’t set me up if I was already set up, so to speak. All I needed was someone to play my boyfriend for a while, and I’d be golden. The key to success was finding the right guy.

On the sheet of paper I had stealthily tucked beneath the crook of my arm—in case someone decided to be a real jerk and snatch it—I’d outlined my criteria under the heading:

THE IDEAL F.B.F.

1) Must be able to keep a secret.

2) Must not be afraid of Hooker.

3) Must be MALE (no more misunderstandings)

4) Must be willing to work cheap and agree to a month’s worth of service

5) Must be able to keep hands to themselves and separate F.B.F duties from reality

Numbers one, two, three and five were the most important, but four was nonnegotiable. The timeframe of a month would make it more believable, especially to Mom. Then when the guy called it quits, there’d be no question of me dating again. I’d be too heartbroken, too devastated at the loss of my so-called first love. The plan was so freaking perfect. I barely stopped myself from busting out the maniacal laughter as the bell rang. Hooker wasn’t the only scheming mastermind in this school.

Now, if I could just find someone who met all the requirements, I wouldn’t have to go on another blind date for the rest of my life.

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