Page 15 of Faking Romance

“Well, I get it, but I have work to do too,” I huff as I turn and head up the stairs with Hutch in tow.

“I know. I’m just saying, you may need to compromise a little,” he urges. I hate that he’s right. Like a petulant child, I don’t want compromise, I want what I want. I groan because even I think I sound like a dick now.

“I hate that you’re right,” I grumble as I unlock my door.

He chuckles and unlocks his. “Don’t kill the messenger. I want both of you to succeed.”

And with that, he shuts his door, and I go to walk inside only to hear Al call out my name. He’s walking down the stairs slowly. I turn and wait for him to finish the last flight.

“Good morning, Gray,” he says.

“Morning, Al,” I reply as I lean on my doorjamb and cross my arms. “How are you?”

“Not bad for an old man,” he jokes as he gives himself a moment to catch his breath at the landing.

“You still want me to find you a date?” he asks.

I laugh. “Al, it’s cool. You don’t have to. I’ll just ask Hutch or someone to see if they have a friend I can…uh, borrow.”

He chuckles. “Borrow?”

I feel my face redden. I hate that I feel silly. I hate that he’s seeing the not-so-perfect part of me. I look up to Al. He offered up this place to me when I had nowhere else to go. He may be an old family friend, but he’s become more like family than any of my blood relatives. He cares and he’s always showing it. He’s also the closest thing I have to my grandfather who passed away about six years ago. He and Al used to play poker every week, along with several other older gentlemen. Al stopped going to the poker games when my grandfather died. He said it wasn’t the same without him.

I shrug. “Something like that.”

“What do you want in a woman?” he asks like he’s some sort of professional matchmaker.

I raise my eyebrows. “I don’t need arealgirlfriend. I’m too busy for that right now.” And I don’t trust women, not after my ex dumped me for not being rich enough. It’s been months, but it still stings. I thought she was the one. I loved her.

“I’m not asking if you need one. I’m asking what the perfect one would be like,” he says. I look around us and quickly usher him inside. My recording can wait five minutes. Hell, for Al, it could wait all day.

I hold up a pitcher of water and he nods. I pour us both some and we sit at my dining room table.

“Trustworthy,” I state.

“OK. What else? I mean, if you had to draw her up from scratch. If the universe said here, create exactly what you want…” He trails off as he watches me.

I clear my throat. I guess we’re doing this.

“Trustworthy, kind, smart, funny, but in a sarcastic way, loves music, attractive.” I pause as he raises a hand.

“What do you consider attractive?”

I draw a ring around a watermark on my cherrywood tabletop. Stupid Hutch left his glass here all night a few months ago and I haven’t been able to get the mark to go away.

“I mean, I don’t care if she has blonde hair or brown hair. I…” Shit, what do I want? I haven’t thought about this in ages. “I want someone who can get dressed up and look classy, and elegant, but also doesn’t care. I don’t want a woman who wears eight pounds of makeup just to go grab a coffee. I like a woman with what’s that little part here?” I point to the top of my lips where it makes sort of a “v” under my nose.

“You like a cupid’s bow–shaped upper lip?” he asks. I want to ask why he knows this, but I decide some things are better left unsaid.

“Uh, yeah,” I reply as I rub the back of my head.

“Anything else?”

I have no idea what to say to Al. It’s not like there’s a factory making girlfriends, at least not that I know of. I can’t request my perfect girlfriend because perfect humans don’t exist. Shit, look at me. I’m anything but perfect.

“No. I can’t think of anything.” I pause because there is one thing. Seeing Roxy with her high ponytails or buns has made me realize that I find that really attractive. It’s weird. My ex never wore her hair like that.

“Out with it, kid,” Al urges as he studies me.

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