Page 33 of Fake It 'Til You Sleigh It

I’m gearing up to unleash when Darla’s voice rings out sharply. “There’s my favorite couple!”

I turn to see Darla, her smile brightened by her signature pink flamingo lipstick. Today she’s sporting a shirt covered in flamingos that proclaims,Let’s jingle and flamingle.

She grabs my hands. “I’ve got the biggest surprise for you!”

What’s it gonna be? A coconut bra bedazzled with googly eyes? Sparkly beer can fanny pack? Seashell-studded toilet seat that scratches your ass?Oh God, please don’t let it be an alligator-themed sex toy.

But no. It’s so, so much worse.

She proudly whips out a T-shirt that saysChathanin large, garish letters. Painted on the shirt is a bizarre rendition of Ethan’s and my faces, with Bubbles the Alligator crudely drawn in.

“It’s your couple name!” Darla squeals. “Get it? Chase plus Ethan!”

I force a smile so fake it makes my cheeks hurt. “Wow. I didn’t know we had a couple name.”

“You do now! Try it on,” Darla urges, shoving it towards me. “Nolan did an amazing job with the design.”

Ethan’s immediately stripping off his shirt like it’s no big deal.And, damn.His abs should come with a warning label:Caution: May induce spontaneous licking.There’s a light dusting of hair trailing down his stomach, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans, and I find myself wondering where that trail leads.

I close my eyes, trying to dislodge the X-rated thoughts. Nope, boner Squidward is still chilling in there.Fuck.

Ethan pulls on the ridiculous shirt, and I watch, mesmerized, as the fabric stretches across his muscles. Even the monstrosity of Chathan can’t hide how sinfully attractive he is.

I force myself to actually look at the “art.” Our faces look like they were sketched by a drunk toddler:

Using crayons.

With their nondominant hand.

A grotesque mashup of us. My head is uneven, the eyes are definitely cross-eyed, and Ethan’s chiseled jawline looks like a lumpy potato. It’s horrifying. Total nightmare fuel.

But to give credit where it’s due—Nolan nailed my frizzy, humidity-induced hair with startling accuracy.

“So, what do you think?” Darla asks, her eyes sparkling with hope.

I open my mouth, close it, then open it again. I’m doing a fantastic impression of a fish out of water.

Oh boy. How do I answer this? Darla’s radiating more maternal warmth than a Cherish Channel movie marathon, and it’s... nice. Touching, even. But her style is—

“She’s speechless with joy. Aren’t you, sugar plum?” Ethan says so smugly that I want to smack him in his stupidly handsome face.

Before I can object, his hands are at my waist, fingers skimming my skin as he lifts my shirt. “C’mon, babe,” he purrs, “try it on. Show some Chathan pride!”

I swat his hand away. “Back off. I can do it myself.”

I pull the shirt over my existing one just as Nolan reappears, holding a jar filled with little slips of red and green paper.

Ethan gushes, “Bro, you outdid yourself this time!”

Darla beams. “How lucky am I having such talented boys?” She turns to me. “I don’t know if Ethan told you, but Nolan has transformed our business, getting us on the interwebs.”

Great. Now the Chathan pandemic will spread beyond Florida’s borders.

“Make sure to tell your friends and family, sweetie. They can get their shirts only on our Etsy store,” Darla says.

“Yes, I definitely will,” I lie through my teeth.

“These shirts have been selling like hotcakes since you two announced your relationship,” Darla gushes.

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