Page 19 of Skating and Fake Dating
“PD-what?” Carson asks.
“Public displays of affection would be limited to hand holding and occasional hugs.”
He snorts a laugh. “No one would buy it.”
“What are you saying?”
He gives me a side-eye. “There’d have to be some kissing.”
“Tame kisses.”
“I’m not known for being tame.”
I give him the opposite of a side-eye. “Aren’t you full of confidence?”
“And coffee,” he mutters. “Here’s another one. Real feelings would not be allowed.”
“Of course not.”
But we’re not actually considering a fake relationship, right?This is just a hypothetical conversation between two people on a long drive to pass the time.
A radio commercial fills the silence as spooky music plays in the background. “Masquerade as whoever you want to be this Halloween with spine-tingling costumes and eerie decorations to transform your home into the neighborhood’s most haunted. Step into The Halloween Emporium and discover everything you need to bring your frightful and delightful fantasies to life, from creepy crawlies to ghostly gatherings, all for discount outlet prices!”
“Fake like Halloween,” I say more to reinforce any notion that Carson and I would venture into fake relationship territory.
Falling back into the conversation, he says, “We’d need a backstory. Like how we met.”
“How we fell for each other.”
“And no big blowout break up. Been there. Done that. Don’t want to be in the same predicament I am now.”
“Right. This would be the perfect solution if we did it. But we’re not. Because you don’t believe in romance, so there’s no way you could pull it off,” I say, discouraged.
Frowning, he nods in agreement. “It’s a bad idea.”
“Terrible.”
“Dangerous,” Carson says.
“So much could go wrong,” I add, envisioning the humiliating carnage if anyone found out that I faked a relationship for revenge.
“This is the stuff dramatic disasters are made of. Burning our lives down dumpster-fire level.” His gaze flicks toward mine and then back to the road.
I lean over the center console slightly. “But I’m pretty good at pretending.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Are you now?”
“I convinced my entire family that I love my corporate job.”
His mouth quirks up at one corner. “The job you’re doing right now?”
“The very one.”
“You don’t love it?”
“You don’t believe in love at all, so by that logic, how could someone love a job?” I ask smartly.
He sputters for a moment.
