Page 4 of Fake As Puck
Three.
Four.
I don’t need a girlfriend.
Keep going.
Twenty-eight.
Twenty-nine.
Thirty.
I have to find a girlfriend.Fast.
Push-up thirty-one ends in a groan. Not from pain.
Fromrealization.
I havethreeweddings.
Three.
Andevery single oneof them has been RSVP’d for two.
The text thread already thinks I’m “taken.”
There’s acouplesgroup chat I didn’t even know existed.
And Reed’s wifelovesthemed place settings.
I need someone believable. Someone who can fake laugh at uncle jokes, eat plated chicken like it’s fine dining, andnotmention that I was dumped this morning while holding a glass of water.
I roll over onto my back, stare at the ceiling, and start mentally flipping through the Rolodex of all the women I know.
Option #1: Kara-from-Tinder.
Hot. Smart. Allergic to eye contact.
We matched, messaged, then she sent me a TikTok of a rat eating pizza and never responded again.
Unstable energy. Wedding risk level: HIGH.
Option #2: My neighbor, Linda.
Widowed. Seventy-four. Obsessed with her cats and me.
Keeps asking if I’m “still single, sugar.”
Once brought me banana bread in a heart-shaped pan.
Honestly the most consistent woman in my life.
Wedding risk level: Oddly low.
Option #3: Daisy, my ex.
Knows how to dress for weddings. Also knows how to throw a wine glass when tipsy.
