Page 97 of The Wild Card
I know it could be good news, but it’s more likely bad news, and I’m just not ready for my happy bubble to burst. I’d rather spend my days thinking about Molly when I’m not with her and enjoying my time—and her lips—when I am.
I offered my services to help James get ready for the wedding, but as it turns out, he just wants me for my body. As in, the use of my body’s heavy lifting skills. After the second or so hour of moving heavy bags of malts from one room to another, I picked up on the fact that this has absolutely nothing to do with his wedding and everything to do with James seeing how much unpaid manual labor he could make me do.
As I left Dark Horse, I told a smirking Winnie—clearly aware of what her fiancé was doing—to text me if sheactuallyneeded help with the wedding.
Feeling aimless, I spent time every afternoon napping and drove out to my field at least once a day just to see if inspiration would hit. It didn’t. But I did send Molly selfies of me with Cookie, and I noticed when she got home that afternoon, she’d changed one of them to be her lock screen photo.
Because I’ve got nothing but time on my hands, I find creative ways to greet Molly when she gets back from work. The first day, I got a fancy dinner from Sheet Cake’s only steakhouse and was dressed in a suit, with a formal dress I picked out with Lindy’s help waiting for Molly.
The next afternoon, I set up a disco ball with flashing lights and started blaring music the moment she opened the door, pulling her into an impromptu dance party. Which was great until one of the neighbors called to complain and Chevy showed up at the door with a smirk, telling us we’re in violation of Sheet Cake’s noise ordinance.
Another day, I filled the loft with candles and had low instrumental music playing. “Welcome to the Graham Spa and Resort,” I told her. “Would you like a glass of wine before or after your massage?”
“Collin,” she protested, hands on her hips, “you can’t keep doing—mmm. Okay. Fine. You can keep doing that.”
Apparently, all it takes to stop her protests is a really good deep tissue massage in her shoulders. Within twenty minutes, she was asleep on the makeshift massage table—a.k.a., the couch—drooling a little.
I plan to drive her out to see Cookie the next day and even have apples and carrots—which I learned from Google are as good a treat for cows as they are for horses—but we get interrupted by Lindy and Pat.
Before I can tell Molly about my plan to visit Cookie, Pat and Lindy burst inside without knocking moments after Molly walked in.
Almost like they’d been waiting to pounce.
“You haven’t posted on social media in days,” Lindy announces in dramatic fashion. “People will start to wonder.”
“We thought you could use some help with filming,” Pat says. “I had some ideas.”
“I’ll use your phone, Molly. If that’s okay,” Lindy says. “Should I use any specific app or just the regular camera?”
“Um, the camera is fine. I can edit everything later.”
Molly and I exchange a glance, but she doesn’t tell them we weren’t planning to post anymore and neither do I. Instead, we play along while Lindy holds the phone and Pat directs us, clearly intending to push the boundaries of our fake relationship as they move us from coupley pose to coupley pose.
One thing this does confirm is that Jo, whom I told this week while taking her out for milkshakes after school, has kept our secret. She was not at all surprised to find out Molly and I are really together but delighted to be in on the joke.
“Knew it,” Jo said. “And don’t worry; I won’t tell. I’m not supposed to keep secrets from Mom and Dad—only surprises. But this is definitely the good kind of surprise.”
I agree. And I’m especially enjoying it while Pat and Lindy try their hardest to make this whole photoshoot awkward for Molly and me. Instead, we’re sharing secret smiles and having a fabulous time pretending to pretend.
There’s something hot about Molly acting like she’s shy whenever I touch her, even though I’ve been touching her like this all week, every chance I get. I highly recommendfakefake dating to anyone looking to spice up their romance.
“Wow, y’all are really good at this,” Pat says. “Very convincing.”
“If only he knew,” I say in a low voice as I carry Molly around the apartment, following Pat’s orders.
She smiles and tightens her hold around my neck, playing with my hair. “I’m definitely convinced.”
“Next pose!” Pat says, doing his best impression of a director. The glee is evident in his voice. “Why don’t you sit on the counter, Molly. Collin, stand in front of her, between her knees.”
I set Molly down on the counter and step close. “Like this?”
“Perfect. Yes!”
“Should I put my hands on the counter or on her thighs?” I ask Pat, but I’m looking at Molly, not even trying to hide the heat in my gaze.
“Thighs,” Pat and Lindy say at the same time.
“Like this?” I place my hands on Molly’s legs, just above her knees, not missing the way her eyes go a little bit hazy. “Or higher?” I slide my palms up just a little, my thumbs tracing the inner hem of her jeans while Molly bites her lip.
