Page 66 of Gin and Lava

I reach the end of the tunnel and step out into the sun, shielding my eyes as they take a moment to adjust. The burning heat is just as blinding as this idea. I mean, the story works. It’s not impossible—well, except for the her and me being anactualthing part. But a fake thing, sure.

“You really want to do this?” I ask, and she steps into the sun smiling like she caught the bouquet at Olivia’s wedding and is ready to dive into matrimony. “Really?”

“Yes!” She beams. “The fiancé part could also be a brand new addition to our story, for example you could be proposing to me right now on Diamond Head.”

“On this shitty piece of cement?” I point to the decrepit stairwell in front of us. If you look to the right the view is nice, but it’s hardly spend-the-rest-of-your-perfect-Naomi-life-with-me worthy.

“Why not?” Naomi replies. “You’re surprising.”

“I’m not completely romance-less,” I defend, pointing to the dingy cement.

“Oh? Do you need a tiki drink and a cock-shaped ring box?” she tosses back.

“Do they make those?” I reply with equal fervor. “Because every time I look up cock ring box, I get somethingvery differentin my feed.”

“Wait till we get to the top of the volcano then, Mr. Romance,” Naomi quips, conceding my point that this stretch of ugly cement is not even fake-proposal worthy. “When we’re at the lookout, get on one knee and pop the question.”

“We don’t have to role play it,” I say, starting up the stairs.

This is starting to feel big.

It’s one thing to lie to everyone and make them think I’m the lucky shmuck she’s shtupping for a few months. It’s another for them to believe we’re in it for forever. Plus, there’s the whole premise that I’m not the type of guy she’d normally pick. Sure, I get to be my normal asshole self, but who the heck will she pretend to be in all of this?

We reach the top of the flight of stairs and I turn to her.

“Okay,” I agree. “We can do the fiancé thing if that’s what you really want. But I have one more rule.”

“Sure,” she nods. “Lay it on me.”

“You have to be you.”

Naomi frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I get to be me—asshole remarks and the like,” I explain. “But you have to be you. If I say something that embarrasses you, then you have to act embarrassed. If I piss you off, you don’t cover it up. You still have to be Naomi—not some weird other version of you that’s playing some part. I’m me. You’re you. And the ruse is that we aren’t actually in love. That’s it. If we do fake relationship, we don’t do fake everything else.”

She looks at me a long time, trying to decide if that works or not. Can she actually be herself with me? If not, this deal is off, because I don’t want to watch it.

“No one’s going to buy it otherwise,” I argue. “This will all blow up in your face if you aren’t yourself. I mean, Trifecta himself will see that, if he knew you at all.”

She nods, her expression revealing that’s a good point.

“Of course,” she agrees. “I mean, I was always going to be me. Obviously. Not a problem.”

“I’m going to hold you to it,” I warn. “You start pulling some non-Naomi crap and I’m going to fake break-up with you in front of everyone.”

“As you should,” she agrees. “So you’re in?”

I nod, even though the knot in my gut feels like seagulls doing yoga with broken wings.

Naomi launches herself at me with excitement, and I laugh. It’s weird to think I could actually make her smile like that. Even if the reason is completely fake.

“Okay,” I say, before we head into the second tunnel. “But if I’m going to fake propose to you on the top of this volcano, I’m going to pull rule number four on you right now.”

She scrunches her face, trying to remember what rule that is.

“I can’t fake propose to you without knowing what I’m getting into. So, one, where did you grow up?”

“East Texas,” she says with a shrug.

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