Page 17 of The Problem with Perfect

I bristle at his reference to what Connor said at The Mitch.

“Of course I do, but that doesn’t mean I can’t want to understand why you’d be so adamantly against it just this morning and then suddenly change your mind. What am I missing?”

“You’re missing someone to play your fake boyfriend, Bellamy.” His tone brooks no argument. “Yes or no.”

“Fine! Okay, jeez. You don’t have to be all”—I wave my hand around—“Grumpy Pants McGee about it.”

His face pinches. “Grumpy Pants McGee? Really?”

“Well. Youare.”

Rusty rolls his eyes. “Connor suggested a double date,” he says, moving the conversation along. “He told me to check with you about Thursday.”

I cross my arms, trying to imagine how that conversation went. Part of me doesn’t like the idea of Connor talking to Rusty when I’m not around. Whoknowswhat this man said about me—not that it really matters, I guess. The only thing that matters is that Connor believes I have unequivocally and undeniably moved on from last summer, and if that means Rusty helps me convince him, I guess it also doesn’t matter what his reasons are.

“I work Thursday, but I can probably switch with Danielle.”

Rusty hops down from where he’s sitting and brushes the little crumbs off his black jeans. “Okay. Will you text Connor and let him know once you get that sorted?”

I nod. “Yeah. I can do that.”

He shuts the trunk and gives a shrug. “Alright, well…I guess I’ll see you Thursday.”

“What?”

Rusty pauses his movements toward the driver’s side door and glances back at me. “What do you mean what?”

“I mean…we can’t just meet up on Thursday. We need a story. If we’re going to make it seem like we’re dating, we have to actually seem like we’re dating.”

He lets out a dramatic sigh. “Fine. Just…meet me here tomorrow night. We can have dinner and talk.”

I blink a few times, weighing the idea in my mind: meet Rusty at my place of work to have dinner and come up with our fake story to convince Connor we’ve been dating and that this is not just a big fat lie.

I must be too slow to respond, because Rusty speaks again.

“If you’re worried about people seeing us together, news flash, the whole town is going to think we’re dating.” He seems to brace himself then as he crosses his arms. “Do you have a problem with that?”

I shake my head. “No, I just…”

How do I explain this without sounding so much younger than I am?

“…I’ve never been on a date before.”

Something about Rusty seems to short-circuit, as if I’ve said the exact thing I shouldn’t have said. It’s the truth, though, and I’m already doing enough lying.

“What do you mean you’ve never been on a date before?” he asks, almost like the words themselves are foreign.

“I mean,” I say, my shoulders rising as I refuse to let him make me feel bad about it, “I’ve never been on a date before.” I pause for a minute, waffling on what to say. “It’s not likeeveryonefinds dating and hookups to be a collector’s sport like you do.”

Rusty’s face sours. “Clearly.”

We stare at each other, me feeling vulnerable and exposed and Rusty looking irritated in many ways.

Eventually he sighs again and digs out his phone. “What’s your number? I’ll text you tomorrow.”

I’m almost surprised that I don’t already have his number, considering how long we’ve known each other. I rattle it off, and a few seconds later I feel my own phone vibrate in my back pocket.

“I just texted you, so now you’ll have my number, too.”

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