Chapter Ten
Dean
“Axe throwing? That’s what popped into your brain?”
For the sake of authenticity, Solange and I hopped into the same Lyft. She’s heading to Sip City to hang with Brandon, and I’m heading home to get ready for an early day at work tomorrow.
The driver, Jeff, who can’t be much older than the legal drinking age, must have slathered his body with cologne, so I crack open a window to air out the scent of eau de college bro.
Solange’s phone comes to life, a dozen or so pings signaling an energetic text conversation on the other end. She sighs heavily, her gaze flicking upward. “Yes, axe throwing is exactly what popped into my mind, okay? Kimberly and Nia showed zero interest in the typical touristy things, and I figured something out of the box would spark their interest. I’m sure you’d prefer a more refined excursion, but those women were bored out of their minds, and I couldn’t imagine another evening looking at Peter’s snooty face across a dinner table. It worked, didn’t it?”
The way she emphasized the word refined snags my attention. Reminds me of her offhand comment about not wanting to be Ella 2.0. “I don’t care about being refined or highbrow or whatever, if that’s what you’re implying. I think Peter’s an arrogant prick as much as you do.”
“Then what is the problem?” she says, throwing her hands up in frustration.
I collapse against the backseat. “It’s axe throwing, Solange. They’re going to ask us to sign waivers. I’ve never in my life read a waiver that I felt comfortable signing. In fact, I once got hired to redo a waiver because I kept arguing with a gym owner about the shoddiness of the version he was asking me to sign. And what if someone gets hurt? The partners would have our asses if something happened to Kimberly or Nia. Plus, the sight of blood makes my skin crawl. I passed out at a college blood drive when I saw the plastic thingy—”
“The plastic tube?” Solange asks.
“Yeah, when I saw the plastic tube filling up.” I blow out a slow breath and rake a hand through my hair. “So much could go wrong.”
I glance at Solange when I’m done. Her gaze darts to the rearview mirror, and I catch our driver mouthing, Wow, before his face goes blank.
Solange lightly squeezes my wrist. “Dean, relax.” Her tone is gentle, as if she’s trying to calm a skittish horse. “It’s going to be all right. Someone at the facility will give you safety tips and show you exactly what you need to do.”
“You’ve done this before?” I ask, enjoying her touch.
She lets go of my wrist and edges closer to her side of the backseat. “I’ve thrown an axe a few times, and I’m actually pretty good at it. I can even give you a few pointers. I’m telling you, Dean, you’re going to love it. The first time I experienced the adrenaline rush of gripping the shaft, I was hooked.”
I stare at her and swallow hard. Yeah, my brain went there.
And unfortunately, my brain’s been going there all evening. Watching her eviscerate pompous Peter is the sexiest shit I’ve ever seen. She’s just so damn comfortable in her own skin. And she makes me laugh—enough to distract me from worrying about the possibility that we’re going to get caught at any moment. Every time she spoke during dinner, I wanted to throw up a little cheer and shout That’s my girl.
Except she isn’t a girl (in fact, she’d probably pop me in the mouth if I called her that), and she certainly isn’t mine. Not really. And fuck, why am I so confused?
Three more outings. With how things are going so far, maybe not even that many. That’s all I need to get through. Repeat after me, Dean: You’re not the man for Solange, and she’s not the woman for you; stoking this attraction is only going to complicate things. Keep it light. Keep it friendly. Keep any inappropriate thoughts to yourself.
With that mental reset out of the way, I pat the tops of my thighs and blow out a deep breath. “Okay, I’m going to trust you on this, but let it be known, I have my reservations.”
“Dean, at this point, I assume you have reservations about everything. There’s no need to flag them for me.”
Her voice lacks any inflection, so I can’t tell if she’s being serious or not—until she tilts her head and gives me a saucy grin. Goddamn it. I like her. But I don’t want to. Not this much.
“Thanks for tonight,” I tell her. “I literally could not have done it without you.”
She stares out the window as the car winds its way through another DC traffic circle. “You’re so welcome. It helps that Kimberly and Nia are wonderful people.”
“It does.”
She turns and peers at me. “And I must say, your performance skills have dramatically improved since this weekend. For a minute there, you had me believing you were actually smitten.”
“Gold star for Dean, then?”
“Absolutely,” she says with a wink.
It was all an act, of course, but I must admit, pretending to be Solange’s boyfriend wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be.
Solange
Sip City is the perfect place to decompress after a first fake date from hell.
“Give me every single drink in your repertoire,” I say to Brandon. “Just keep ’em coming.”
Brandon leans his elbows on the bar counter and taps my nose. “Will you settle for an experimental cocktail?” He waggles his eyebrows. “It has rum in it.”
“Is my name Solange?”
He rubs his hands together and backs away, a beaming smile on his handsome face.
As Brandon prepares my drink, I ignore the nosy text thread Lina started with Natalia, Jaslene, and me, and instead listen to my voice mail. Although it’s not entirely unexpected, the second of two messages—the first one’s spam—makes my heart sprint in my chest.
“Ms. Pereira, this is Director Cabrini at Victory Academy. I’d like to speak with you when you have a few minutes. I tried to catch you yesterday, but we missed each other.”
Oh shit. What’s this about?
“Come find me next time you’re in,” Director Cabrini says. “Take care.”
He’s probably pissed that I brought the class food from Rio de Wheaton earlier this week. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, really. I just wanted to do something nice for them. How was I supposed to know the school has a rodent problem?
“It’s DC, Solange. Rodents are a large enough contingent in this area they, too, should get their own representative in Congress, that’s how.”
“See? She’s talking to herself,” my cousin Lina says behind me. “I told you something was wrong with her.”
I whirl around and find Lina and Natalia staring back at me. “What are you two doing here?”
“Lina promised me mozzarella sticks if I came,” Natalia says as she struggles onto the stool next to mine. Then she drums her hands on the counter. “Let’s make it happen, mulher.”
Choosing to remain standing, probably to maximize her already sky-high intimidation factor, Lina folds her arms over her chest and gives me a frosty look. “You wouldn’t answer any questions about your date on the text thread, so we decided an ambush would be the next best thing.”
Natalia rummages through her purse and pulls out a snack pack of almonds. “She decided,” she says, tossing back a few nuts. “I’m just here for the food.”
“Where’s Jaslene, then?”
“On her way,” Lina says.
Resigned to my fate, I wave Brandon over. He hands me my drink and says hello to my cousins, then I order two baskets of mozzarella sticks. Because I know these women, I ask him to throw in a double order of fries for good measure. “Let’s move to a table.”
Natalia groans. “Seriously? I’m at the stage where standing takes the same effort as vigorous sex. Is it really necessary? Can’t we just roll on our sides and do it here?”
“Unless you want to crane your neck for a four-way conversation, yes, it’s necessary. And you’re going to need to share the food.”
“No, I won’t,” Natalia mutters.
I stand and hold out my arm. “Here, I’ll help you.”
As Natalia winds (and whines) her way to an empty table nearby, Jaslene rushes through Sip City’s revolving door. We wave her over, and she plops down next to me.
“I’m here under protest,” Jaslene grumbles, her chin lifted so high I can see up her sweetly stubborn nose.
“Oh, c’mon, Jas,” I say, leaning over so our faces are close. “You can’t seriously still think I’m the bad guy.”
She narrows her eyes and pouts at me, no doubt annoyed with herself that she can’t pretend to be upset for more than a few seconds. “No, of course not. But I can hold a nonsensical grudge with the best of them. And it’s just . . .”
“It’s just what?” I ask.
She scrunches her face as if she’s in agony. “I worked so damn hard on that wedding—in a serious time crunch, no less—and it all went up in flames.” Straightening, she collects herself, then says, “It’s just going to take me a little time to see you and not be immediately reminded that a giant-ass potentially mood-killing footnote will be attached to whatever I say about this wedding whenever I talk about it.”
I see her point. That’s sure to be an awkward aside for any prospective client. “Fair. I can accept that.”
“Jas,” Lina says. “Consider this your wedding war story. Every planner has one. Remember the groom whose buddies shaved his eyebrows the night before the ceremony? That’s mine.”
Jaslene rolls her eyes. “Yours is quirky. Mine is dismal.”
A hand massaging her belly, Natalia says, “Don’t get worked up about it just yet. Picture this: Solange and Dean get married one day, and you end up planning their big day. The wedding crasher becomes the bride.” Natalia throws down her hands. “Now that would be a fucking footnote, baby.”
I cringe at the thought. “Yeah. No. Sorry to burst your bubble, but that’s not happening. I’m done with emotionally unavailable men who view relationships as an entry on their résumé. That’s Dean in a nutshell.”
“That is Dean,” Lina agrees. “But I’m still a softie for him. He has no interest in falling in love, and I don’t think it’s because he’s a selfish guy. It’s something else. Wish I knew what.”
I know the tea, but I’m not sharing what he told me with this group. Dean has his reasons, and so long as he’s being honest with his partners about them, I can’t really fault him for elevating compatibility over love. Shit, one more bad relationship and I’ll be asking Dean to send me his playbook.
Jaslene sighs. “My love life’s nonexistent but not by choice.”
Lina puts a hand on Jaslene’s arm. “And that’s okay. Relationships don’t have to be the end goal.”
That’s what Dean said. But is it so wrong to want to find your person?
“True that,” Jaslene says, nodding. “With work during the day and school at night, who has the time anyway? Maybe in the future but it’s not a priority right now.” She shimmies in her seat. “And I have no problem experimenting with ways to take care of myself.” Her eyes widen as though she’s just remembered something important. “Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask: Is it normal for a dildo to make you walk side to side the next morning?”
We all stare at her, then burst out laughing. I love these women.
A throat clears and Jaslene jerks at the interruption.
“Order up, ladies,” Brandon says.
As another server carrying a large tray with our mozzarella sticks and fries stands in silence, Brandon places the baskets of goodies on the table. “I see someone else joined you, and I don’t think I know them.”
A flush spreads across Jaslene’s cheeks before she drops her head.
“Jaslene, meet my roommate, good friend, and all-around great guy, Brandon. Brandon, meet Jaslene, family friend, wedding planner extraordinaire, and all-around Boricua goddess.”
Without looking up, Jaslene puts out a hand in Brandon’s direction. “I’m Jaslene. Middle name ‘Utterly.’ Last name ‘Mortified.’”
“It’s all good,” Brandon says. “No one should ever be embarrassed about satisfying themselves in the privacy of their own home. Especially not someone as lovely as you.”
Jaslene’s head whips up, her eyes sparkling with interest. Natalia and Lina draw back, their eyebrows raised.
“Okay, Brandon,” Natalia purrs. “Get. It.”
“Uh, anyway,” Brandon says. “Would anyone care for a cocktail?”
Natalia points at her swollen belly; the other women shake their heads.
“I’m not a drinker,” Jaslene adds.
“I could make you a virgin,” Brandon says.
She grins. “Believe me, that ship has sailed, but I admire your can-do attitude.”
Brandon drops his head as he backs away. “Well, I walked right into that one.” He waves with both hands. “We’ll leave you to finish talking. Enjoy.”
“Thank you,” I singsong as Brandon and his coworker leave us. “This experimental cocktail’s excellent, by the way.”
“I know,” he says over his shoulder.
“Back to this fake relationship with Dean,” Lina says as she slides a batch of fries onto a single plate and hoards it. “How’d it go tonight?”
“I think it went as well as can be expected. He crafted a wild story, so recounting it was a distraction. Made it easier not to get tripped up on the details. And the women are genuinely nice. I’m a little uncomfortable lying to them, but Dean and I are on the same page about making sure the stuff that really matters is one hundred percent truthful. Plus, now that the introductions are out of the way, Dean can focus on sharing the inside scoop about the firm and reeling them in.”
“That’s good, I suppose,” Lina says. “Did you kiss?”
“No, it’s not that kind of gig.”
Lina nods. “So what’s next?”
I dip a fry into my ketchup. “Axe throwing. This Friday.”
Jaslene claps enthusiastically. “Sounds fun!”
“Fun would be fine, but uneventful is really what I’m going for,” I say. “I need to finish this ruse with Dean, so Brandon and I can engage in our own fake relationship.”
Lina blows out a long breath. “Do you hear yourself? Like, truly hear yourself, I mean. Because I bet if you stared in the mirror and repeated what you just said three times, Candyman would appear and tell you to get your shit together. Is fake dating your personality now?”
Jaslene slaps a hand on the table. “Wait, wait, wait. What the hell is going on?”
Lina and Natalia fill her in on Cousin Cláudia’s upcoming visit while I scarf down more than my fair share of the fries.
Without missing a beat, Natalia swats my hand away the moment I reach for the last mozzarella stick. “Don’t even think about it.” She turns back to Jaslene. “So Solange will be faking not one but two relationships in the span of a few weeks.”
I hit them with a smoldering gaze and throw my shoulder forward. “What can I say? I’m a popular woman.”
“Fake dating isn’t dating,” Lina points out.
I give her a “no duh” expression. “I know.”
“Do you?” she asks, her eyes narrowing. “Because it occurs to me that all this fake dating might be a convenient excuse for you to avoid the real thing.”
Waving off her preposterous observation, I grab the last fry. “What would be the point of starting to date someone now? I’m leaving DC soon. Besides, it’s not my fault that no one’s willing to meet my exacting standards.”
Lina snatches the fry from my hand. “Or maybe, just maybe, you make your standards so exacting to ensure that no one will ever meet them.”
“Or maybe, just maybe, she’s been holding out for someone like Dean,” Natalia says.
I shake my head more forcefully than necessary. “No.”
“I’m telling you,” Natalia continues. “I have a good feeling about this. Scoff if you want, but when you and Dean get married, I’m doing your wedding makeup. And I’m charging you extra for getting those brows under control, mulher.”
“Whatever, bitch.”
The nerve. Natalia and Lina don’t know what they’re talking about. Holding out for a relationship with someone who’s one hundred percent all in isn’t exacting; it’s what I deserve. I’d rather be alone than be with someone who isn’t prepared to love me with all their heart. I mean, the least I can do is learn from my mother’s experience. Which means Dean is a nonstarter. Simple as that.