I swallow the lump in my throat and pray I can make it through a few more of these. Deep down, I know it isn’t real, but my body seems to have a hard time understanding his words are nothing but empty promises.
I should have known going on a fake date would be a bad idea, but I don’t have many options. The only thing I can control is how much time I interact with him. Because if tonight is any hint at what the future might look like, I’m not sure I have the power to resist him. At least not when he talks and does things that make my heart race and my skin flush.
So what happens if our fake dating game turns into more? I’m too afraid to answer the question, although I think I have a good idea.
Sex. Love. And heartbreak.
25
DECLAN
I thought Iris’s idea of going on a fake date was ridiculous until I actually sat down and realized I have her undivided attention for at least two hours. It reminds me of our honeymoon and the dinner we had together. Except this time, she is solely focused on putting on a show while I’m more interested in getting to know her. Not the person she is during work hours or the hidden glimpses I get when she lets her guard down, but the real her.
“If you didn’t have to work, what would you do on weekends?”
She rears back. “Like if I had a day off?”
“You have Sundays off.”
“I’m usually too dead to move by then, so I prefer vegetating in my bedroom. I’ll only come out for water and food.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m exhausted. Working for you sucks up all my energy so by the time I get to the weekend, I’m running on fumes.”
This conversation is quickly taking a turn back to work, and for once, I have no interest in speaking to Iris about business.
“Fine. What would you do if you weren’t tired or working?”
She laughs. “Honestly, I have no clue. The things I used to do don’t really apply anymore.”
“Like?”
“Grabbing brunch with friends. Spending the whole day movie hopping. People watching at the zoo. The options are endless really. I’m pretty easy to entertain, so long as it isn’t anything that requires much thinking.”
“When’s the last time you did any of that?”
She looks up at the ceiling. “Huh. Cal and I went to the movies a couple months ago.”
“Together?”
“No. We went to separate theaters and called each other afterward to discuss the plots.” She laughs. “Of course we went together. Who else do I have to go with?”
“A boyfriend?”
“After the last one ended in a rejected proposal, no.”
A pity. “What about a friend?”
“Cal is my friend.”
“Another friend? Preferably of the same gender?”
Her laugh comes out sad. “I don’t have any more of those.”
“Why not?”
She looks down at her plate. “Turns out people stop inviting you places when all you do is say no.”
“Why did you say no?”
“We lived two very different lifestyles. Most of my friends had nine-to-five jobs and worked only five days a week. At first, I tried to keep up with them, but eventually I was burning myself out. I had to choose between my job and my life, and we know how that went.” She motions toward me.
The look on her face stops me from asking anything else. A strange feeling in my gut comes to life, and I can only label it as one thing.
Guilt. It’s my fault she has no friends. Well, none except for Cal and me, that is.
You’re the one who told her you don’t want to be her friend.
My stomach churns as I consider how I rejected her friendship. With so few left, I’m sure she takes them very seriously.
That’s why she helped you in the first place. She really does consider you a friend.
Except I don’t want to be her friend. Not when she elicits all these feelings inside of me that are nothing close to platonic.
Who said you can’t be both?
I should have never ordered another drink after our empty plates were removed from in front of us. The amber liquid serves as a reminder of my moment of weakness. Iris was ready to go the moment the reporter paid her bill and left, but I was the one who wanted to stay.
The thought alone pains me more than I ever care to admit.
I take a sip of my drink, only allowing the smallest amount of liquid to slip past my lips. Iris seems somewhat perturbed at how I make an ounce of whiskey last longer than all her past relationships combined. I’m selfish for keeping her out this late on a weeknight, but I can’t help it. Watching her speak about topics besides work is fascinating.
She talks until she’s breathless, filling the silence I have grown accustomed to with her endless chatter. There isn’t a single subject she speaks about that isn’t filled with passion and intrigue.
A dilapidated house she saw while driving home that seemed perfect for a renovation. How much fun she has visiting her mother’s classroom. Her plan to attend Nana’s cornhole championship coming up next week at church.
I didn’t even know there was such a thing as cornhole championships, let alone that Nana was the reigning champ.
I’m thoroughly enjoying my time with Iris, to the point that I don’t want it to end.
“Are you almost done?” Iris shatters my thoughts with the stark reality.
“With?”
She glares at my drink. “Your overpriced glass of whiskey.”
“I can afford it.”
“You have the same bottle at the house for half the cost.”
But would I have the same company? Probably not. The thought of drinking alone tonight seems unbearable. I’ve spent an entire lifetime by myself, and while it was never a problem before, it is slowly becoming intolerable.
“I’m enjoying the view.”
She glances out the window. “Says the man who hasn’t even looked outside once.”
“That’s not the view I’m talking about.”
Her eyes find their way back to mine. I’m startled when she drops her head back as a laugh explodes out of her. It’s rough and raspy, drawing the attention of multiple patrons. Warmth rushes through me at the sound despite knowing her amusement is at my expense.
By the time she looks back at me, her eyes have a watery shine to them and she can’t seem to take enough deep breaths.
My hand tightens around the glass as I take another chug. “What the hell was that?”
She dabs at the corners of her eyes. “The reporter left. You don’t need to pretend anymore.”
“I’m not pretending.”
“That’s…concerning.”
“I don’t see it as such.”
“No.”
“No?” What the hell is she even talking about?
“No,” she speaks with a firmer voice this time. “That’s not how this is supposed to go.”
“How exactly is this supposed to go?” I won’t admit I’m confused, but damn I feel it. Everything about her confuses me. From the pinched feeling in my chest whenever she laughs to the draw I feel toward her at all hours of the day.