My friends just dared me to ask the most annoyingly decent man I know to be my fake date to the gala. One night. Show up, smile, make my ex jealous. Go home. The plan is simple.
He plays the part, I get closure, and we both walk away like nothing happened. Except nothing about him has ever been simple. He’s steady. Faithful.
All dimples and thick-framed glasses, the kind of man who shows up when it matters—and somehow sees more than I ever say out loud. And the longer we pretend, the harder it is to remember what’s real.
I’m so busy trying to make the wrong man jealous, I almost miss what’s happening right in front of me. When I thank him for this favor, he answers like he’s teasing.
“You’ve found my weakness.” “And that is?” I ask, but I can hear the truth behind it. “You.” It was supposed to last one night—a fake date, a favor, a friend I was never supposed to fall for.
It doesn’t. Because some dares remain forever.
