by Adams, Sarah
“Both of us?” Nathan and I say in unison, and I want to kick us for being so annoyingly in tune.
Nathan shifts closer to me as Nicole adjusts her foam board into an upright position on the coffee table then opens both of the flaps. This time, Nathan and I both gasp in horror. Oh, Nicole. Poor woman. Clearly the pressure of this job has taken a toll on her brain.
The presentation definitely has glitter. It also has lots of photos of me and Nathan, ripped from the deep pits of Google. They are mostly photos of us walking side by side to a coffee shop captured by paparazzi, or individual photos of us cut and pasted to look like we’re standing together. So many are stolen from my Instagram. It’s startling, but the worst part is the number of tacky hearts she’s drawn around the photos…and the included list of baby names we can choose from for our non-existent unborn child.
“Nicole…” Nathan starts, but he’s at a loss for how to finish.
Her eyes shift between the two of us and observe our mutual horror. “Oh my gosh, you think I made this?! Insulting. No, this is why I’m here tonight. A fan made this for you two and dropped it off at the agency earlier. There are more like it too.”
Well, that immediately changes things. Nathan has the same thought I do, and we both turn sharply at each other and yell, “I call it!”
I point at him. “I said it first!”
He rolls his eyes. “Not even close. It was a tie.”
No way in hell am I losing out on this creepy board. “Why do you need it? Look around, buddy—it doesn’t go with your decor in the least.”
He lifts a brow. “And it goes with yours?”
“No…” I narrow my eyes and pretend to be a contractor, measuring it with my fingers. “But it is the perfect size to hide that big crack in my bedroom wall.”
He shakes his head. “We’ll settle this the right way: a thumb war.”
I scoff. “Yeah right! I’m not falling for that again. Look at those gargantuan things you call thumbs. Not fair. What we’ll do is—”
Nicole claps, and our shoulders jump. “I’m too busy for this. Figure out who gets the creepy shrine later. Let’s go sit at the table and I’ll bring the paperwork.”
We follow Nicole to the kitchen table, and I can’t help feeling a little like I’m headed to the principal’s office. Nathan takes the seat beside me, and his hand goes to rest on the back of my chair. I’m hyperaware of it. Nothing else besides the presence of his arm at my back can hold my attention.
Nicole clasps her hands in front of her, elbows on the table. “Since everyone’s time is precious, let’s cut right to it. I’m not sure how much you’ve been on social media today. Nathan, I know you try to steer clear of it as much as possible, but I’m sure after seeing the foam board shrine and all the fan mail I had sent over earlier, you’re able to grasp a bit of how viral Bree’s video has become.”
My stomach drops. This meeting is about me specifically! Oh gosh. Have I caused serious trouble for Nathan? Is she going to say he should get rid of me? I need to offer up a solution before things get out of hand.
“If I may,” I say, rising from the table like I’m presenting a case in court. “Please allow me to say how terribly sorry I am, and I realize it’s all my fault. I take full responsibility and will do whatever I need to in order to rectify the situation. My sister offered to let me come stay with her for a few days so all the gossip can die—”
Nicole interrupts me with a cackling laugh. I blink and look at Nathan. He shrugs, looking just as confused as I feel.
“You think I want you out of the picture?” She laughs again and shakes her head. “Sit down, Bree.”
I comply quickly, bruising my tailbone when I sit down too hard.
“So what is it you think we should do?” Nathan asks, and half of my brain is still zoomed in on his hand clutching the back of my chair. When I take in a deep breath, the side of his thumb brushes against my shoulder blade. Is it just me or has he been casually touching me more often? Are these little touches accidental or…
Nope, never mind.
Nicole clears her throat—probably because it feels scratchy from all that laughing. “To put it simply, you two should date.”
My jaw hits the floor so hard it makes the whole apartment building tremble. “I’m sorry, what? I didn’t hear you correctly.”
“You two should date.”
I rub my ear violently. “HA! Sorry. Must have something in my ear. I keep hearing you say we should—”
“Date,” Nathan finishes the sentence for me, and goose bumps chase that word all over my skin. “That is what she’s saying. But why would we do that?” he asks Nicole.
She laughs again, and I want to steal her voice away like Ursula did to Ariel because it’s really getting on my nerves now.
“Well…” She picks up some papers in front of her and taps them into a neat pile. “Major brands are finally beginning to catch on that social media is the number one way to reach the younger demographic. They’ve all begun to seek out influencers on Instagram and TikTok and utilize their platforms to sell more products in an organic way.”
Which is why my Instagram feed constantly feels like a trip down a Target aisle.
Nicole continues, “Tide, as in the laundry detergent brand, caught wind of your viral video and loved it. Their account has had a thirty percent spike in engagement since the video went live last night, and to say they are impressed would be an understatement. They’ve offered you both a deal.” Nicole picks up the pile of papers and lays them in front of us. It looks like a contract of some sort, and the letters are so tiny and packed together I’m not sure it’s actually made for humans to read. “Tide already has a commercial ad spot scheduled during the Super Bowl, but given the massive hype around the stain-removing pen, they want you two to film a new one, playing off of what Bree said in the video everyone is going nuts for. It would be something cutesy and tongue in cheek with Nathan.”
We’re both quiet for a few beats, processing and reprocessing until we can make sense of this nonsensical information. All I can think is 1) I’m not in trouble, yay! 2) Nathan’s thumb is still touching my skin. 3) An emphasis on number two.
Nathan regains consciousness faster than me. “So why would we need to date exactly? Why can’t we just do the commercial together and that be it?”
“Couples in Hollywood do this sort of thing all the time as publicity for upcoming movies they’re promoting. It’s the same principle. They want you guys to become a couple—real or fake, depending on your preference—leading up to the commercial to continue building hype around the brand. Now, of course they know you’re in the playoffs right now, Nathan, and your time is limited, so they’re only asking for one public outing where you can be spotted and photographed looking couple-ish. There are some bullet points about posting on Instagram a certain number of times and the hashtags they would like for you to use, but it all seems doable in my opinion. Oh, and there is a non-disclosure agreement you both would have to sign.”
“And after the commercial?” Nathan asks with one tiny sideways glance at me.
“Break up, get married, whatever…it’s up to you.” She shrugs again. No big deal. Just a casual conversation among friends where the word MARRIAGE is used in reference to me and Nathan. “You should know, if you decide to take the deal, the rate is a significant amount for both of you, but you will be under contract to uphold the terms. I’ve, of course, already looked at everything to make sure they’re reasonable, and I wouldn’t even be bringing it up to you if I didn’t think it would be good for your career, Nathan. This kind of positive publicity is just the sort of thing we need to draw in more endorsement deals in the offseason.” Nicole’s bright, laser-beam eyes turn to me. “And Bree, like I said, it’s really good money. This is the amount here.”
I look down to where her manicured finger is pointing and HOLY CRAP! I would get all of those zeros from one commercial and a few dates with Nathan?!
I glance to my right,
trying to catch a glimpse of him to see what his take on all of this is, but his face is impassive. He’s waiting for me to decide first, but surely he wants to do it. I mean, this sort of thing would be amazing for his image, and pretending to date me for a few weeks would be no big deal for him because he doesn’t have feelings for me. Also, it’s a ton of money—the sort of money that could get me out of my nasty apartment and into something that probably doesn’t have mold in the walls. I could get a new car! Or—no, DUH! I can pay Nathan back for all the years of rent he has been paying on my behalf. This is huge.
I know Nathan would never hold the rent situation over my head, but it would make me feel better to have a clean slate nonetheless. The reason for wanting to pay him back is not pride or stubbornness. It’s something more complicated. It’s confidence in knowing I can provide for myself, and it’s also a form of caring for my friend. I realize he doesn’t need this money from me, but ever since we were in high school, Nathan’s friends and family have always looked to him as their financial savior, like it’s his sole responsibility to pull them out of their tight squeeze. I refuse to ever treat him like that. So, I may have to accept his friends-and-family discount on my studio rent until I figure out what my next step is, but I will pay him back for his kindness to me.
Unfortunately, it means I have to date my best friend. Could I handle crossing this friendship line and come back from it unscathed in the end? I’m skeptical.
My shoulders deflate, and Nathan notices. He looks at Nicole. “Can you give us a minute alone to talk it over?”
“Of course. I’ll be out on the balcony making a few calls while you discuss it.”
Nicole sets an innocent little pen by the papers before leaving the room. The door slams behind her, and I wince at the abrasive sound. I feel jumpy. My foot is vibrating. My knee is bouncing.
“Bree,” Nathan says in a soothing tone, reaching down to still my foot. “We do not have to do this. Say the word and I’ll tell Nicole to throw the papers in the trash.”
I look from the stack of contracts to Nathan. He’s so relaxed. Not a shaking foot or bouncing knee on him. Instead, his dark eyes look as peaceful as the dead of night, when you can’t sleep and look out the window and everything is calm and still.
“So you’re leaving the choice completely up to me?” I ask, uncomfortable with the weight of that realization.
“Of course. I’m used to this life already. It’s you who would be affected the most by the sudden change.”
“But…you’re okay with…the dating part?”
Something flashes in his features. He looks away quickly and then back to me. “Well, I…” His thumb taps on the back of my chair, the movement brushes against my shoulder blade, and the hairs on my arm stand. They’re all attentive listeners to the story his thumb is trying to tell. “I think we could work it out. But to be honest, the only reason I’d hesitate to do it is because I know exactly what you’re planning to do with that money.”
I lift my chin. “No you don’t.”
“It’s written all over your face. See, right here across your forehead it says, PAY NATHAN BACK.”
I laugh and give him a gentle shove. He doesn’t budge because he’s an ox. “I don’t know. We’d have to be a couple for four whole weeks.” A lot can happen in four weeks.
“A fake couple. It would just be acting.”
Oh. Well, that’s true…
“And besides,” he continues, “you’re always saying how much we’re like brother and sister. So there shouldn’t be any fear of feelings forming. Unless…”
My eyes widen to saucers and I cut him off. “You’re totally right! It’s actually not that big of a deal now that I think about it.” The inflection in my voice is lighter. It’s all starting to feel very practical and straightforward. Yeah. This is good. Nathan and I can totally do this. I can do this!
“And we’re already comfortable around each other, so it wouldn’t take much to sell it. If anything, we’ll just get to go have some fun nights out together.” Okay, now he sounds vaguely like the devil on my shoulder, but I’m just sold enough to not care. And maybe I’m just a tiny bit excited to see what it’s like to date him in a way that will have absolutely no bad repercussions for me.
I smile and nod once. “You’re right. Let’s do it!”
His brows rise and the movement of his thumb stops. “Are you sure?”
“As long as you promise you’ll accept the money when I pay you back.”
He rolls his eyes and groans. “Breeeeeee, I don’t need your money.”
“Nathannnnnn, I don’t care. Paying you back is the honorable thing to do. I don’t mooch off of my rich friends. So promise me.”
He holds my gaze for a beat then begrudgingly smiles. “Fine. I promise.”
I swallow a sudden burst of butterflies. “Then, yeah! Let’s do this thing. It’ll be easy-peasy. Maybe even fun.”
I watch with a sinking feeling as Nathan’s head tilts ever so slightly and a grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. It’s a look I’ve never seen before, like I just got duped by a card shark when I thought I was playing Go Fish against a toddler.
He hands me the pen. “Oh, it’ll definitely be fun. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Not good enough!” I yell with my mouth full of popcorn and bare feet propped up on my kitchen table. It’s late on Friday night and the guys have been here for hours.
Jamal looks at me over his shoulder, dry erase marker frozen against the whiteboard I bought a few months ago for purposes exactly like this one. I keep it stored away in a spare closet and only pull it out for planning sessions. At the top of the board in bold letters is written NO MORE FRIEND ZONE. Not super catchy. We’re still workshopping it.
The second I told Jamal about the meeting with Bree and Nicole last night, he group-texted the guys and told them to meet at my place after practice for a whiteboard planning session. This isn’t the first time we’ve used this board. Last time it was to put a plan together for how to get Jamal’s girlfriend to take him back after he acted like a peacocking ass at her sister’s wedding. (The plan bombed. She didn’t take him back.)
The time before that it was to figure out how to keep the girl Derek was seeing away from his mom on her extended visit to see him. Those women hated each other. Admittedly, that one also didn’t go so well. Here’s to hoping this third time will be the charm.
“What? Why? I’m telling you this will work.” Jamal takes a step back and eyes the cornerback blitz play he just mapped out. He shrugs as he goes over it again. “Dude, do you seriously not know this? You just gotta time it right, come around her blind side, and boom, sack her. She’ll never see it coming.” I don’t think he means “sack her” in the way it sounds. At least, he better not. The guys have learned the hard way not to talk about Bree or any other women like that around me.
I squint at the board like I don’t understand the perfectly obvious play because it always makes for a good time to mess with Jamal. Although, how it applies in a metaphorical sense is still a little hazy. “But who is Bree in this play? QB or the ball?”
“QB, obviously.”
“What’s the ball represent then?” Price asks, leaning forward with forearms resting on his knees, joining in on my game.
Jamal looks at us like we’re missing brains. “The relationship.”
“And Nate is…”
“He’s the cornerback.” He draws a heart around one of the Xs, and the new diamond bracelet he bought for himself glitters in the light. “Guys, this is super self-explanatory. I shouldn’t have to spell it out like this.”
Price skews up his face. It’s a little overdramatic, but Jamal is still buying it. “I don’t get it. Nate’s a quarterback—he’s not going to be able to play defense.”
Jamal blinks approximately twenty times and then sighs. “It’s just a metaphor!”
I shake my head. So defeated. “But he’s right, I’m shit on defense. What if I’m no good met
aphorically either?”
“It’s not the same!” He’s clutching that dry erase marker like he’s squeezing a lemon.
“Who are the other two linemen in the play?”
“That’s me and Derek. Obviously, you’re going to need our help on this one since we’re the most sexually experienced of the group. No offense to Price and Lawrence.”
“Offense taken,” Lawrence says, standing up to his full six-foot-eight height. He walks over to Jamal and snatches the marker from his hand. “You’re a sucker. They’re messing with you.” We Three Stooges boo Lawrence. “Alright, time to get serious. First of all, Nate doesn’t need sexual experience in this situation. He needs romantic experience. And he definitely needs more than one very obscure play to show Bree there could be something between them besides just friendship. He needs a whole…” His words trail off as he finishes his sentence by writing ROMANCE CHEAT SHEET on the board.
“Ooo that’s good,” I say before tossing a piece of popcorn in the air and catching it in my mouth. I wear a cheat sheet full of plays on my wrist during every game; why shouldn’t I do something similar in this situation so I can refer to it when I need a little inspiration? I like it. “Lawrence is officially in charge.”
Lawrence is smug. Jamal crosses his arms and stalks over to the chair beside me to slump down into it. I offer him some popcorn, and he just gives me the stink eye.
“Don’t pout,” I say while crunching.
“I’m not pouting.”
“You’re pouting,” we all say in unison.
Jamal rolls his eyes. “Just get on with it and tell us about your amazing romance cheat sheet.” He says it like a dating cheat sheet is cheesier than what we’ve already been doing.
“I plan on it, thank you.” Lawrence lifts his eyebrows in Jamal’s direction before turning to the whiteboard and savagely erasing all of Jamal’s play. “This is romance, men. Not football. We can’t use play fakes and little Xs and Os to portray an entire relationship. And no vague metaphors. What we need are words.”
The guys all hiss. He just told them they have to dress up in suits and attend a cotillion.