Almost

by Anne Eliot

  “Let me just say this all out loud because I wonder if it's even going to work,” I start.

  “What do you mean?” She wrinkles her brow.

  “I'm not sure I have the time to do weeknight dates. I work a ton of hours at the TOG complex. Until 9 PM on weeknights and 10PM on weekends. You're asking me to take my one hour of free time, collect you, and pretend to take you on dates?”

  “You're getting paid a lot,” she says and frowns. “I'm sure you can squeeze me in.”

  “Maybe. But I have a grandmother to take care of and the internship hours are huge. And friends…and…”

  Her face crumples. “Right. I didn't figure all that in. I don't have an ‘outside life’ to consider.”

  “Look.” I sigh, feeling like an ass. “This is not personal.”

  “It sounds personal.”

  “This is why I told you during the interview that I don't have girlfriends long term. You think I'm a player, but it's not like that. There's simply no room for you—or any girl, to be in the middle of my messy, over-scheduled life. Even if you pay me, there's only 24 hours in a day.”

  “Do they have tables at the TOG complex? Some place I could just sit and read? I won't bother you, and I'll drive myself. Happy?”

  “You want to sit around and stare at me while I work?”

  She nods. Her expression is so earnest. Desperate. “As long as I'm out of my house, and I can say that I'm hanging out with you—a real, live, guy. Might be easier if I drive myself, anyhow. Then my parents won't try to grill you on our front porch.”

  “Well, that solves one of my biggest obstacles to this entire contract. I'm not a fan of meeting your parents at all.” I cover the fear-twist in my heart with a laugh, remembering all too well the overprotective pit bulls Jess Jordan calls Mom and Dad. Those people wouldn't just grill me on the porch, they'd shoot me dead like a rabid wolf.

  “FYI, I don't want them to meet you, either. I'd just prefer to keep you at a major distance. My Mom's so embarrassing, and my Dad is really uptight about me dating anyone, so—um, yeah. We're in agreement.”

  I nod and tap my fingers against my knees. “What to do with a girlfriend while I work my hours at the TOG. Hmm…Can I really do this? Will I be able to pull it off? Will she be able to read at the snack bar tables without losing her mind,” I mumble.

  “Do you always talk to yourself?”

  “Yes. Bad habit. Does it bother you?” I walk back over to her side of the small stage.

  “No. It's interesting. I hate people knowing my thoughts. But yours just fall out of your head so easily.” She shrugs.

  “I never thought of it like that…but you're my girlfriend now…so who cares if you know what I think?”

  Her cheeks turn pink, and I laugh.

  Suddenly, I'm unable to break my gaze away from hers. I witness what I saw yesterday. She's covered her personal information slip with one of her small glowers. Her eyes darken with her snapping, challenging glare and erase all signs of the vulnerability she'd just exposed.

  “We'll need to clarify for the record, that I'm a pretend girlfriend. Pretend,” she demands. “Got it? If you're giving me that goofy look because you think there are going to be benefits as part of this deal, you can just hold it right there! Pretend girlfriend. Say it with me.”

  I shake my head at her outrageous comments. “Please. I've got that understood.”

  “Good.”

  She looks so prickly and uncomfortable now, that I can't resist a little dig. “That goes two ways, you know? I'm no piece of meat. Don't expect these lips to be at your beck and call. Not even for eight thousand dollars. But, I am going to have to hold your hand, put my arm around your shoulders, things like that. Let's lay that on the contract before you land a couple of punches on my face for doing a ‘good job’. I am not nearly as handsome or as marketable with double black eyes.”

  “Okay. Okay. Don't want to damage the merchandise. I'm all for making this look realistic. But…” she pauses and looks sort of hunted.

  “What?”

  “Promise you'll give me the heads up before you try to put your arms on me—or whatever. I'm just—well, at least I think I am—sort of jumpy about being touched without notice.”

  “I can do that.”

  I quickly avoid her eyes because I get the sensation that she might be able to see through me so I change the subject. “You don't look as pale as you did before. Are you feeling better?”

  “Yeah…a bit. Probably because this conversation has made me turn red too many times.”

  “Could be. Any more embarrassing topics to cover before the last of your pink fades out again?”

  She nods. “One more.”

  “Shoot.”

  “I don't think I could stand everyone knowing you were hooking up with girls on the side, and then laughing at me. So…could you not cheat on me?”

  My jaw drops open. “Say you're joking. I wouldn't do that. Promise. And I don't break promises…” I stop myself, and feel heat sting my own cheeks.

  She raises an eyebrow as though she knows I'm full of crap. I play off my pause and try to head near the truth, so I can at least look her in the eye. “I've broken a few promises, okay? God. Who hasn't? But I won't let anyone laugh at you, and I won't cheat on you. I swear.” I sit again and mess with one of my laces. I'm sure she can sense the guilt oozing off me.

  Am I really so bad to have broken the promise I made to her parents in the past? I think they wouldn't fault my intent if they knew Jess had meant to offer this pretend boyfriend job to a bunch of random guys. So why do I feel like such a criminal? I wasn't the one who'd hurt her freshman year. I'd been trying to help. I'm still trying to help. Or I wouldn't be here. She doesn't remember, but I do. Ancient history or not, I feel like I owe her something.

  This time, I'm going to do things right.

  When I find her gaze again, she hits me with a tentative, almost trusting smile. One that serves to double my guilt and marks me a total bastard.

  As if I know how to do right by this beautiful, amazingly strong, but fragile girl. I don't deserve her trust. But I mean to earn it.

  “Hello…? Are you with me?” She smiles. “Do you want to write this all down or should I?”

  “Sorry. Yeah. I've got it.” I flip to a blank page in my notebook and click the pen.

  “I'm in charge of all recorded details unless I ask for your input.” She's rubbing her temples, and her face has gone all pale again.

  “Go for it,” I say quietly, and hover my pen over the blank page.

  Chapter Nine

  Jess

  The pounding in my head has ramped up to high. A signal that I'm running on empty and about to hit bottom. Thankfully, Gray had bought my ‘bad lunch’ excuse for why I look like crap right now.

  As if that matters. Do you have to look nice for a guy you're paying to date you? I close my eyes because they've started to hurt.

  “I'm waiting, ” he asks in this ultra-soft voice. Like he somehow knows I'm about to bottom out on him.

  “Okay…well…I officially ask for your input. Give me your run-down on the details.” I keep my eyes closed. “I have no idea how to proceed with making a contract like this. Just…make it fair. Honest.”

  “Okay.” Gray tries to sound like he's clearing his throat, but I can tell he's just swallowed back a laugh. I'm afraid to open my eyes because he's probably doing one of those huge smiles. I cannot take a rush of butterflies right now, so I squeeze my eyes closed tighter.

  “Let's talk about phone calls first,” he starts. “How many times a week do you expect your pretend boyfriend to call you?”

  “Please. I don't even have girlfriends who call me. How would I know? What's the standard?”

  “We could start with one per day?” His voice has softened and the laughter is gone from it.

  I open my eyes and met his gaze dead on, trying to re-focus. I hate when people feel sorry for me. And I think he's doing that. “Seven
calls per week, then. Yes. Seven sounds good. Oh, and texting. We won't start really fake-hanging-out until after the internship begins. Is that what you want?”

  “I thought we were hanging out right now. I'm all for starting this off today. We had successful exposure at lunch, so let's keep it going. I'll text you tonight.” He writes something on the paper. I tilt my head to the side to watch his scrawling handwriting fill up the lines on the page. He looks up at me, waiting for more. I can only blink and stare at the curls just above his forehead. “What's next...”

  “How do you normally start the girlfriend bit? Is today a good example? You hunt down your prey as they head to their cars, and then you're so cute and charming that it's an automatic go?”

  He laughs. “It's a ‘go’ whenever it's a ‘go’. There's no time stamp on it. There's lots of talking, flirting, hoping, staring, awkwardness—you know—the usual.”

  I shrug. I don't know, but I'm not about to tell him that. “Where, besides the long walk to the parking lot are your best pick-up spots? Just curious.”

  “I've done okay whispering to girls in the library. The lunchroom also works well because it's easy to joke around in there. I've never analyzed it.” He shrugs.

  “Hmm. Curious information, nonetheless. How do you know it's working—that she's into your moves—or whatever?”

  “She gives me her phone number, or I give her mine. Then we…flirt text. When you—um—we want things to go public, it goes on Facebook. The in a relationship line will get us our best exposure.”

  “Yeah…uh, about Facebook…all that social networking. I don't have it. My parents check my sister's emails, Facebook, and texts like stalkers. In order to get our cell phones, Kika and I had to agree to the Jordan Household No Privacy Act. I do have a school email account. But Facebook and Twitter…if you're me…there's no point. You'd be my only ‘friend’ besides my family.”

  “Ahh…okay. “ He nods and looks away.

  I want to punch him because I don't need anyone feeling sorry for me, and that is exactly how his expression reads right now. If I didn't feel like my head had turned into a brick I'd so rip him. All I can do instead is swallow the cardboard lump that's taken up residence at the back of my throat, and hate him—or myself.

  “I suppose it's a good thing you aren't connected,” he says finally, running a hand through his hair. “They—your parents—would see my profile. That would get awkward. Plus they would expect you to friend your boyfriend, so yeah…I like that actually. No Facebook…”

  While he's writing, I'm unable not to stare at the way he looks so boyish with his curls messed up.

  He meets my gaze with a shrug. “How about we go for a major amount of obvious text messaging and talking about each other. That should be enough. Then, we can just go on from there.”

  “What does major amount mean?”

  “Enough so when this week is over there's some sort of alert to our…audience.”

  “Oh. God. Right. Like caution signs. A definite signal that you've lost your mind?”

  “No! Well, yes. Sort of. Without some warning, my friends, especially Corey, won't buy in. It's important they believe this. We have a few days left before school ends. If we do it right, it should be enough.”

  “How annoying, but I agree. My family would also flip with a zero-warning-boyfriend announcement.” I groan and shake my head. “What would be an appropriate amount of time for you to...flirt text and then fall for me? We've already done the long hang out in front of the school. We must be half way there, huh?”

  “At least that.” He laughs. “I'm very good at flirt texting…irresistible, even.”

  I know he's joking, but when he grins the butterflies I'd been fighting off flood my aching head despite my attempts to stop them.

  “I can't wait,” I say, blasting him with my most unimpressed eye-roll.

  He laughs again, but at least this time it doesn't sound so confident. “Once the family and friends are sold, we can lay out the details of our weekend dates during the first week of the internship.” He writes quickly then, his eyes intent on the page. “I think I've got it all.”

  “Please add that I get to make any needed adjustments to this contract at any time.”

  “God. What a high maintenance girlfriend you're turning out to be. As long as I get paid, you can change anything you want.” He scribbles that down. “Anything else?” he asks.

  “Friends. I need some, so I'll have to borrow yours. Somehow, you're going to have to include me in your golden circle of popularity.”

  “What? I have no golden circle. Has anyone ever mentioned how skewed your mind is?”

  “Look, you're going to have to get over that part about me. The reality of me, not being normal, has landed you the best paying summer job of your life.”

  “You really need to stop saying that about yourself. If you're crazy, I'm crazy. Everyone's crazy, Jess. You seem fine enough to me.”

  “Let's hope you never have to see the real me, then.”

  “Whatever. Bring her on. I'm sure I wouldn't notice a difference. Or care.”

  My heart races and I look away. “Well I care. So, write it down. For nine weekends and eight thousand dollars, what's yours is mine including your friends.” I throw in a little sarcastic eye flutter. “We're going to be so head-over-heels-in-love. I can't wait to see how romantic you are!”

  “Oh no. I refuse to be your kind of bumper-sticker-romantic. Don't mistake me for Mr. Darcy.”

  I gasp. “You don't know Hunger Games or Forks, Washington, but you know Mr. Darcy? Start talking.”

  “Crap! My grandmother's a fan. She's tortured me since birth with Mr. Darcy. Thanks to her DVD collection, I can quote Jane Austen faster than the Elmo song.”

  I laugh, surprised again. “Prove it.”

  “Elizabeth, daaarling!” He's launched into a breathless English accent. “I love, love, love you, and I never want to be parted from you from this day forward. Pardon me, whilst I puke…”

  “No way!” I beam. “Let the contract state that I want the Mr. Darcy accent once a week!” I can't help but laugh again because he's shaking his head and laughing back.

  “Not happening. No one can know my secrets.” I could swear he finally looks uncomfortable.

  “You'll get plenty of revenge when you dump me,” I say.

  “Oh. About that. I'm not dumping you.” He scratches out something and writes above it. “I insist that at the end of the contract, you, Jess Jordan, have to dump me, in public. You're required to create a total scene. I'll make it easy on you by doing…something.”

  “Something?”

  “Yes, something so obviously offensive that everyone will know it's my fault you had to end things.”

  “That seems like a lot of work. Isn't it easier and more tragic to be on the dumped side?” I ask. “Being the tragic one will get me points with the parents.”

  “Not fair.” He pushes out his bottom lip into his version of a pout and makes his eyes go round like a basset hound puppy. “When it's over, I want to be like poor old Humpty Dumpty. Smashed to bits. Imagine the ladies who'll feel sorry for me. I'll need lots of help to tape my sad, confused, and broken pieces back together again.”

  I shake my head. “God. That's disgusting really, but it's the least I can do if it's what you want. Consider me the dumper. I suppose it fits my reputation.” He frowns when I say that, but I'm beaming. Running with the idea. “Either way, while you're licking your wounds, I'll have a solid excuse to retreat back into my room with my own broken heart. That's all I need.”

  “Why is that good?” He holds my gaze. “It sounds…”

  “Perfect,” I finish. “Our sad ending will free me from what my parents call normal high school social activities for the entire semester. I can avoid homecoming, and dress shopping, and pep rallies. By the time I come up for air, my college applications will have been sent and hopefully accepted! Right in time for me to start chatting to my Mom abo
ut how college relationships will be better than…my time spent dating immature, terrible, YOU!”

  I'm beaming and filled with blissful relief at that thought; but the guy is still frowning at me like a black cloud. “What?”

  He flushes and looks at the paper. “You'll have to meet my grandmother. Is that okay?”

  “Why?”

  “She's eighty. I'm not going to have her worrying. She's really old fashioned, and I will tell her about you some.”

  “Oh. Okay. Sure.” The idea of meeting his grandmother makes my stomach do a funny spin.

  “I'm adding in a line next to the Zero Parent Contact bullet that also includes no real names on your side,” he says, clicking the pen nervously. “That's the plan, right?”

  “Yep. That's the plan. My mom's guerilla telephone spy network will get her the information she needs on any name I give her. In less than three phone calls, she'd be knocking on your front door. Plus she and my sister Kika would know it was all fake if they found out I was into some perfectly chiseled super-jock. I'm more of a nerd-lovin' kind of girl.”

  “I'll try not to be too insulted.” He shakes his head. “But you should know—prickly, cute, relentless girls with big blue eyes, geeky clothes and great grades are completely my type. If this were real, I mean.”

  “Okay. Touché. Thanks for lying, but you suck at it. You have a lot of work to do to make that sound convincing.” I laugh, but when I meet his gaze he looks strange. Flustered.

  He breaks eye contact with me and taps his pen against the contract. “Look, Jess…I wouldn't be able to sleep tonight if I didn't at least try to convince you not to do this. You've said it yourself. I am the last guy you should date this summer. And it's completely true.”

  “Spare me. We've been through the shakedown thing. Just keep writing and stop trying to weasel out of this. I'm not going to back out now. You—we—already got the job. Neither of us wants to back away from Geekstuff.com. I can't wait to work there, and same with you.”