Page 20 of Right Man, Right Time
Ross shakes his head at me before sitting on my desk chair. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? I don’t think I could be like you. Act like I’m dating someone and not get feelings for that person.”
“What’s there to get feelings about? This is business. It’s like purchasing the perfect winter slippers. But instead of slippers, I’m purchasing a fake boyfriend. Simple. And it’s not like he’ll want to start a relationship, hence the need for something fake. I know nothing about hockey other than the fact that it’s a long-ass, never-ending season, and I’m sure he’ll be quite busy. It’s beneficial for both parties.”
“And what happens if there’s an event he can’t show up at because he’s so busy?”
“Uh, duh, I just say my boyfriend is playing a game, simple as that. It’s not like they’ll assume I’m lying. They can look it up on the Internet. Seriously, this might be the best plan I’ve ever had. I can keep Candace pissed, learn about hockey, use him for parties and gatherings when I need to, and then wash our hands of the agreement when we’re all done. Simple.”
Ross shakes his head in disbelief. “I think you’re making it out to be that simple, but you’re forgetting one thing.”
“What’s that?” I ask as I finish fitting my pillows in their fresh cases.
“You’re a romantic at heart, a daydreamer, someone who gets lost in her feelings. If you truly think you can make an arrangement with a man like Silas Taters and not catch feelings, you’ve lost your damn mind.”
I plop my pillow on my bed and smile at him. “Watch me.”
ChapterFour
SILAS
She lives in a dorm?
A fucking dorm?
Jesus Christ, what the hell am I doing?
I rub my hand over my forehead, absolutely humiliated as I sit in my Tesla. Staring at the dorm entrance, I wonder if I’ll be able to muster enough courage to walk up to those doors and go in.
I spent the morning figuring out where to get a meaty sandwich and pickle combo. When I found a place, I ordered five different sandwiches because I was unsure what she would want.
The boys asked me how I was this morning. I told them I was great, that I didn’t think Sarah would be a problem, and not to worry about me. I think they bought it. At least, I hope they did because if the number of text messages I got from them is any indication of how they’re going to play this Sarah thing out, I truly hope they bought it.
No way in hell was I going to tell them about Ollie and what happened last night. Or the fact I’m sitting in a dorm parking lot with a bagful of sandwiches and pickles, looking to make a college girl my pretend girlfriend. They’d believe I’ve lost my mind. They’d probably try to have me committed if I’m honest. Some sort of intervention would occur.
Maybe I need it, though.
Because is this really how low I’ve stooped?
Is this rock bottom?
For my own sake, I truly hope so. I don’t think I could go any lower than this.
I glance at the clock and swear under my breath. If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late, and I don’t want to be a dick since she’s expecting me—and her stupid sandwich and pickle. So on a groan, I slip my hat on, glasses, and hood over my hat—can’t be too careful—then take my bag of food in one hand and head toward the entrance of her dorm, where security personnel man the door.
“Post Mates delivery?” he asks as I approach.
Sure . . . why not.
“Yup,” I say. “Suite 305. She asked me to bring it up.”
The door buzzes, and I’m let in. Okay, that seemed too easy.
I spot the elevators and press the button for the third floor. When the doors close, a nervous energy bounces in me as I ride to Ollie’s floor. When the doors part, I’m surprised by the wide, bright hallways and the common space full of couches, chairs, and tables. Not that bad.
I follow signs for her apartment and spot it at the end.
Fuck, what if she has roommates?
Would she invite me over if she has roommates? No, right?
