Page 38 of Kai
Then back at the shirt.
“Isn't that from that death metal festival we worked where four people were almost trampled to death in a riot when a certain musical guest failed to appear?”
“Maybe.”
“Kai.”
“Fine.”
I toss that one, too.
Honestly, I don't know what the hell people wear to church bingo.
Normal people probably know.
Unfortunately, I'm me.
“Kai? Are you listening?”
No.
Not even a little.
Because tonight is Bingo night.
And technically, it's my first date with Mary.
Even if it’s fake.
Fake-dating.
Fake relationship.
Fake everything.
Well, almost everything.
Because even knowing this isn’t real, that hasn't stopped me from thinking about Mary Donahue every waking second for the past week.
Not that I'm counting or anything.
And so what?
It’s not like I’m drawing our names with little goo-goo hearts on every available surface.
I’m not stalking her socials—not much.
And I definitely haven’t memorized her coffee order.
Or the way she wrinkles her nose when she’s annoyed.
Or the exact shade of green her eyes turn when she’s trying not to laugh.
Nope.
Not me.
I wouldn’t be caught dead doing anything like that.
