“You are a total bitch,” I mutter, shoving another dollar at Mila.

“Oooh, my rich!” she giggles, crawling under the table, presumably just in case she can get herself more dollars.

“I know. But on the flip side, I could also talk to her and make her not, well, hate you so much.”

“Make who hate him?” Kye asks, coming in through the back door, fresh from his run. He pushes his hair from his face and tugs the band holding his phone off his arm.

“His girlfriend.”

“Fake girlfriend,” I stress.

“You’ve got a fake girlfriend? Who the fuck is dumb enough to even pretend to be your girlfriend?” Kye laughs.

Mila’s hand shoves out from beneath the table.

“Aw, shit.”

“Two!” she demands.

He looks at us. “Help me out.”

“You’re on your own,” I laugh, tugging a chair out and looking down so I don’t kick Mila when I sit at the table. “Look, it’s not so crazy. She wants her ex off her back. I need to look good. It’s good for us both.”

“Who is she?”

“Jessie Law.”

Kye pauses. “Of course.”

“Of course? Because I slept with her? How do you know there wasn’t someone else waiting in the wings to enjoy my spectacular company?”

“Because you’d rather jerk off than deal with two women at once,” he snorts, then takes a moment to down some water. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes full of laughter when they meet mine. “How’d you get her to agree to that? Were you still”—he cuts his eyes to Mila—“playing with her when she did?”

“Nah. I didn’t know she worked in Penelope’s until yesterday, when someone demanded I get them coffee.” I glance at Sof. “And her ex was buggin’ her. Mighta told him she was my girl now.”

“And everyone heard you,” Tate surmises, grinning. “Was Mrs. Beatty in there? She’s a walking gossip rag.”

“How do you think I’m stuck with this?”

“Epic!” he laughs.

I roll my eyes and stand up again. “Look, y’all are laughin’, but Marc nearly had my balls for breakfast when he realized Tate ain’t the only one of us that can get around the ladies. He just never noticed before because Tate was too busy hoggin’ the headlines.”

Tate snorts. “Right—so a fake girlfriend is how you solve our manager’s image issues.”

“He’s got a point,” Kye agrees. “Dude, she doesn’t like you. Okay, she likes you enough to sleep with you, but that’s it. And I can’t say I blame her. You’re kind of an asshole.”

“You realize that whatever you call him you’re callin’ yourself?” Sofie grins, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Identical twins and all that.”

I smirk. “Yeah, bro. Am I still an asshole if that makes you one?”

“I just don’t hide it.”

“Compared to Aidan, who does?” Sofie questions. “There’s like an asshole roster here. Tate, Aidan, Kye, Conner. Although that order does change depending on the day and whether or not Conner remembered to change the toilet paper instead of leaving the fresh roll sittin’ on top of the holder.”

“How’s that lookin’ today, Sof?” Tate gives her a shit-eating grin.

“Conner’s at the top of the list.” Her smile is tight but amused at the same time. “And Ads is second for his little stunt.”

“Little stunt?” I raise my eyebrows. “I take offense at that. A little stunt is helicoptering my D or something—”

“You’re sick!” Sofie shrieks.

“Dragging myself into a relationship with a girl I neither like or can stand to be around unless my cock is involved is just plain dumb.”

“Glad we can agree on somethin’!” Kye slaps my shoulder and strolls past.

“Where’s Mila?” Tate asks, looking under the table. “Shouldn’t she be demanding dollars?”

Sofie snorts. “Y’all went a whole five minutes without cussin’. She’s two. She’s not gonna wait for the Second Coming of Christ for the sake of a dollar or two. What are you gonna do now?” She turns her attention to me. “Oh, dear boyfriend?”

“Depends. You on my side?”

She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth then releases it slowly. “You feel like babysitting?”

“Not exactly,” I reply slowly. “But I get the feeling I ain’t got a choice.”

“Three Saturday nights,” she bargains. “Not in a row. Just whenever. You’ll owe me.”

“For?”

“I’ll convince Jessie you’re not such a rotten little apple and can actually be a gentleman.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “Yeah? And when you gonna do that?”

“After a night of babysitting.”

“Nope. You do it after, you get one night. Do it before and you’ll get all three.”

She sighs. “You drive a hard bargain, Aidan Burke.”

“I’ve got your number and left you a voice mail, Sofie Callahan. Take it or leave it.”

“Ugh, okay! You shit. Shake on it.” She holds out a hand with bright pink, glossy fingernails. I take it, we shake once, then part. “I’ll call your girlfriend and talk you up.”

“Fake girlfriend,” I correct her again.

“Ads, I don’t care if your relationship is the equivalent of a romantic Narnia. She’s your damn girlfriend until you end it.” She gets up and pauses. “Which will be . . . when?”

I shrug. “Like . . . a couple weeks? I don’t know.”

Her sigh follows her out the door. She pokes her head into the front room, nods, then goes upstairs. “Do you have any idea what you’re doin’?” Tate asks me, biting into a cookie.

“Not a fuckin’ clue.” I walk away and take the stairs two at a time.

I draw a deep breath, letting that sink in. I agreed to date a girl I can’t get along with unless we’re both naked. And they’re right, it’s stupid. So fucking stupid, but that’s it now. It’s done. Choice made.

Jesus—I’m insane, aren’t I?

Jessie

“You’re going out with Aidan Burke? Like on a date? Or out out? Or just as friends?” Saskia’s eyes bug out of her head. “And you didn’t invite me?”

I pause from applying my mascara and look at her incredulous expression in the mirror. “Come right on into my room, Sas. It’s okay. I only might have been naked, or you know, masturbating or something.”

“That’s gross.”

“So is your obsession with Dirty B.” I give her a sarcastic smile and go back to my makeup. “But no, it is not a date.”

“Uh-huh . . .” she trails off, and when I screw my mascara brush back into the tube, she shoves her phone at me. “Then why does Twitter say you’re his girlfriend?”

I shrug and brush my bangs out. “I saw this meme on Facebook that said Abraham Lincoln once said you shouldn’t believe everything you read on the Internet.”

My sister looks at me like I’m dumb. “The Internet was invented after Lincoln died.”

“Precisely. It’s called sarcasm.” I roll my eyes and grab my phone from the side table. There’s a text from Chelsey telling me to put condoms in my purse, and I just about resist the urge to roll my eyes for a second time. Everything with her is sex, sex, sex.

And, for what it’s worth, I absolutely do not intend on sleeping with Aidan Burke again. Like, ever. I’ve just been told we need to go on a “date” so our “relationship” is believable.

I’m just really hoping he isn’t expecting me to hold his hand and shit, because that just isn’t gonna happen.

“Jessie!” Mom yells. “Your young man is at the door!”

Good grief! Even my mother is buying into it.

Saskia gives me a look that says Not your boyfriend, huh? and I give her one that says Fuck you. Actually, my middle finger does that for me, but whatever.

I go downstairs to where Mom is standing in the hall, grinning wildly. “I saw it on that BookFace,” she whispers. “It was in the trending column.”

“Mom, it’s Facebook,” I say, not for the first time. “And it’s really not what you think.”

“He’s handsome, isn’t he?” She glances through into the front room. “And I know your father isn’t big on the whole tattoo thing, but his are real nice.”