I take a big gulp of wine before I answer. Mom texts me a few times a month to check in on me but has only called a handful of times since I moved here.
“Mom, hi,” I say into the phone, sounding way too enthusiastic. “How are you?”
“Hello, honey. I’m good, thank you. Did you get your sister’s email?”
I wince. “Uh, yeah. And I replied.”
“She said she sent you one more after that. I supposed you didn’t bother checking. Our meeting with the caterer for the final tasting got bumped up to tomorrow morning. I need to give him the final count. I should put you down for one, I presume.”
“Uh,” I start, feeling her judgment weigh down on me. It’s impressive, really, how she can be so condescending with so few words. “No. I’m bringing a date.”
Rebecca squeals in the background, and I wave my hand at her to shoo her away. Clamping her hand over her mouth, she goes into the house to get more wine.
“A date? Each plate costs well over a hundred dollars. If this date is just some fling, you might not be with a month from now—”
“We’re engaged.”
A few seconds of silence tick by. “What?”
“He’s, uh, my fiancé,” I say right as Rebecca comes back out, almost spilling the wine as she does an excited dance around the porch.
“W-when did this happen?” Mom stammers. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“It, uh, happened recently, and I didn’t want to steal the spotlight from Diana. I know how big of a deal this wedding is for her.”
“It is a big deal, but so is you getting engaged. Who is this man? How did you meet? What does your ring look like?”
“What, Mom?” I shout. “I can’t hear you. I think I’m losing service. I’m driving through a cornfield right now. Yep. Can’t hear a thing. Talk to you later. Love you!”
I hang up and feel the blood leave my face. “I think she bought it. Grab your computer and let’s look for—” I shudder “—male escorts.”
Rebecca twists the cap off the Moscato and pours a bit in her glass before disappearing inside, returning a minute later with her laptop. “What do we even type in?” she asks, pulling up a search engine.
“Male escorts for hire? Legal ones. I do not want to get arrested for prostitution.”
“That’s always a good thing to avoid.” She types in the search, and we filter through results. The first site we check out is promising, and they have a few escorts located in the Chicago area.
“Ohhh, Stephan is a hottie!” I point to a dark-haired guy. Rebecca clicks on his profile, and we ogle over his shirtless pictures for a minute before checking his rates.
“Seventy-five hundred bucks for a weekend?” I blink, making sure I’m reading that right. “I should have been an escort.”
“You’re pretty enough.”
“Maybe I’ll consider it.”
“I’m pretty sure most people do expect sex, even though it says that’s a hard limit on the website.”
“Way to crush my dreams.” I shake my head. “Okay, let’s see if we can find one who’s not as good-looking. Maybe they’ll have a lower rate.”
None do, and I can’t afford to drop several grand on some stranger who’s supposed to fool my family into thinking we’re so in love and anxiously awaiting our own wedding date.
Rebecca closes the computer. “I was thinking…you could ask someone you’re already friends with.”
“All my friends are—no way. I’m not asking Logan.”
“Why not? You’re friends, right?”
I grip the stem of my wine glass, looking at the Moscato sloshing around inside. “Of course we are.”
“Then I don’t see what the problem is.”
The problems are endless, starting with the way he runs his hand through his hair, messing it up, which looks so sexy on him. Another problem is how fit and tan he is, and the way his muscles flexed as he moved those pavers today. The way sweat rolled down said muscles, practically forcing my eyes to check out his chiseled abdomen. But that’s not as problematic as the sharp V cut of muscle that disappears down his waistband.
Or the way that he’s both equally grumpy and one of the most thoughtful people on the planet, which makes him infuriatingly desirable.
“I guess there isn’t a problem.” I smile, bringing the glass of wine to my lips to try and cover up the color rushing to my cheeks. “Assuming he’d want to go with me.”
“It’s a free trip to Hawaii. Who wouldn’t want to go?”
“Someone sane.”
She playfully nudges me. “Just ask him. The worst he can say is no.”
Logan and I know each other well enough that we could easily pull off pretending to be a real couple. But Rebecca is wrong. Saying no isn’t the worst thing that can happen.
The worst will be him agreeing. Because I don’t know how well I can fake the feelings for him that I don’t want to admit I have.