“So, is that a yes?”
“That’s a maybe.” She pauses, rolling her fingertips along her temple. “I’ll go to this banquet with you as a test run. Then we’ll see about the rest.”
“Deal.”
“But we need some ground rules.”
“Like?”
“Like what we’re going to do once you inevitably fall for me. Do I let you down easy or do I exploit all the newfound emotions you’re going to feel once you realize you’re in love with me?”
A laugh bubbles out from me. “You don’t have to worry about that. The emotional part or the falling-in-love part.”
She sighs dramatically. “That’s what they all say.”
“So it’s settled then. You’re my fake girlfriend.”
“Not so fast. If I’m going to even consider taking you to this wedding, I’m going to need to turn you into one of my book boyfriends first.”
That earns a raised brow.
“Oh, come on. If we’re going to be acting, we may as well go all in. Do you know how to flare your nostrils in anger?”
My breakfast almost comes back up. “What?”
“If you see me across the room, talking to another man, I need you to stare intently then flare your nostrils. Or grind your molars together and tic your jaw.”
“Blue—”
“Do you know how to growl?”
“What?”
“Yeah, I don’t really know what that’s supposed to sound like, but every one of my book boyfriends is big into growling. Oh! And can you darken your eyes?”
“Darken my eyes?”
“Yeah. When you pretend to get angry or act really turned on, can you darken your eyes?”
“No, I can’t fucking darken my eyes. What the hell are you reading?”
“Don’t hate on my books. You could learn a thing or two from them. And they’re much more entertaining than your shelves of masochism.”
I can’t hold back my laughter. “You think my reading books as a way to better myself is a form of self-inflicted pain?”
She turns her stool towards me. “Absolutely. Does anyone truly enjoy reading about that kind of stuff?”
“Don’t hate on my self-improvement books.”
“My books could qualify as your self-improvement books.” She earns another pointed glance. “Okay, okay.” Her hands go up in surrender. “But if you ever want to learn how to make a woman come three times in one chapter, I’ve got you covered.”
It’s been a while, but making a woman come sure as hell was never an issue.
She rounds the island once again and pulls out a notepad and pen from the drawer.
“We’re making a list. No, we’re making a bucket list. For you. If you can knock out this list, I’ll take you to the wedding.” She speaks as she writes. “Book Boyfriend How-To.”
“I won’t be that bad that I need a fucking list to become a passable boyfriend.”
She ignores me, continuing a column of numbers down the left side of the notepad.
“Fine. Then you’re getting a bucket list too.”
“Me?” She laughs in disbelief. “I’ve been in a relationship practically my entire life. I think I’ve got this handled.”
“Yeah, but do you have any idea how to be alone?”
Her face drops. “What?”
“When was the last time you were alone with no one else to take care of?”
“Why does that matter?”
“I’m not judging. I’m simply asking. When was the last time you had to think of only yourself?”
“That has nothing to do with our arrangement.”
Indy’s typically confident demeanor has shifted, showcasing her vulnerability. She looks away from me, brown eyes bouncing along the wall as she avoids my question.
“Ind—”
“Never. Okay? I’ve never been alone.”
I figured as much. Between her constantly wanting company and her long-term relationship that seems more like a life-long thing and not only the six years it was official.
I hold my hand out with impatience until she reluctantly places a piece of paper and a spare pen in my hand. “I’m making you a bucket list too.”
I hand it over after titling it and finally, a soft smile spreads across my roommate’s mouth.
“Indy-pendent Woman 101.” She raises a questioning brow.
“You know how much I love my self-help books.”
She relaxes a bit which eases the tension around us.
“You can teach me how to be with someone, as long as I get to teach you how to be alone. Or at least how to put yourself first.”
“Okay,” she finally agrees. “That seems fair.”
Individually, we work on our list for the other.
Mine is fairly simple—do everyday tasks alone. Go out to dinner by yourself. Go to a movie you’ve been wanting to see by yourself. Grocery shop and only buy the things you want to eat. Sleep without stacking pillows on the other side of the mattress to trick yourself into thinking you’re not sleeping alone.
The last one might throw her off when she realizes I noticed that this morning when she opened her bedroom door, but maybe some accountability will be good for her.
“All done.” She looks over her list with pride.
I slide mine across the kitchen island, trading with hers.
Indy’s list for me starts fairly tame and reasonable: slow dance together, get comfortable with casual touching, plan a date which is finished with in public between parentheses.
“Were the parentheses really necessary?”
“Yes. Knowing you, you’d plan a dinner date at this very kitchen island, so we don’t leave the house.”
Okay, so she knows me a bit better than I assumed. I get back to my list—show some jealousy.
I have a strong suspicion that showcasing jealousy won’t be the issue—keeping it under wraps will be.
The last and final point on the list—kiss me.
“Indy, the last one—”
“Is a non-negotiable. I’m not showing up at this wedding and you never once touch or kiss me. It can be a peck on the lips for all I care, but this whole thing won’t be believable without a little PDA.”
I shake my head. “I don’t feel comfortable faking intimacy.”
“Ryan, it's just a kiss. It means nothing.”
“It does to me. I won’t fake that part.”
This is fucking embarrassing, a twenty-seven-year-old man refusing a stunning woman the kiss she’s asking for. But I can’t do it for show. That’s not me.
“Okay,” she softly resigns. “No kissing.”
I break eye contact, unable to look at her. “Thank you.”
She clears her throat. “How did you know about the pillows?”
Glancing up, I find Indy staring at the list I made her.
Throwing a thumb over my shoulder in the direction of her room, I tell her, “I saw your bed.”
“I haven’t slept alone in six years. I have a hard time with an empty bed. I do it in hotels too.”
“You can cross it off.” I reach out, attempting to take my list back.
“No.” She holds the paper out of my reach. “You’re right. I need to figure it out. It’s my life now, sleeping alone. I should get used to it without having to make a wall of pillows in order to trick myself.”