He pointed at me. “That was an honest mistake.”
I actually had no idea how I was going to pass for Jack Stapleton’s girlfriend. I did not buy for a second that I was his type. I’d done a thorough Google search on him and I’d seen enough Barbie dolls to last me a lifetime. One of them had clearly had so much cosmetic surgery, I couldn’t help but wonder if her mother missed her face.
Not to mention Kennedy Monroe.
“Hey—” I said then. “What about your real girlfriend?”
“What do you mean—‘real girlfriend’？”
I gave a sharp sigh. “I think your parents might notice that I am not Kennedy Monroe.”
Jack puffed out a laugh. Then he said, “My parents don’t pay attention to that stuff.”
“Are you saying your parents don’t know you’re dating Kennedy Monroe? You were on the cover of People! In matching sweaters!”
“It’s possible.”
“It’s really not. Nobody doesn’t know that.”
Jack thought about it. Then he shrugged. “If they ask, I’ll just tell them we broke up. But they won’t ask. They know nothing in Hollywood is real.”
Was Kennedy Monroe not real? Suddenly, I felt too shy to ask.
I tried to imagine anyone believing that Jack would downshift from Kennedy Monroe to me. Just how gullible were these parents? Were they in comas?
The sound of Robby saying there was no way I could pass echoed through my mind, and I so hated that I agreed with him.
But here we were.
Jack was still noodling on it. “I think our best option is just for you to smile a lot.”
That didn’t sound too hard.
“Just smile. At them. At me. Just smile until your cheeks hurt.”
“Got it.”
“How do you feel about me touching you?”
How did I feel about Jack Stapleton touching me? “What kind of touching are we talking about?”
“Well, the way I am around girlfriends … I’d say that I tend to touch them a lot. You know. If you’re into someone, you just want to be touching them.”
“Sure,” I said.
“So, that could add some authenticity.”
“Agreed.”
“Would it be okay for me to hold your hand?”
Not a hard question. “Yes.”
“Can I … drape my arm over your shoulders?”
Another nod. “That sounds acceptable.”
“Can I whisper things in your ear?”
“That might depend on what you’re whispering.”
“Maybe it’s better to ask: Is there anything you don’t want me to do?”
“Well, I prefer you to keep your clothes on.”
“That’s a given,” he said, “while hanging out with my parents.”
“But just broadly,” I said. “In general. No surprise nakedness.”
“Agreed. And right back at ya.”
“And I can’t imagine that you’d need to kiss me…”
“I’ve already thought about that.”
He’d already thought about that?
“We can use stage kissing,” he said. “If we get in a pinch.”
“What is stage kissing?”
“It’s what you do in a play. It looks like a kiss, but your mouths don’t actually touch. Like I could cup your face and then kiss my thumb.” He lifted his hand off the steering wheel and kissed his thumb for demonstration.
Ah. “Okay.”
“Probably shouldn’t try that today.”
“No.”
“Those take some practice.”
Practicing fake kissing with Jack Stapleton … “Got it.” Then I added, “And obviously, of course, if you need to do a real kiss for some reason—that’s fine. I mean, I’m fine with it, if it’s necessary. I mean, I won’t be mad.”
Good God. I sounded like a loony bird.
“Noted,” Jack said, moving right along as if he encountered this particular brand of looniness all the time. Which he probably did. He went on: “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I appreciate what you’re doing for me—and my mom—and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll try not to make any wrong moves, but if I mess up, just tell me.”
“Same,” I said.
And with that, he cranked up the radio, rolled back the sunroof, and found himself a fresh piece of cinnamon gum.
Eight