Page 5 of The Wild Card

Foster is quiet for a moment. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It is.”

Another silence. Murphy purrs in Foster’s lap, oblivious. “You know what you need?” Foster finally says.

“A time machine? A different brain? A personality transplant?”

“A girlfriend.”

I stare at him. The word bounces around in my brain with nowhere to land.

“Think about it.” He shifts forward, dislodging Murphy. “Daniels wants compelling reasons to keep you here. Ties to the community. What’s more compelling than a serious relationship? You tell him you’ve got a girlfriend, someone you’re building a life with, and suddenly you’re not the loner workaholic with no attachments. You’re a guy with roots.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

He lifts one brow. “So get one.”

“Foster.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I can’t keep a roommate for two months. You think I can maintain a relationship?”

“You’re interviewing roommates anyway, right?” He leans back, something shifting in his expression. “Find one who’s willing to play the part. Fake girlfriend. Problem solved.”

The words hang between us.

Fake girlfriend.

“You’re joking.”

“Obviously I’m joking.” He waves a hand. “That’s ridiculous. Forget I said it.”

But I can’t forget it.

My brain—which usually works against me—is suddenly working for me, turning the idea over from every angle. A fake girlfriend. Someone who could pose as my partner for work events. Someone Daniels could meet and approve of. Someone who needed something from me in return—reduced rent, maybe. A safe place to live.

It’s insane. It’s manipulative. It’s exactly the kind of emotionally detached arrangement I might actually be capable of maintaining.

“Crew.” Foster’s staring at me. “I can see the gears turning. That was a joke.”

“Was it?”

“You cannot fake-date your roommate to avoid a job transfer. That’s not a real plan. That’s a plot from a bad movie.”

“Why not?”

“Because—” He sputters. “Because it’s insane? You’d have to find someone willing to go along with it, and then actually pretend to be in a relationship, which requires human warmth and emotional availability. Neither of which are exactly your strong suits.”

I ignore the insult. He’s not wrong. I don’t have the first clue about how, uh, warmth or emotion work within the confines of a relationship.

“I have a roommate interview tomorrow.”

Foster groans and drops his head into his hands. “You’re not actually considering this.”

I lift one shoulder. “I’m evaluating options.”

“You’re going to put this in the roommate contract, aren’t you?” It’s not a question. “Some clause about fake dating. You’re going to make it official.”

I don’t answer.

“Crew.” Foster stares at me for a long moment. Then he picks up his beer, drains it, and reaches for another. “I’m going to regret this conversation for the rest of my life, aren’t I?”