Page 88 of Fake it ’Til Fall

“No.”

“Forrest.”

“She doesn’t have social media, and I’m not posting anything.” I set the mug down too hard, then breathe through my nose because mugs are innocent. Usually. “Especially not if it makes her a target.”

“Target?”

“I’m not adding public attention, so people can pick apart her face, her body, her past, or why she’s with me.”

Mark exhales like I am being difficult instead of correct. “This is how public image works.”

“Not with her.”

“You understand people will find out eventually.”

“People can find out in person.”

“That is a terrible strategy.”

“It’s not a strategy. It’s a boundary.”

“Fine. No social media, yet.”

“No social media ever.”

“We’ll revisit.”

“We won’t.”

Puck lifts his head when I start pacing.

“Also,” I say, “Boston is off-limits.”

“What does that mean?”

“No interviews about how love made me less of an asshole. Don’t package my life so you can sell my brand.”

“I’m trying to get you hired.”

“I can get myself hired.”

“Can you?”

The tone is so irritating I almost laugh.

Almost.

“Because your mother is the one who called me to help you with this hiring,” Mark continues. “I’m doing it for free. Now, if I can get something extra out of this deal—like a brand selling fidget toys for angry assholes—well, that’s a bonus.”

“My mother needs to stop reaching out to you.”

“Your mother is entertaining.”

“My mother is a menace in a small town with access to gossip and casseroles.”

“And yet, you want to move there.”

“That’s the only place that might hire me as a hockey coach. I get experience, prove myself, and maybe I can move somewhere else later.”