Page 92 of Fake it ’Til Fall

Temporarily.

Professionally.

Possibly personally.

“I know.”

“And even when you’re protecting Daisy, you might want to tell her everything,” he states. “She needs to know before someone ambushes her, and it gets ugly. Maybe she has to make choices too.”

I . . . I didn’t think about it. “I know.”

“Protection means they know what they need to be protected from,” he insists. “Also, you need a consistent story.”

I look at the rules again because that’s easier than telling her, Oh, by the way, I’m a social pariah and you might want to be aware of what could happen if they believe you’re with me.

“Our relationship started in July,” I say out loud. “It’s private but exclusive.”

“Sounds doable. Why don’t you call me when you’re less charming?”

“Never, then.”

“Progress,” he says, and hangs up before I can.

The apartment goes quiet.

Puck rests his chin on my knee.

I should drink the coffee.

I should call my mother.

I should text Daisy and tell her Mark knows too much, my mother believes too much, and this fake thing already has more moving parts than a playoff penalty kill.

Instead, I sit down at the kitchen table and read the rules again.

Rule Ten: No falling in love, obviously.

Obviously.

Daisy wrote that word like a dare she hoped neither of us would accept.

I touch the edge of the paper, then pull my hand back because I’m not that far gone.

Not yet.

Puck huffs.

“Don’t start.”

He blinks.

“I’m not calling her.”

He blinks again.

“I’m making coffee.”

The dog stares at the full mug already in my hand.