Page 5 of Playing it Safe

What would it feel like not to worry about that? With a grunt, I say, “I’d really like to fake date you if you’re in.”

She nods once, decisive, and throws a brick of double-A’s into the cart.

The thing about Costco is that it rewards a prepared mind. You walk in without a list and leave with a gallon of trail mix and regret. I’ve seen Rookie buy a lifetime supply of cotton swabs, and I know damn well he doesn’t clean his ears.

BB has a list on her phone, and once she pulls hers out, I bust mine open. She glances over, watching me check off apples and bell peppers, and it seems she approves. “It’s good to be organized,” I tell her.

I glance down to see that she, too, has arranged her list by store section. “Mm hmm.” We pause in front of the fridge before she charges in with a brief shiver. Then we both reach for the same bag of spinach.

“Ladies first,” I tell her, wondering how it’s possible for my entire body to heat up from such a brief touch. Maybe they cut the AC.

We make it through produce and into the dry goods before I remember. "What kind of dish soap?”

She blinks. "What?"

"You said you needed dish soap. Dawn? Kirkland?"

She studies me for a second. "Dawn. Some things, you just gotta do name-brand.”

I nod, stooping for the Tide. We both laugh as we grab the extra-strength odor-defense kind in a huge jug. She jokes, “Hazard of our profession, right?”

“Smelliest job I know of, and my dad worked the docks.”

BB is easy to talk to. We load up on Greek yogurt and canned tuna as she tells me that her parents—both bankers—had children very late and died a few years ago.

I tell her my parents had kids really young and worked their bodies to ruin in South Boston. “Ma is still with the port authority—dispatch. Dad’s on disability, but he won’t let anyone take care of him.”

“Ah,” she says. “That sounds familiar. Why do I suspect you manage to sneak in special treatment with specialists and such?” She must sense the surprise on my face because she swats my arm. “Relax, big guy. You’re not the first oldest child to call in a favor.” I’m surprised when she tosses a case of instant mac and cheese into her cart, but she doesn’t try to justify it, and I like that about her.

We’re flying through the store, and I’m a little bummed it’s not taking longer. She keeps chatting. “Not that I’m dripping in man-hockey money, but I can at least help my sister jump the line for the orthopedist.”

Somehow, I tell her about my three brothers who use me like an ATM and my kid sister who needs braces. We reach the checkout before I get a chance to ask for follow-up information about her sister. I worry I spent the entire shopping trip droning on about my siblings.

The cashier rings us through. I pay before BB gets her card out, not as a statement, just as a reflex, and she gives me a look but doesn't argue. “I don’t want to make them deal with two orders,” I tell her. “We can figure something out later if you want.” She nods, and I hope I didn’t ruin our surprisingly excellent fake date by flaunting my “man-hockey money.”

Two athletes can load a trunk pretty quickly, and the drive back to her car at the rink seems to fly by. Before I know it, I’m gently loading eggs into her tiny hatchback, trying not to stare at the definition in her upper arms as she tosses her laundry detergent into the passenger seat.

Once all her stuff is out of my car, she sighs and stuffs her hands into her pockets. “Well, good talk, Miller.”

I press my lips together, thinking. “I should probably get your number. If you’re okay with that.”

BB smacks her forehead. “Yes. Of course. Let me air-drop it to you… oh. You call your phone by its full legal name?”

“Huh?”

She shows me her screen, where the nearby device is listed as CAMERON MILLER’S PERSONAL PHONE. “Oh,” my pulse kicks as warmth spreads through me, and I had no idea my body could do that. “I guess I do.”

I hear the beep in my pocket as I receive BB’s contact information, and she smiles as she climbs into her car and drives away.

I ease back into my Volvo and watch her leave the lot. This is a smart plan. Sensible. A harmless deception that will be good for both our careers. But I have no explanation at all for the way my heart is racing a bit at the thought of seeing her again.

Chapter 4

Briar

I missed forty-three texts while I was shopping. When I ask my robot phone assistant to read them out loud, I almost crash the car, hearing the monotone voice repeat “exclamation point” and “shocked face emoji.”

“Whatever, you guys,” I mutter. My phone keeps vibrating against my thigh as my secret romance with Mayhem goes live among the Uprising.