Page 24 of Darn Knit All
I hit dial, my heart sinking. She picked up on the first ring.
“I’m sorry.” I ran a hand through my hair. “We can fix this.”
“You signed us up forLove Islandwith sewing machines,” Mai said, her tone dryly amused. “Considering I’m as single as a nun, I’m not really sure how we fix it.”
“Fuck, Mai. You deserve to have your dreams realized. I’m sorry for being a fuck-up.”
“You’re not a fuck-up,” she said loyally.
I snorted, begging to differ. Lincoln, my twin, had always been the wanted son—I was the unexpected spare. Born a minute too late, some of my earliest memories were of my parents telling me how little they cared for me and my poor decisions.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, sucking in a breath.
I knew better than to be impulsive, and yet with one of the people I cared about most I’d been just that. And worse, it had resulted in her being offered everything she wanted—only to have it snatched from her at the first step.
“At least I don’t have to be on national TV. No one wants to see a woman having a nervous breakdown every five minutes.” Despite her joking tone, I could hear the undercurrent of her disappointment.
I needed to make this right.
“Maybe it’s not as bad as it looks,” I said, trying to inject some hope into the situation. “I mean, we could email them and get some clarity as to what they mean by ‘couples.’ Maybe there’s an opportunity to?—”
“They mean dating, de facto, or married.” She huffed out a little breath. “I already checked the fine print.”
I deflated like a lead balloon. “Damn.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry. You deserve the chance to show the world your talents.”
We were silent for a beat before an idea began to take shape—an idea so wildly inappropriate, so utterly villainous, I didn’t know if I should give it air.
“Anyways,” Mai said with a heavy sigh. “I should get back to work.”
The resignation in her tone fucking broke me.
“Wait.” I turned, beginning to pace up and down the sidewalk. “I have an idea. What if we pretend?”
“Pretend?” Mai repeated. “Pretend what?”
“To be a couple.”
Silence met my proposal. I held my phone away from my ear, checking the connection.
“Hello? Mai? You there?”
She cleared her throat. “Are you high?”
I snorted. “I wish.”
“We can’t pretend.”
“Sure, we can.” I moved to sit down but sprung back up, too filled with adrenaline. “You’re single, I’m single. People know we hang out. Why not capitalize on that and just stretch the truth for a bit?”
“Are you seriously suggesting we manufacture a fake-dating situation?”
I shrugged. “Why not? People do it all the time to get on TV. And it’s not like it’s a lie.”
“Except we’re not dating.”
