Faking with Benefits : A Friends to Lovers Romance(3)

“It’s my job,” he reminds me, jabbing a thumb into the centre of his chest. “Bona fide love expert, right here.”

I snort. “I don’t think having a relationship advice podcast makes you a love expert. I don’t see a degree on your wall.”

“Maybe not,” he says smugly. “But I assume you’ve seen all the awards. Best Adult Entertainment Podcast three years running, baby.”

I smile slightly, stabbing a tiny cube of parsnip. Zack hosts a relationship advice podcast with his flatmates, Josh and Luke. It’s called Three Single Guys, and it’s very successful. Thousands of listeners tune in every week to hear the boys talk about everything from STIs to breath play.

To be honest, he probably could teach me a thing or two about dating.

“I don’t know what happened,” I say eventually, setting my fork back down. “I thought it was going well.” A wave of exhaustion suddenly washes over me. I’m so tired.

It’s been a shitty month. Her Treat’s sales have been down, and I’ve barely been sleeping for worrying about it. I have an upcoming collection set to release in a few months, and I’m struggling to keep on top of everything. And I’ve been dating for so long. I’ve been on 120 dates in the last fourteen months. And not one of them was successful. I’m trying not to let it get to me, but it’s starting to hurt a bit too much.

I think of the ten-year plan lying crumpled in my bag. The last unchecked box burns in my mind. Get married.

I’m a failure. And I hate failing.

“Hey,” Zack says softly. I look up at him. His bright blue eyes are full of concern. “You okay?”

I nod. “Just… I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

Zack studies me for a few more seconds, then nods to himself.

“Alright.” He reaches for the half-full bottle of wine sitting between us and picks up my glass, slopping in a generous amount. He pushes it across the tablecloth to me. “Down that, then get your coat on.”

I watch, bemused, as he throws back his own glass in one long gulp, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “What are we doing?”

“We’re gonna enjoy your dumbass date’s expensive wine, and then we’re getting some real food. None of this piped wasabi and foam shit.” He stands, pushing out the chair. The waiter reappears behind us, and Zack blasts him with his megawatt grin. “It was lovely, mate.”

The waiter nods, looking dazed. “I’ll pass on your comments to the chef,” he murmurs, then lifts his notepad and pen. “Um, could you—”

“Autograph?” Zack guesses, and the man nods frantically. I tip back my glass and gulp down my wine as Zack scrawls his name across the page. “No problem, mate. Thanks for letting my girl down gently.” He offers me his hand, helping me to my feet. “Come on, love. Your night’s about to get a whole lot better.”





THREE





LAYLA





It’s almost midnight by the time we finally make it back to our building. Instead of getting food, Zack managed to convince me to stop at a bar on the way home, where I proceeded to take advantage of the Happy Hour two-for-one drink special. A few times over. My head is fuzzy as I stumble up the six flights of stairs to our floor, Zack’s arm wrapped tightly around my waist.

It’s not like me to drink a lot. Running my own business means I’m always on call, and my daily schedule is usually so packed that I can’t afford to take much time off. I know I’m going to hate myself in the morning, but right now, I just don’t care. I’ve had a terrible night. The humiliation over my date with Mike is a tight ball in my chest. I just want to forget about it for a while.

By the time Zack drags me up to our floor, though, I’m starting to regret the fourth round of mojitos. I stare at my locked apartment door and imagine climbing into my cold, empty bed. Again. My happy drunk glow suddenly fades away into sadness.

120 dates. I’ve been on 120 dates in the last fourteen months. And not one of them has worked out.

There must be something wrong with me.

“I like this,” Zack rumbles over my head, thumbing at my red bralette strap. “One of your designs?”

I shake my head. “It’s an Anna Bardet. She’s one of my favourite designers.”

“I like yours better,” he declares, looking up and down the long corridor. It’s dark and silent; all of the other tenants have obviously gone to bed already. “You got any food at your place, pet?”

I think. “Like. Maybe some granola bars?”

He tuts, pivoting me on the spot. He lives in apartment 6B, directly across the hall from me. His muscled arms band around my waist. I squeeze one without thinking, admiring his huge bicep, and he laughs. “C’mon. I’ll make you something full of cheese, and maybe you won’t feel like total shit tomorrow.”

I frown, wavering. “You don’t have to do that…”

“We have leftovers from this week’s meal kit,” he says temptingly.

I light up. The guys get a ton of free products from sponsors that advertise on their podcast. My personal favourite is Flavoroso, a company that sells weekly meal delivery kits with pre-cut ingredients.

“Tonight was like, four-cheese mac-n-cheese,” Zack says in my ear, making me shiver. “Brie and cheddar and gouda and shit.” I stare up at him, my mouth watering, and he snorts. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. C’mon, baby.”