Kiss Her Once for Me (30)

“We can’t lie to your family.”

And I can’t lie to you about Jack. Or lie to Jack about you.

“Of course we can! We’ll get better at it, I promise.”

“It’s not a matter of our ability to lie. It’s about the morality of lying!”

“You were fine with compromising your morals for two hundred thousand dollars a few hours ago.”

“That was before I met your family and realized how lovely they all are.” And before I found out I slept with your sister. “And before Dylan expressed their utter disbelief you could ever be marrying a girl like me unless I’m terminal.”

Andrew winces. “Wait… you overheard that?”

I don’t bother trying to explain the mechanics of my balcony eavesdropping. “Yeah. I did.”

He presses a jade roller across his forehead. “I guess I should’ve assumed they might be intense about this whole thing.”

“Why would you assume that? What’s going on with you and Dylan?”

“Nothing!” Andrew swivels around in his chair to face me, jade roller twisting between his fingers like a baton. “Well, I mean, we sort of, kind of… used to date?” Andrew is also guilty of misplaced question marks because it’s obvious there is no sort of, kind of about this.

“Does everyone know about this? Does Jack know?”

“It’s… complicated?”

“Well, that’s a no. Why didn’t you tell me you and Dylan used to date before I got here?”

“I didn’t really think it was relevant information,” Andrew grumbles. “They’re not here as my ex. They’re here as my sister’s best friend.”

“Well, your sister’s best friend hates me, and now I’m starting to see why! Which makes it relevant, Andrew!”

Andrew slumps in his chair. “Dylan isn’t jealous, if that’s what you’re implying.”

For someone so successful, Andrew can also be so very oblivious. “They are absolutely jealous.”

Andrew attempts to pinch his brow, but it’s currently slick with rose oil. “Our thing was a million years ago,” he reassures me. “Dylan and I hooked up a few summers in college. We were never going to last. We want different things.”

“So, you just casually dated your sister’s best friend–slash–kind of surrogate sibling?”

“It was mostly casual.” Andrew chews on his bottom lip before he finally confesses: “And we maybe sort of relapsed last Christmas when Jack didn’t come to the cabin and we were alone together.”

I throw up my arms. “This is the real reason you brought me, isn’t it? I’m here as your beard!”

Andrew slams the jade roller onto the vanity table. “You’re not my beard. Everyone knows my sexuality is like a Rorschach test.”

“What does that even mean?”

“What you see when you look at me says a lot more about you than it does about me.”

I don’t have the time or the energy to parse out that metaphor. “Whatever, you brought me here to be your sex shield!”

“No.” Andrew sits stiffly in his chair. “You’re here to help me get my inheritance.”

“In that case, is it cool if we come clean to Dylan about the fake engagement?” I make a feint toward the door. “I mean, since I’m only here to help you get the money, I don’t see any reason to lie to Dylan.”

Andrew leaps up from his chair and grabs me by both arms before I can leave the room. “Fine!” He relents. “You might also sort of be here to help block my cock from certain, potentially detrimental actions.”

“Andrew!”

“I’m sorry!” He massages my shoulders in a feeble attempt at apology. “But I need Dylan to think I’m in a relationship so we don’t… backslide.”

Here I thought I’d stumbled into a weirdly incestuous love triangle, but it’s actually some kind of dysfunctional love trapezoid.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the whole truth, but I did not lure you here under false pretenses. This really is just about the inheritance. I need that money.”

“Why?”

Andrew drops his hands from my shoulders. “I—I can’t… it doesn’t matter why. I just need it.”

I feel the need to pinch my own brow to fight off the impending tension headache. “I don’t get it. If you have a weird on-again, off-again thing with Dylan, why didn’t you ask them to be your fake fiancé?”

“Because it would be too confusing! Look, I know how Dylan comes across when you first meet them, but they’re really just a giant marshmallow—you know, one of those marshmallows that got burned while making s’mores, so the outside is all crispy, but the inside is pure goop—” Andrew makes hand gestures to aide him in this new metaphor. “Dylan is that marshmallow. They’re usually a serial monogamist, and a fake engagement might… I don’t know… give them the wrong idea.”

“Because you don’t want a real relationship with them?”

Andrew shoves his hands into his hair. “You heard Meemaw. I’m a ho. I’m a pretty face with a trust fund and a good time at a party. I’m not what Dylan wants or needs.”