Not Pretending Anymore(15)
“So it wasn’t much of a stretch. Okay. Go on.”
“Whatever.” She laughed. “Anyway…his mood seemed to change as I was going on about you. He seemed interested in our relationship.”
“Did he ask you out?”
“No. But I’m wondering if maybe he needs something to light a fire under his ass. Maybe I need to make him believe I am interested in you.”
I scratched my chin. This could work. Better yet…
“Maybe I could visit you at the hospital. If he saw me, he’d be even more threatened.”
“Conceited much?”
“Just trying to help.”
“Actually…” she said. “I have a better idea. Why don’t you come to the next happy hour?”
“I could totally swing that. But on one condition.”
“Why are there always conditions with you?”
“This one is only fair.”
“What is it?”
“You do the same for me. I haven’t figured out the logistics, but I want to make Julia jealous. I think we should pretend there’s something happening between us.”
After a brief pause, she said, “Okay, but we have to figure out what this entails.”
Wow. I was a little surprised she was going for it. She must be really hard up for Willy Dick.
“It entails whatever it takes to make the other person jealous,” I said. “If we’re supposed to be seeing each other, that means—”
“We have to, like, touch…and kiss?”
I chuckled at her reaction. “If you think that’s too much, we don’t have to. We can just seem really, really into each other in some bizarre way, like constant creepy staring and telepathic communication.”
She sighed. “No, I…think we should make it believable.”
Well, this is going to be fucking interesting.
***
I didn’t see Molly for the next few days. She worked her three, twelve-hour shifts, and our schedules didn’t align. But I knew today was her day off, so this afternoon I’d texted to ask if she’d be home for dinner and stopped at the grocery store after work to pick up some things I’d need to make one of my specialty dishes.
She came in and tried to peek over my shoulder as I was mixing ingredients in a bowl. I turned so she couldn’t get a look at what I was making.
“No looking before dinner’s ready,” I said.
She pouted, but I saw the smile beneath those full, downturned lips. “What if I don’t like what you’re making?”
“You’ll like it.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’m making it, and it seems you’ll eat whatever I cook.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t get all full of yourself. I only stole your leftovers again yesterday because I was too lazy to go to the store and get cold cuts.”
I grinned. “It’s okay to admit you like my cooking, you know.”
Molly shook her head. “From the short time I’ve known you, I’m positive you don’t need anyone stroking your ego and making it bigger.”
“You’re right. I got something better than my ego that grows when you stroke it.” I winked.
She started to blush, but turned away so I wouldn’t see. I don’t know why, but I loved when she pinked up and tried to hide it.
“How long do I have before dinner is ready?” she asked.
“That depends…how long do you need?”
“Well, if we have fifteen minutes, I’m going to call my mom back before we eat. She called while I was a few blocks away, but I try not to talk on my phone and drive at the same time anymore. I had a little fender-bender a few months back. I’d been arguing with my credit card company about a charge that wasn’t mine and not really paying attention.”
“Take as long as you need.”
“Fifteen minutes should be good. If I’m still on, just loudly mention that dinner is ready. That’ll help me get off. My mom really likes to talk.”
I smiled. “You got it.” I actually only needed a few minutes to finish up what I was making, so I figured I’d wait until I heard her get off the phone to start again. But almost half an hour went by, and Molly still hadn’t come out of her room. So I knocked lightly. Maybe she hadn’t been exaggerating earlier and needed help getting off the phone.
“Hey, Moll? Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”
“Okay. I’ll be right there.”
Ten minutes later, she finally emerged from her room. I had two plates all ready on the kitchen table and was just about to tease her for making my dinner cold when I looked up and saw her face all red and blotchy. She’d definitely been crying.
I rubbed my breastbone. My chest felt like I had heartburn or something. “What’s going on? Is your mom okay?”
Molly sniffled a few times. “Yeah. She’s fine. It’s not my mom. It’s my dad.”
“What happened?”
“He’s sick. Apparently he was diagnosed with lung cancer, and the long-term prognosis is not good.”
“Shit, Moll. I’m sorry. Come here.” I pulled her into a hug. She started to cry again in my arms. Not knowing what to say or do, I just held her tight and kept petting her hair and telling her everything was going to be okay. Once she calmed down, I led her over to the couch.