Page 11 of Redeem My Heart

“That he sees me as some pathetic loser who can’t get a real boyfriend. That he stole my first kiss without even knowing it.”

“Oh, Shelby. I’m sorry.” Another squeeze of my hand. “To play the devil’s advocate though, at least your first kiss wasn’t some pimple-faced teen who came at you tongue first rather than lips first.” She shudders.

“No, it wasn’t like that at all. It was perfect in every way. Except for the fact that it was fake.”

“Then make him your real boyfriend and it can be your real first kiss,” Luna says flippantly, as if what she’s suggesting is as casual as how I should wear my hair.

“I can’t make him be my real boyfriend,” I say.

“I bet you can.”

I throw my arms up. “You are not helpful!”

UNKNOWN: Do you forgive me?

ME: Whatever, Dane. It’s fine.

UNKNOWN: So that’s a no. Gotcha.

UNKNOWN: My sister told me to tell you about all the women bugging me since my social media stuff launched.

ME: What kind of bugging?

UNKNOWN: Just hitting on me. It’s not a big deal. A pain in the ass.

UNKNOWN: She thought it might make you more sympathetic to being my fake girlfriend. So you’d know it’s more about me than you.

ME: Why are you telling me this?

UNKNOWN: Because I don’t want to manipulate you. Not that that was what Daphne was suggesting. She told me in no uncertain terms that I royally fucked up.

ME: I’ll do it.

ME: But I get to decide on the terms.

ME: And I get to break up with you when the time comes.

UNKNOWN: Deal. But are you sure?

ME: Adding you to my contacts as “My hot boyfriend”

MY HOT BOYFRIEND: Then I’ll add you to my contacts too.

MY HOT BOYFRIEND:

My cheeks heat. I know he’s just returning the favor, but still, just knowing that’s in his phone makes my whole body feel warm.

“What are y’all discussing now?” Luna asks.

I startle at her voice.

She laughs. “You totally forgot I was in the room, didn’t you?”

“Shut up.” But she’s right, I had completely forgotten everything outside of the semi-flirtatious texting with Dane.

Two days later I’m in the middle of inventorying our supply cabinet at work when Yvette, the front desk receptionist pokes her head in.

“Uh, Shelby, your boyfriend is here.” She’s frowning as if me having a boyfriend is the most absurd thing she’s ever heard. I know for a fact that she doesn’t mean it that way because Yvette is the nicest person.