“You and Jamey seemed like such a perfect match, but now I have to wonder if I just really wanted you to be part of the family forever. It was so convenient, my best friend and my brother.” Her brow wrinkles a little as she considers. “Maybe you were a perfect match for the rest of us.”

I put down the ribbon and the scissors I was holding. “You’re not losing me, you know! You think I’m going to give up your mom’s manicotti because of this?”

“Ryan’s a big change,” she observes. “The total opposite of Jamey.”

I burst out laughing. “I know, right? I don’t know what to expect next with Ryan!”

I don’t know what to expect next with Ryan.

Exactly.

RYAN

If this is pretend, then Carrie deserves an Oscar for best performance. That kiss was anything but pretend. The kiss back in the hotel room, too. Leaving her alone with Jenny and all the wedding details like that isn’t just me being a guy who doesn’t want to get embroiled in all the crazy details. Who cares about raffia ribbon or the correct ratio of lilies to hydrangeas?

I got out of there because I’m damn close to losing it and telling Carrie how I really feel.

Too close.

Practically running, I get to the stairwell and pound my way to the outside door, walking fast on the long deckwalks before hitting the beach, dress shoes be damned. Deep breaths, I tell myself. Breathe in ocean air to replace the carnal need. Salt air is a balm, right? Calms the nerves. I’m nothing but short circuits and overloaded transformers right now.

A live wire with a need to connect.

“Ryan?” A bikini-clad woman on a towel next to a guy sits up, covering her topless half with a towel. “Is that you?”

Redhead. Wide green eyes. Mole above her eyebrow. Wide smile. Oh, shit. She’s either a client at O or —

“You were at my bachelorette party two weeks ago!” She nudges the guy next to her, who turns over and glares at me. “Honey, this was the stripper!”

Master masseur. But I don’t bother to correct her.

“Hey,” the groom says with as much enthusiasm I would muster if my new wife were gawking at a stripper from her bachelorette party.

I mean master masseur.

“Hey,” I throw back.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, blushing. “Working?” Her eyebrows go up, hopeful.

“I’m here with my girlfriend at a friend’s wedding,” I offer, her eyebrows dropping, husband’s face splitting into a grin.

“Perfect place for a getaway, man” the guy says. “Beautiful weather, off-season rates, stellar food.” He grabs his wife – whose name escapes me – and kisses her neck. “Lots of privacy.”

His look tells me to fuck off.

The word girlfriend made my ex-client’s eyes glaze over. “Well, good to see you Ryan. Have fun.”

Fun. Right.

I wave and get the hell out of there. I don’t really exist unless a woman’s using me to get something. Being spotted by a client is unnerving, but I can handle it. It’s not like it happens every day. Besides, this is an Anterdec resort property, so I shouldn’t be surprised.

What does surprise me is Carrie. All the thick lines around our friendship have faded to wet streaks of grease pencil, smudged and smeared until the boundaries aren’t clear.

Is this all still fake? Was some of the kissing real? I grabbed her ass back there for show, but also because I wanted to. It’s a highly grabbable ass.

The line between real and fake isn’t just blurred. It’s a giant skidmark.

Back up. Not the image I’m going for.

Carrie’s feeling it, right? These kisses and caresses go way beyond pretend. Have we reached a point where we’re pretending to pretend?

My phone buzzes. An actual call. It’s my Mom.

“Lenny’s Bail Bonds,” I say, resurrecting an old joke.

“I’m not sure if that’s a worse job than the one you have, sweetie,” she says with a laugh. It took me more than a year to admit to my family that I wasn’t an engineer anymore, hiding massage therapy school from them. Mom still doesn’t quite know how much my job at O involves walking around in various states of undress.

I plan to keep it that way. She’s pretty cool, but still.

“Bail bondsmen deal with money all day, Mom. I come into contact with fewer germs even when I touch people all day for a living.”

“Wires and circuits don’t have germs, Ryan.”

“Is this a lecture about going back to engineering?” She has no idea I’ve applied for grad school back home. Ellen and Tessa are keeping my secret, but for how long?

“No. I can do that anytime. This call is more specific. Dad really wants to see you.”

“Is something wrong?” Alarm floods my extremities, cortisol suddenly flowing through my brain like a dam spilling over, about to burst.

“No, actually,” she says softly. “He just keeps talking about you.”

“Is he there?”

“Golfing with Fred and the other guys from the firm. I wanted to talk to you separately. Is this a good time?”

“I’m at a wedding on Cape Cod.”

“A wedding? Whose?”

“An old co-worker’s.”

“Do you have a… date?”

“Mom,” I say with a sigh.

“Well? Do you?”

“I’m here with Carrie.”

“Carrie your friend?” Normally, the way she says friend makes my teeth ache. This time, though, it makes me smile.

“Yes. She needed a date, and I — ”

“You’re dating? Dating that nice, sweet woman Tessa’s always telling me about?”

I’m going to kill my sister. Or let Carlos die from blue ball explosions by withholding babysitting services for the next six months. That’s effective.

“We’re just here as friends.”

“How long are you there?”

“What?”

“This wedding — is it a day wedding?”

“We’re here for the weekend.”

Mom lets out a sound of jubilation. “You’re at a hotel! You’re sleeping with her!”

“Mom!” I sound like a choked fourteen year old. “I’m not talking about this with you!”