• •
  Dean Di Laurentis had one very simple rule when it came to you:

Stay away from each other.

You couldn’t stand him. He couldn’t stand you. Every conversation somehow turned into an argument, every joke became a competition, and neither of you would ever admit when the other was right.

So when Dean showed up at your door late that evening, you immediately knew something was wrong.

You opened the door and frowned.

“What do you want?”

Dean stood there with his hands in his pockets, looking unusually serious.

“I need to ask you something.”

You almost laughed.

“Did you hit your head?”

“Can you just listen for once?”

“Fine. Talk.”

Dean sighed, clearly uncomfortable.

“There’s a party tomorrow. My ex is going to be there, and I really don’t want things to get awkward.”

You shrugged. “Not my problem.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you here?”

He stared at the floor for a moment before finally looking at you.

“I need someone to pretend to be my girlfriend for the night.”

You blinked.

Then you laughed.

“No way.”

“I knew you’d say that.”

“You came all the way here just to ask me that?”

“Yes.”

“Even though you hate me?”

Dean’s expression tightened.

“Yes.”

“And I hate you.”

“I’m aware.”

You crossed your arms, trying not to smile.

“So why me?”

Dean was silent for a few seconds.

Then, with the most reluctant expression imaginable, he admitted:

“Because you’re the last person she’d expect me to bring.”

You stared at him.

He sighed.

“And because, unfortunately, you’re the only person stubborn enough to make everyone believe it.”

You smiled.

“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“So… you’re seriously asking me to fake-date you?”

Dean nodded.

“So, what do you say?”