Worst Proposal Ever

 Three Weeks Earlier

 "She's outside."

 I looked up from my phone.

 Damien stood in the doorway of my apartment, staring through the window with the expression of a man who had just spotted a ghost.

 I glanced behind him.

 "Who's outside?"

 He turned to me slowly.

 "Zara."

 I blinked.

 Then I looked toward the window.

 A familiar black Mercedes was parked across the street.

 "Oh."

 "Yeah. Oh."

 I looked back at him. "Why is she outside your apartment?"

 "Because apparently, breaking up means nothing to her."

 I winced.

 It had been five days since Damien ended his relationship with Zara, and from what he'd told me, the situation was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. She called him constantly, sent long messages about their relationship, and showed up wherever she thought he might be.

 Yesterday, she'd appeared at his workplace with lunch.

 The day before that, she'd waited outside his gym.

 And now she was apparently conducting surveillance outside his apartment.

 "Have you told her to stop?" I asked.

 "About seventeen times."

 "And what did she say?"

 "That I'm only acting this way because I'm confused."

 I stared at him.

 "Wow."

 "Exactly."

 He dropped onto my couch, buried his face in a cushion, and groaned.

 I watched him for a moment before bursting out laughing.

 He lifted his head.

 "You're enjoying this."

 "I'm sorry!" I said, trying to control myself. "It's just that you look like a man who desperately wants to return a defective product, but the store won't accept refunds."

 He threw the cushion at me.

 I caught it, laughing harder.

 "You're a terrible friend."

 "And yet, I'm the only person you called."

 "Unfortunately."

 I grinned.

 "Love you too, bestie."

 He rolled his eyes.

 Then his phone rang.

 We both looked at it.

 Zara.

 Damien declined the call.

 It rang again.

 He declined it a second time.

 A message appeared almost immediately.

 Zara: I'm not leaving until we talk.

 Damien stared at the screen.

 Then he tossed his phone onto the couch.

 "I'm going to lose my mind."

 I sat beside him.

 "Look, I know this is frustrating, but maybe you need to stop responding altogether. You've already told her it's over. You don't have to keep explaining yourself."

 "I know."

 "Then stick to your decision."

 He looked at me.

 "What if she doesn't stop?"

 I shrugged, although I could tell he was genuinely worried.

 "Then you keep your boundaries. And if she keeps showing up or making you uncomfortable, you get help dealing with it. You don't have to handle everything alone."

 He was quiet for a moment.

 Then he leaned back against the couch.

 "Sometimes, I wish I could just introduce her to someone else and have her move on."

 I frowned.

 "Someone else?"

 "Yeah. Someone who makes it obvious that I've moved on, so she stops thinking there's still a chance."

 I stared at him.

 "Damien, you can't just manufacture a girlfriend."

 He turned his head toward me.

 Neither of us spoke.

 Then his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

 I immediately disliked that expression.

 It was the expression he wore when he was about to suggest something terrible.

 "No," I said.

 He blinked. "I haven't said anything."

 "You have the face."

 "What face?"

 "The face you make before ruining my life."

 He sat up.

 "Ava."

 "No."

 "Just hear me out."

 "Absolutely not."

 "You don't even know what I'm going to say!"

 "Because I value my peace, and experience has taught me that your ideas usually end with me regretting my decisions."

 He ignored me.

 "Suppose I had a girlfriend."

 I stared at him.

 "Suppose you developed common sense."

 "Ava!"

 "Fine. Continue."

 He took a breath.

 "A girlfriend who Zara knows. Someone she trusts. Someone she wouldn't immediately assume I'm dating just to make her jealous."

 I waited.

 He looked directly at me.

 "Someone like you."

 Silence.

 I blinked.

 Once.

 Twice.

 Then I laughed.

 Not because I thought he was joking.

 Because I genuinely couldn't believe he was serious.

 "You're insane."

 "I'm not."

 "You are absolutely insane."

 "Would you let me finish?"

 "Please do. I want to hear how you intend to explain this to a psychiatrist."

 He dragged a hand down his face.

 "I want you to pretend to be my girlfriend."

 My laughter stopped.

 I stared at him.

 He stared back.

 A horrible realization settled over me.

 He meant it.

 "Oh, my God."

 "Ava—"

 "No. Absolutely not."

 "Please—"

 "Damien, we've been friends since we were children!"

 "I know."

 "I've seen you eat food off the floor!"

 "It was five-second rule!"

 "You once cried because your favorite football team lost a match!"

 "I was twelve!"

 "You called me at two in the morning because you thought there was a burglar in your house, and it turned out to be your own reflection in the window!"

 He covered his face.

 "Can you please stop bringing that up?"

 "No! Because now you want me to pretend we're dating? How am I supposed to look at you romantically after everything I've witnessed?"

 He lowered his hands.

 "First of all, that reflection incident never happened."

 "It absolutely happened."

 "Second, I'm asking you to help me, not marry me."

 I opened my mouth.

 Closed it.

 Then pointed at him.

 "That is not the point!"

 He laughed despite himself.

 I couldn't believe him.

 This was the same man who had once convinced me to enter a swimming competition even though neither of us knew how to swim properly.

 I had spent the entire afternoon clinging to the poolside while he shouted unhelpful instructions.

 And now he wanted me to fake an entire romantic relationship with him?

 What had I done to deserve this?

 "Why can't you just find someone else?" I asked.

 "Because I don't want to drag some random woman into this mess. I trust you, Ava. I know you'll tell me if things get uncomfortable, and I know you'll help me keep things simple."

 I looked away.

 That was the problem with Damien.

 Beneath all the teasing and ridiculous behavior, he knew exactly how to appeal to the friendship we'd built over the years.

 And he knew I cared about him.

 Not romantically.

 God, no.

 But he was my best friend, and I hated seeing him miserable.

 Still, this was a lot.

 "How long?" I asked reluctantly.

 His face brightened.

 "You're considering it?"

 "I'm considering throwing you out of my apartment. Answer the question."

 He settled back against the couch.

 "A few weeks. Maybe a month, at most. Long enough for Zara to accept that I've moved on."

 "And after that?"

 "We break up."

 I stared at him.

 "So we're going to fake a relationship and then fake a breakup?"

 "Now you're getting it."

 I grabbed a cushion and hit him with it.

 He burst out laughing.

 "You're impossible!"

 "And yet, you're considering helping me."

 I hated that he was right.

 I really, really hated it.

 "Fine," I muttered.

 His laughter stopped.

 "Fine?"

 "Don't make me repeat myself."

 A slow grin spread across his face.

 "Oh, my God. You're actually agreeing."

 "I'm agreeing to help my best friend. That is all. Don't make this weird."

 He held out his hand.

 "Deal?"

 I stared at it suspiciously before shaking it.

 "Deal. But we need rules."

 "Of course."

 "Rule one: no kissing."

 He opened his mouth.

 I pointed a warning finger at him.

 "Don't even think about arguing."

 He closed his mouth.

 "Fine. No kissing."

 "Rule two: no unnecessary touching. Holding hands is one thing. Whatever romantic nonsense you see in movies is another."

 "Define unnecessary."

 "Damien!"

 "Okay! Okay."

 "Rule three: we don't lie to each other about anything related to this arrangement. If something makes either of us uncomfortable, we talk about it."

 He nodded.

 "Agreed."

 "And rule four: when this is over, we go back to normal. No awkwardness, no weird behavior, and absolutely no letting this ruin our friendship."

 His expression softened.

 "That won't happen, Ave."

 He said it so confidently that I believed him.

 Why wouldn't I?

 Damien was my best friend. We had survived arguments, embarrassing childhood memories, terrible haircuts, and the unfortunate incident involving his mother's expensive vase.

 A fake relationship wasn't going to destroy us.

 I was certain of it.

 I should probably have been less certain about most things involving Damien Cole.

 He stood and pulled me into a quick hug.

 "Thank you."

 I patted his back.

 "You're welcome. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to reconsider every decision that has led me to this moment."

 He laughed against my shoulder.

 "You're going to be an amazing girlfriend."

 I pulled away so quickly that he nearly stumbled.

 "Fake girlfriend!"

 He grinned.

 "Right. Fake girlfriend."

 "And if you call me baby in public, I'm stepping on your foot."

 "Noted."

 "I'm serious."

 "I know."

 I narrowed my eyes.

 He smiled innocently.

 I knew that smile.

 It meant trouble.

 And apparently, I had just agreed to become part of it.

 ---

 The next afternoon, Damien arrived at my apartment carrying a notebook.

 I stared at it.

 Then at him.

 "What's that?"

 "Our relationship plan."

 I closed my eyes.

 "Please tell me you're joking."

 He walked past me.

 "Not at all."

 He dropped onto the couch, opened the notebook, and patted the seat beside him.

 "Come on. We have work to do."

 I stood in the doorway, questioning every choice I'd made in the last twenty-four hours.

 Then I walked over and sat down.

 "Fine. But if you've written a schedule for when we're supposed to hold hands, I'm calling your mother."

 He looked offended.

 "I would never."

 He turned the notebook toward me.

 At the top of the page, in large, bold letters, he'd written:

 OPERATION: MAKE ZARA MOVE ON.

 Underneath it were several bullet points.

 1. Establish a believable relationship timeline.

 2. Spend time together in public.

 3. Inform mutual friends.

 4. Act naturally.

 5. Do not panic.

 I stared at the last point.

 Then at him.

 "Number five is clearly directed at you."

 He snatched the notebook back.

 "Can we focus?"

 I laughed.

 And just like that, our ridiculous little arrangement officially began.

 I thought the hardest part would be convincing everyone we were dating.

 I was wrong.

 The hardest part would be remembering that we weren't.

 Because Damien Cole was my best friend.

 And no matter how many times we held hands, went on dates, or pretended to be in love, that was all we were ever going to be.

 Right?

 I had absolutely no reason to doubt it.

 Not yet.