My So-Called

‘You’ll learn to love it once you learn to play.’

‘That’s what they said about football and I still can’t stand it.’

Ollie stood in front of her, hands on hips, head tilted as he smiled, as though he couldn’t quite believe her.

‘You are something else, Tigerlily James. Now I’ve got to go before I get fired for hitting on the staff. Ruby was very aware that I’d talked to you yesterday and that you weren’t here this afternoon. Apparently, wooing her favourite patron is not the done thing.’

‘Neither is using the term wooing,’ Tig grinned. ‘Oh, I think I’m getting the hang of this smart-arse thing now. You’re right, it’s enjoyable!’

‘Eat your cake, clever clogs.’

*****

‘This isn’t really how it’s meant to work.’ Ollie made a face as he opened the door for her and they left Entangled together. It seemed so public, with the other staff there, the ones she’d sort of known for years, judging her somehow. He’d pulled on a leather jacket of his own, so now she was worrying that they looked like they matched, or that people would look at them and know they were faking it somehow.

Shut up, Tig, you’re overthinking this, she thought furiously.

‘How’s it meant to work?’

‘Well, I pick you up from your house for a start.’ Ollie’s hand seemed to hover at the base of her spine, as if he was guiding a startled horse. It was somehow both irritating and comforting.

‘What if you turned out to be a nutcase, and then you knew where I lived?’ Tig shook her head. ‘This is a much better plan.’

He nudged her with his elbow as they walked along. ‘Trust issues.’

She stopped and looked at him pointedly. ‘Uh, duh?’

He was almost painfully beautiful, and she wished she hadn’t stopped to face him now. If she’d only picked one of the nice, nerdy types who appreciated her brain and wanted to buy her coffee. The ones who would hover around as a ‘friend’ for months and months, until they got drunk and accidentally realised they were a couple. She could deal with that. That didn’t feel quite so … obvious as this. She just had to keep remembering it was all a lie. He hadn’t asked her out because he was attracted to her, and the banter wasn’t to get her into bed. It was literally him taking pity on a charity case. She had to think of Ollie more as a mentor, a lecturer in the world of dating, rather than a fake boyfriend. Right. Teacher.

‘You look wonderful, by the way.’ He smiled at her, so damn sincere. Or at least seemingly so. Not that you could tell. Urgh, this whole thing was a mess.

‘Oh, um …’ – she felt her skin heat up and bit her lip in irritation – ‘this dress is really old.’

‘Tigerlily? Step One of Ollie’s intro into dating: someone gives you a compliment, you say thank you. You keep rejecting nice words, people won’t give them to you anymore.’

Ollie paused and raised his eyebrows, waiting to see if she was going to argue with him. ‘Let’s try again? Tigerlily, you look wonderful tonight.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Tig purposefully chanted like a child.

‘Sarcastic, but I’ll take it. How do you feel about Thai food?’

Tig grinned in relief. ‘My favourite.’

‘A little birdie may have mentioned that.’

‘And how does that little birdie feel about you fake-dating her favourite customer?’

‘She knows I’m leaving in four months, and thinks it’s terribly unfair of me to drag you into anything,’ Ollie shrugged. ‘But, Ruby seems the type to let you make your own mistakes. Plus, if I hurt you, I’m out of a job, so that should give you some confidence in the situation.’

Tig grinned to herself. ‘Maybe a little.’

They turned down a side street in Kings Cross, and then another, and another, until Tig was thoroughly lost. Which was always kind of jarring, when she felt she knew North London like no one else could. But everyone had their secret spots in the city, and she loved that Ollie was no exception.

They entered a dark, small restaurant, and the waiter lit up, shaking Ollie’s hand, and ushering them in.

‘Come here often?’ she asked as they settled.

‘I used to work here, always try to stop by whenever I’m back in London.’ Ollie waved over the counter to the chef in the back, an older portly man who smiled back with two thumbs up.

‘You were a waiter?’ Tig asked. ‘Is that what the job in four months is?’

Ollie grinned at her, and took off the beanie, ruffling his hair. ‘Ah, now you’re intrigued, right? Who waits four months for a waitstaff job?’

‘Someone who needs a really good cover for a heist?’ Tig offered, nodding in thanks as the water was brought to their table.

‘Know what you want, Ollie?’ the waiter asked.

‘Can you ask Chef for the usual? He’ll know.’ He shared a grin with the waiter.

‘Probably going to shit himself.’

‘If it’s as good as it was when I left, he’s got no worries.’ Ollie winked, then turned to Tig. ‘Wine?’

‘Sure, whatever you prefer.’ Tig shrugged, guessing that it was probably better to make as few decisions tonight as possible.

‘You’re not allergic to anything, or hate certain foods, or …’

‘Nope, I’m all good,’ she smiled, and the waiter nodded and walked off.

‘What are you, the king of London Thai food?’

Ollie leaned in and looked at her. ‘I’m a chef.’

‘What, like someone who makes meth?’

Ollie tilted his head. ‘That’s a cook.’

‘Oh.’

He frowned. ‘You think it’s more likely that I manufacture methamphetamine than it is that I cook decent food for people to eat?’

‘Umm …’ Tig screwed up her nose. ‘No, but …’

‘But!’

‘Okay, number one: you’re kind of a salesman. I walk around hating everything attached to a penis the last seven months, I am fuming that my ex is getting remarried less than a year after dumping me, and … you somehow convince me to enter a relationship with you.’

‘A fake relationship.’