It’s Wednesday night. I’m supposed to be at Dad’s for this family dinner bullshit, but since it’s still early after my session at the gym, I head to my apartment to check out the repair work in the kitchen and have a shower. I actually got a text from the maintenance guy last night, to tell me that he was finished, but things were progressing so well with Darcy, that I wanted to stay another night.

Whatever this thing is with her, I’m enjoying it. I’ve gotten to know her a lot better these last few days. Sure, she thinks I’m some dude named James, but I’m trying not to think about how she’s going to react to that. If I think too hard about it, I’ll have to admit she’s starting to grow on me.

I let myself inside, the smell of fresh paint overpowering me. I toss my keys down on the counter and my bag on the floor, then I examine the repairs. I’m impressed, because it actually looks better than it did before. I have a quick shower, then I’m back out the door, heading back over to Dad’s house for dinner. I flinch, because I really need to get used to thinking of it as Paula's house too. It’s not just his place anymore.

I’m sitting across from Darcy, smirking as I watch her strategically positioning her phone under the table. She’s replying to the texts I’m sending her but trying not to look like it. It's fucking hilarious to watch, especially when I start baiting her into talking about me. All I have to do is drop the seed and I know she’ll start digging the hole. I get to find out how she really feels about me, though I’m pretty sure I already know the answer to that.

Me: So. How's your family thing going?

Darcy: Boring as hell.

I rub my jaw and examine the newspaper which I have laid out in front of me. It’s the perfect disguise from what I’m really doing under the table—if that doesn’t sound creepy, I’m not sure what does. I sneak a look at Darcy and watch her for a moment as she studies her phone.

Me: So, make your night interesting. Do something crazy.

Darcy: Like what?

Me: Something out of character, that nobody will know you’re doing. Where are you sitting? At a table?

Darcy: Yes. I’m at the dinner table.

Me: What’s something you can do that would shock people?

Darcy: I can start talking Klingon? Yep, I’m that cool.

I cough to stifle a laugh, which gets everyone’s attention when I start spluttering.

“Sorry,” I mutter. “Soda went down the wrong way.” I reach for my coffee and take a sip, just for good measure and ignore the sideways glare Darcy is giving me.

I skillfully slide my phone back into my pocket then I sit back in my chair and study her. I bite back a grin, because she’s got this cheeky little smirk going on as her eyes dart around the room. I don’t care if she sees me watching her now that I’m done texting her for the moment. In fact, I want her to see me, just to freak her out a little more. I get bored when she doesn’t notice so I turn my attention to Mack, who is texting one of his friends. Every few seconds he chuckles to himself and glances at Darcy.

God, I don’t even want to know what’s going on in his head.

What a great family dinner. The two of them are glued to their phones and Dad couldn’t even make it home in time. It kind of defeats the whole purpose of a family dinner, if you ask me. I laugh when I think about all the shit he gave me for not being sure I could make it.

I scowl at the table, because just like that, my mood has gone sour. I study Darcy for a second. She’s staring off into nothingness, a strange expression on her face. I frown as I study her face. She bites her lip and closes her eyes. I’m just about to ask her what the hell she’s doing, when something cold and wet hits the side of my face.

What the fuck?

Mack’s wide eyes lock on mine. Darcy struggles not to laugh as I slowly reach up and wipe the side of my face. I bring my fingers down in front of me to examine the substance.

“Sour cream?” I ask. I stare at Mack like he’s crazy. “You threw sour cream at my face?”

“Yep,” Mack says confidently. “You looked like you needed something refreshing.”

He leans forward and scoops up a handful of salsa, hurling it across the table, right at my face.

“There,” Mack grins at me. “Now, all you need are some corn chips, and you’re set.”

“Oh, you’re so dead,” I growl.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Darcy dipping her hands into the cream, then she takes aim at the both of us. She ducks behind a chair to shield herself from my shot back at her.

“I’m pretty sure you missed,” she taunts. “Maybe try throwing it underarm?”

“Oh, yeah?” I ask.

I get up, walk around the table, scooping up a handful of dip before grabbing hold of Darcy’s arm and swinging her against me. She screams as I smoosh it right into the middle of her face, covering as much surface as I can.

“There,” I smirk, her face inches from mine. She pants heavily, her lips slightly open, then she starts to laugh. “I didn’t miss you that time, did I?” I murmur.

We both look up as Paula walks in. She stops in her tracks and stares at us. In her hands, she cradles a bowl of what looks like strawberry mousse. Mack’s dark eyes gleam as he turns to Darcy.

“Fifty dollars if you let me watch you and your friend fight in a tub full of that.” He smirks at her. “You know, the hot friend from poker last night.”

I chuckle, half listening to them argue as I step back. I dig my phone out from my pocket and discreetly open my messages, all while keeping my eyes on Darcy and Mack. I’d mastered the art of discreetly texting after years of doing it through classes, only tonight I stare at Darcy for a little too long. She looks up and catches me watching her. I wink.

“Guess I’ll go have first shower, huh?”

“And then you’ll come back and help clean this mess up,” Paula orders me. She shakes her head at Darcy and me. “And you two are supposed to be adults.”

“Sorry, Paula. I’ll make sure it never happens again,” I say, giving her an apologetic smile.

I turn around and walk out, checking my messages along the way. My smile vanishes when I click on Darcy’s new text.

Darcy: I’m pretty sure things don’t get much more interesting than pleasuring myself under the table, while my future little stepbrother starts a food fight.

My breath catches in my throat. That’s what she was doing?

Fuck me.

If I’d known, I would have been paying much closer attention…

I close the bathroom door and sit down on the edge of the tub.

Me: What do you say we meet?

Darcy: Sure. When?

Me: Friday night, if you’re free? There’s a little bar opposite The Intercontinental Hotel. I can’t remember the name of it, but it’s got a blue sign.

Darcy: Twisted Monkey Bar?

I grin. I’m impressed that she knows it, to be honest.

Me: That’s the one. How about nine?

Darcy: Sure. I’ll see you then. How will I know who you are?

Me: Text me when you get there, and I’ll come to the door.

I ignore the stab of guilt. She’s probably really into the idea of meeting James and it’s making me feel like a bit of an asshole. I try to shake off the guilt. We haven’t done anything but exchange a few messages, so there's no way she could be feeling anything yet.

So what if she’s looking forward to meeting some guy that she has no idea is really me?

I’m just having a little bit of fun. At least I’m doing the right thing and telling her before things get out of hand. Then why do I feel so guilty all of a sudden?

After cleaning every last smudge of food from the dining room walls, I’m finally back home. I toss my keys on the counter and pour myself a drink and I then wander into to the living room and sprawl out on the couch. The paint smell is still pretty strong, but it’s not as bad as earlier, thanks to the few windows I left cracked open.

I switch on the TV, just to create some noise, but it doesn’t stop me from thinking about Darcy. I thought being there and watching her react to my messages would be hilarious. And it was at first, just like it was the other day at breakfast, but as the night dragged on, it became less funny as the guilt began to take over. Now I’m beginning to question whether this was really that funny in the first place.

Not that it really matters. Whether I tell her, or she figures it out when we meet on Friday, she’s going to find out. She’ll be walking into that bar, looking for me, only she’ll have no idea it’s me she’s looking for.

I stop channeling my inner Lionel Richie when my phone buzzes.

I stare at the message and feel even worse.

Darcy: I’m really forward to meeting you. Maybe it’s just me, but I feel like we’ve clicked.

The longer I stare at the text, the worse I feel, so I eventually type back a generic reply and switch my phone off and head to bed. If she’s angry at me to begin with, it won’t last. She’ll see the funny side of it eventually.

She has to.