My So-Called. A. Michael L.

for patience, or mercy, or counting to ten, but when he looked at her his eyes were crinkled at the edges and he was smirking.

      ‘I wasn’t asking you to beat her up, Drunky McDrunkerson, but it’s good to know you have my back. I just meant, you need a fake boyfriend, I need a fake girlfriend, so … how about it?’

      Tig wrinkled her nose. ‘Well, that’s in my top three most romantic invitations. Just behind “Who’s a sexy monkey?” and “Roll over”. Cheers, though.’ Tig delicately moved as if to grab her coat, leaning heavily on the table.

      ‘I’m not trying to shag you! I’m trying to be your friend!’ Ollie said, standing as well.

      Tig sobered up quite a bit in that moment. ‘That’s what they all say. They’re your mate, and they’re your fiance’s mate, and then you lose weight, and your fiance dumps you, and all the guys who used to be your friend only care about fucking you. So excuse me if I don’t believe the random guy I met this evening about his intentions. I knew those guys for ten years, and they still screwed me over.’

      Tig desperately wanted to make a smooth exit, frantically pushing her arm into the armhole of her coat, which seemed to have tangled in on itself. She finally pushed her arm through, and managed to hit Ollie in the nose.

      ‘Oh. my God! I’m so sorry!’

      Ollie blinked a few times, hand over his face. ‘It’s fine. You really owe me a fake date now, though. What with the assault and everything.’

      Tig was exhausted of all this. All she wanted was to get outside, grab a cab, eat a greasy burger and cry very quietly in her room at home. In Ame’s home.

      ‘Tell me why I should even be bothered considering this,’ she said blankly. ‘You have five minutes. I’m drunk and upset and if I don’t eat a burger soon I’m going to hit someone.’

      Ollie pressed his lips together. ‘Good to know what I’m getting into. Food important. Right.’ He took a deep breath, looking down at her with those fuzzy green eyes, all intense and earnest.

      ‘I promise, I swear to you, no matter what, I won’t try to have sex with you. I literally just want to help you. I’ve been where you are, it’s scary going out into the dating scene when you’ve never done it.’ He scratched his head. ‘And yeah, I want someone to keep this nutter at bay for the last few months I’m here. Plus, I’m a good time! I’m really good at dating, at planning fun stuff and I think you’d have a good time. I just … I’d like someone to spend my time here with, and leave with no regrets.’

      Tig fell into her chair with a thud, looking up at him. ‘Are you in sales, by any chance? I feel like a little devilish minion is about to present a contract at any minute, and I’ll have to sign over my soul in my own blood.’

      ‘Really? A guy saying he’d quite like to take you out and get to know you for a few months is satanic in your eyes?’ Ollie slumped down in the chair again. ‘Anyone ever tell you you’re hard work?’

      ‘All the time,’ she said, thinking of Darren. Of how he used to stop talking to her when she argued back, because I’m not going to interact with children, Lily. If you want to talk you use your inside voice. That bastard.

      ‘Look, if you don’t want someone to teach you how to date, and how to move forward, then what do you want?’

      ‘Why me for this?’ Tig asked suddenly. ‘You could pick up any pretty girl in here. No, don’t look like that – you’re cocky enough to know you’re cute. So why me?’

      Ollie grinned. ‘Because you’re completely unaffected by my charms. And because any of those girls wouldn’t know it was fake. Or they’d pretend to be okay with it, and it would all get dramatic, and I hate drama. I’d thought from what you said earlier … I thought it would be mutually beneficial, that’s all.’

      Tig looked down at the table, because at least the table wasn’t looking at her with wounded, puppy dog eyes and wanting her to make a decision.

      ‘What if I say no? Will you trawl for another heartbroken and pathetic girl whose ex is getting married?’

      ‘No, I’ll probably just unpack my Xbox,’ Ollie grinned. ‘Come on, there must be something you want?’

      You naked on my kitchen table? Tig’s mind betrayed her cruelly and she glared at him, because, obviously, this was all his fault.

      ‘When do you leave London?’

      ‘Beginning of November,’ Ollie replied seamlessly.

      She thought about it. It was only July now, and that envelope in her bag demanded she be the bigger person. Tig smiled at him suddenly, scanning his bright smile in response, how his shirt stretched across his biceps and his jeans hung on his waist. If she turned up with Ollie there was no way anyone would think she wasn’t the happiest girl on earth.

      ‘I know what I want,’ she said.

      ‘Tell me.’

      Tig pulled the envelope back out of her bag. ‘I want you to go to this with me, as my date.’

      Ollie winced. ‘Really?’

      ‘Isn’t that what fake boyfriends do? Or should I buy myself a gigolo?’ Tig snapped.

      ‘And now I’m getting the reason for the kick-boxing,’ Ollie said to himself. ‘Okay. I think it’s a bad idea. But okay. It’s two days before I leave. If you still want to go in November, I’ll take you.’

      Tig pouted. ‘Shake on it.’

      ‘You think I’m a liar?’

      ‘I think we should have a contract written up and a lawyer present, but to be honest all I’m thinking about now is cheese on toast.’ Tig whined a little at the thought of it. Bed and food, and none of this craziness.

      Ollie reached across the table to her, and held her hand in his. ‘I promise to show you the dating world, I promise never to sleep with you, and I promise to take you to your ex’s wedding even though it’s the worst idea in the history of bad ideas.’ They shook, but Ollie kept hold of her. ‘Now you.’

      ‘I promise to pretend to be your girlfriend to keep your crazy neighbour away and I promise not to hit her … well, I can’t say that, I haven’t met her yet, but I shall try to keep all drama to a minimum.’ They shook again.

      ‘Okay,’ Ollie said. ‘All official, pookie.’

      Tig groaned. ‘Should have put that in the bloody contract.’

      ‘Also, there’s an escape clause. You change your mind at any time, that’s cool.’

      ‘And if you change your mind …?’ Tig panicked.

      ‘I will still take you to the wedding. I mean, I’m going to try to persuade you it’s the worst idea ever, but if you still want to go by the time it comes around, I’ll take you.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll walk you out.’

      It made sense, she thought. This was a good idea. She reached for her phone and called a cab, sure it would probably be Sergei, who had often taken her home after a few too many in Kings Cross. Comforting, routine. Even in the city, she could rely on things staying the same. She looked at Ollie, blond hair gleaming in the lamplight, looking strong and impossibly gorgeous. They leaned against the railings, waiting for her cab.

      ‘So, what’s the deal with the neighbour? Couldn’t tell a pretty girl no? You had to create an elaborate scheme?’

      ‘You haven’t met her.’ He held up his hands. ‘She’s been waiting for me to get home every night. I’ve only been there four days! She’s nuts! She baked me a cake with her hair in!’

      Tig frowned. ‘It happens … wait, are you trying to say she purposefully moulted in your pudding? Because you sound a little paranoid.’

      Ollie raised