Their Paid Girl

Their Paid Girl - Part 11

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          I sat sulkily, squished in the corner while Adam ordered for all of us. I fervently hoped that he had brought money, because I sure as heck wasn’t paying for any of this.

          When the waiter departed, sending me a wink before flipping his notebook closed, Adam returned his attention to me.

          “All right,” he announced, electric blue eyes sparking to life, “Here’s how it’s going to work. Joel has already met my parents several times, so he’s going to help act them out. Brock, you’ve known me for the past three years, so you’re going to be me.”

          There was silence for a moment while Joel and I sulked in our respective corners, and Brock struggled to process the last several sentences.

          “So... I’m going to pretend to be you?” he asked slowly, frowning in great concentration at Adam.

          Adam gave an encouraging smile. “Very good.”

          I think I was the only one that heard the subtle sarcasm.

          “But... why?” Brock asked in bewilderment.

          Adam looked at him patiently. “Because,” he explained nicely, “Roberts needs practice for this date, and I need to see that we’re ready. We’re only pretending for now, so that later we’ll be prepared to really meet my parents.”

          I opened my mouth to protest again that I didn’t need the practice, but Brock had something far more worrying on his mind.

          “You’re dating Robert?” he asked incredulously. “Dude! I had no idea that you were—”

          “Brock, man, I’m not gay!” Adam cut in, looking really disgruntled.

          I snickered.

          “I’m talking about Roberts,” he put emphasis on the ‘s’ in my name. “As in, Shawna Roberts, the one who’s smeared on the wall there beside you.”

          My smirk slid off as Brock turned to look at me, blinking in surprise like he’d just noticed I was there. I leaned away from him warily.

          His face suddenly split into a wide smile. “Oh, hello there,” he said warmly.

          I blinked in response, shocked by his friendliness. “Hi,” I replied faintly. I saw Adam smirking in my peripheral vision and I turned to him with my customary scowl. “You know, things like this wouldn’t happen if you called me by my first name like everyone else.”

          As usual, Adam ignored me and directed his focus on rousing a response from a gloomy Joel. “You’re going to be my mother,” Adam informed him casually.

          Joel’s brown eyes widened. “What? Why do I have to be your mother? Why can’t you be your mother?”

          “Because,” Adam said, quickly losing tolerance and looking more like the Adam I knew, “She usually doesn’t say much. And also because I’m manlier than you and can’t make my voice go as high.”