For the Love of Donuts

2. A Liar-Lifestyle

Skye

Me: I’m dead.

Tatum: I didn’t know dead people could text.

He sends a zombie emoji and a laughing one, as if he’s the funniest guy on the planet. And while he is pretty funny, this isn’t the time for jokes.

Tatum: Did you listen to that song I sent you?

Did I listen to yet another song by Essential Kingdom, aka, his all-time favorite rock band?

No. No, I did not.

Because I don’t like rock music.

Which he knows. He’s just being a menace though.

Me: I HAVE A CRISIS, TATUM KENYON JACOBS. BE MY BEST FRIEND AND CARE OR I’M CANCELLING THOSE EK CONCERT TICKETS I GOT YOU FOR YOUR BDAY.

Tatum: I can’t believe you just full-named me. And you’re a monster! Who does takebacks for gifts like that?

Me: Tatummmm. This is serious!

Tatum: All right, all right. Calm down. You want me to swing by, or what?

Me: I’m actually outside, sitting in my car. You’re home, right?

He should be home.

That’s his car in the driveway.

The little messaging dots appear again and then disappear before showing up once more.

Tatum: You’re so weird. Get in here, girl.

Me: You should be used to it by now.

Tatum: Impossible.

I don’t bother replying as I get out of the car, and then I stroll up to his front porch. Unlike me and Anna, aka: my roommate and friend, Tatum doesn’t live in an apartment building. He’s been renting this house from his older cousin, Vernon. The two bed, one bath is small, but Tate never complains since his rent is so low.

I knock on the front door— twice , just in case he didn’t hear me the first time—and then wait for him to let me in. I would use his doorbell, but it’s been broken for at least three weeks now, and he hasn’t gotten anyone to fix it yet. Because while Tatum might be an ace when it comes to photography, the guy is horrible when it comes to making repairs.

The door opens, and there’s Tatum, wearing a VERY bright yellow sweatshirt, a definite contrast to his dark skin.

“Whoa!” I exclaim, blinking at his choice of clothing. “That’s really yellow!”

I think my eyes might be watering.

“I’ve been putting off doing laundry until today,” he drawls, closing the door after I step inside. “This is the only clean top I could find, but you know what?”

“What?” I ask, still cringing at the color.

“It’s kind of growing on me.” He tugs at the front of his sweatshirt. “So, quit your hating. I look good .”

I roll my eyes at him. Thank God he hasn’t managed to break his AC, otherwise he’d be dying from heat in that taxicab-colored monstrosity.

“And,” he continues, shoving an arm in front of me, “feel how soft it is.”

Sure. Why not?

My whole life might be over, but I’ll humor him and feel the stupid sweatshirt.

I touch his sleeve, and my eyes widen a second later. Soooooo soft. It reminds me of that baby yarn Anna uses sometimes for her crochet projects. Ugh, I adore that yarn. For my Christmas present last year, she crocheted a pastel pink throw blanket for me using the baby yarn that I picked out.

I know what you’re thinking: that’s a lot of yarn.

You would be correct.

However, Anna works part-time at Crafty First—where she gets a discount on yarn—AND she also sells her crochet creations—so, making me a blanket wasn’t out of her comfort zone.

“You realize you’re literally petting my arm, right?”

I am?

I throw my hand up, bringing my absent-minded stroking to a halt. “It’s soft. Big deal.”

“ Jealous ,” he singsongs, strolling over to the kitchen, which is literally a few steps away. “All right, what’s up, Pink Stuff? You don’t look dead to me.”

“Pink Stuff” is the nickname I obtained from Tatum after I decided to regularly get the bottom half of my hair dyed with different shades of pink. At first, it was straight-up annoying. But after almost two years of hearing it, I’ve decided that it’s not so bad.

“I am dead,” I insist, tossing myself onto his couch. “Tatum, I did something stupid.”

“How stupid?” he asks, bustling around in the kitchen. “You didn’t message back that dweeb, did you?”

He means Dwayne. However, Dwayne is a dweeb, so I never bother correcting him.

“No, I didn’t message him back,” I say, examining my pink nails. “He made it pretty clear that he’s just looking for someone to drool over his weird gym selfies, and I’m not about that.”

Hard. Pass.

Tatum proceeds to curse. “I will never be able to unsee those little red shorts.”

“Tatum!” I whine with a gag. “Don’t remind me of that!”

I actually shudder at the mental image.

“Okay, okay…” His footsteps come closer to me. “So, the ‘something stupid’ isn’t because of Mr. Muscle Man. Is it because you embarrassed yourself?” He chuckles before sitting next to my feet. “Like you did last year, when you were laughing so hard that cookies and milk came shooting out your nose at my Aunt Jackie’s Christmas party?”

I frown at the memory as Tatum digs his fork into his bowl of watermelon. “Dude, none of the guys there would even look at me after that.”

“Well, one guy did.”

“You don’t count,” I huff while he continues to eat. “And it was your fault that I was laughing so much anyway, remember?”

“I’m not going to apologize for being hilarious.” He stabs another piece of watermelon. “But did you embarrass yourself again or not?”

Okay, so maybe I’m stalling a little bit.

Can you blame me?

It’s kind of awkward to admit that I lied about the two of us getting MARRIED.

Well, here goes nothing.

“You know how I told you that I was going to talk with Zoya about Cynthia’s position?”

“Yes?” he asks with creased eyebrows. His brown eyes then become wide. “Girl, please tell me you didn’t spill coffee all over her or anything like that.”

Oh, if only.

“Nope,” I say before clearing my throat some. “I, uh—it’s worse than that, actually. Because I might’ve told her that I was engaged.”

He proceeds to snort, giving me a look of disbelief. “To what ? The poster of Aragorn that’s taped to your living room wall?”

Tatum loves to judge me for the poster and its location, but I’m unashamed of my LOTR crush. I mean, how could I not have a poster of the guy after that scene where he shoved those doors open at Helm’s Deep? Can you think of a hotter cinematic moment?

I’ll wait.

“Give me a little credit, Tate. I think I could do better than a poster for my fiancé.”

Yeah, you could say that your best friend is your fiancé instead . Wayyyyy better .

Mental. Facepalm.

“You could do better, and you will. I just don’t get why you told Zoya that you’re engaged when you’re clearly not.”

So, I give him the whole backstory.

All the details he didn’t ask for.

I even tell him that Zoya was wearing a cute black-and-white polka-dotted blouse.

I tell him EVERYTHING.

Well, except for the part where I said my fiancé’s name is Tatum .

I still don’t want to confess that part.

“Ah, Carson,” he drawls, running a hand over his short afro, “you’ve had some crazy ideas…”

Thankfully, he doesn’t list them all.

“…but faking an engagement to get a promotion? That’s just—”

“I know, it was a really stupid idea. But I have to go through with it, Tatum! And the whole thing is kind of funny, don’t you think? A little bit?”

A more accurate word would be: degrading.

It’s degrading .

“Skye,” he says, raising a dark eyebrow at me, “you don’t even have a ring.”

“Yeah, Zoya pointed that out.” I proceed to cringe as I look at my bare left ring finger. “But then she was too busy being excited to follow up with more questions.”

Lucky me.

“I guess I’ll have to get one,” I muse, wondering how expensive a cheap engagement ring would be. “Or come up with a lie about why I don’t have one.”

Although, I really don’t want to keep adding to my already MASSIVE lie.

I usually try to be an honest person…

Speaking of being honest , now would probably be a good time to tell Tatum the truth about how I used his name for my “fiancé.”

It’s his name. He’s my best friend. He deserves to know.

“Well, I do—”

“Tatum,” I cut in, running a finger across the backend of his couch, “there’s one more little thing I haven’t told you yet.”

I can’t tell if he looks hesitant or not. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“I kind of, might’ve, sort of, definitely said that my fiancé’s name is Tatum.”