Lonely Hearts by Heidi Cullinan Page B

together—good odds, as she’d pick the guy out—she’d begin campaigning for the pretend relationship to be real. He could already hear the pitch. It’s not as if you have any interest in actually dating someone. And if the two of you come to an agreement, there’s no need for you to be exclusive.
    The metaphorical migraine she’d stirred up became a literal one. What the hell happened to being ready to decline if I said no? Obviously nothing more than a line. He’d been politicked once again. He’d all but lain down on the track and helped her tie his body to the rails.
    One lifeline. You have one available lifeline. And Aaron’s blessing to use it.
    â€œOf course I’ll come to your party. But I can’t let you send me any profiles of prospective faux boyfriends.” Baz smiled. “My actual boyfriend would get jealous.”
    The lie wasn’t the problem—Baz had delivered avalanche-level snow jobs to Gloria Barnett Acker since 1996. He knew how to adjust the corners of his mouth, dip his head, hunch his shoulders sheepishly to suggest golly, who’d of thunk it , but Sebastian Acker was in love. As she bluffed right back, pretending it didn’t annoy her to have her careful orchestra disassembled even in this small way, Baz expertly dished out breadcrumbs of fake intel as she demanded all the details .
    What twisted his gut into knots was the knowledge that to pull off the act, he had to produce this boyfriend, the actual human he’d be roping into the farce. Instinct told him he could summon a goddamned mountain of politicking, and Elijah Prince would simply stand there with his arms folded, calling bullshit. Looking angry and suspicious and hurt, the way he had on the steps of the White House hours before.
    When Baz’s mother rose to refill her drink so they could have a proper toast, Baz popped the lid off his bottle of oxycodone, chased two with a healthy swallow of scotch and hoped to hell he hadn’t bitten off more than he could chew.
    Howl’s Moving Castle was Elijah’s favorite movie, but it always made him sad.
    He’d glue his eyeballs shut before he watched any of Kelly Davidson’s Disney pap, but Diana Wynne Jones’s story was genius and Hayao Miyazaki could right all the wrongs of the world. That the movie happened to have romantic shading was a side effect. That this side effect always got under his skin was an annoyance to be endured. Sometimes enduring was harder than other times, though, and once Mina fell asleep, he got off the couch she’d converted to a bed for him, slipped into her flip-flops and padded down the garage apartment stairs to have a cigarette.
    Naturally, as he lit up at the foot of the stairs, a car pulled into the drive, and Baz stepped out of it.
    The headlights cut across him as the sleek black car retreated, so there wasn’t any point in trying to hide. Ashing into the bushes, Elijah rested a hip on the wall and stared at Baz, waiting to see what happened next.
    Hands in his pockets, Baz leaned on a decorative lamppost beside some lattice fencing. “Hey. How’s it going?”
    Elijah took a slow, careful drag before blowing the smoke out of the corner of his mouth. “Sorry—were you talking to me?”
    â€œYeah.” Baz shoved his hands deeper and nodded at the main house. “Um—hey. I know we haven’t…said much to each other lately. And this is the wrong way to go about it, but…I have to ask you something. A favor.”
    Normally the broody-male routine would at least give Elijah a cheap thrill, but the one-eighty from complete cold shoulder to aw-shucks, I’m such an awkward hot mess, please forgive me because I need something pissed Elijah off. “No worries. People fuck me, act like I’m a syphilitic leper, then ask for a favor all the time. Just keep me abreast of where we are. Maybe we can come up with a