A Murderer's Guide to Fake Dating

0.8 think of this date like an interview

My knees begin jiggling the moment work ends. From my right, Jack casually glances at the exit. To random bystanders, we are merely coworkers who don't interact outside of work. To us, we're preparing to go on our first fake date. 

I subtly point to the bathroom and Jack understands, swiveling back to his screen. I walk to the women's restroom, look in the mirror, and give myself a pep talk. 

"Isla, you got this," I say confidently. I begin pulling out makeup products and lining them on the counter like a professional makeover shop. I mull over the products, before going with subtle eyeliner and cherry-red lipstick. "Think of this date... like an interview." 

A perfume bottle hidden in the back catches my eye. I hesitate, gaze lingering on the label: Seduction in Red Heels. I'm wearing black heels, but I spray on the perfume anyway. I survey myself critically in the mirror. I'm in a white button-down shirt, tucked into a black pencil skirt. After debating for a few minutes, I finally tug off my tights and ball them into my purse. 

I exhale, send one last look in the mirror, and then walk out of the bathroom. Jack is leaning against a wall, arms crossed. He hears my heels and frowns. "Took you long enough," Jack says, irritated. "I was beginning to think you fell into the toilet." 

"I would never," I say. 

"I don't quite believe that," replies Jack, glancing up. 

I watch his eyes trail across my outfit. His lashes lower, casting seductive shadows across his cheekbones. Jack's gaze burns like starting a wildfire and my stomach flips as he finishes his scan of me, finally meeting my eyes. 

"What are you looking at?" I bark. 

Jack is not saying anything and that terrifies the hell out of me. "Jack," I say, snapping my finger in his face. "You doing okay?" 

He jolts out of his stupor. "Yes," he replies. 

"Okay," I say doubtfully. "You seem out of it." 

"I'm not," Jack tells me. "I'm fine." 

He walks towards the exit and I scramble after him. "You're walking so fast." I'm breathless and it makes me realize with horror that I'm very out of shape. Even just speed walking with Jack makes me physically exhausted. "You know, on real first dates, you should be considerate and follow your date's walking pace." 

Jack frowns at me. "You're just slow." 

"I am not slow," I argue. "I am a regular speed walker. Ask anyone at work." 

He scoffs. "They'll lie, of course." 

We walk out of the building and an autumn breeze whips past us. Silence drenches the air between us and I gaze out at the horizon, trying to calm my jittery self. The evening sun drizzles skyscrapers and buildings with its ethereal glow. A newspaper blows past us and traffic fills the streets. 

"Are you nervous?" I venture a wild guess and instantly regret it. 

"No," Jack bites back, looking like I just viciously stabbed his pet goldfish with a fruit knife. "Why would I be nervous?" 

I stand my ground. "I don't know," I say with a shrug. "You've been single for a very long time. Anyways. Just think of this date like an interview." 

Jack shoots me an odd look. "Is that how you're seeing this date? An interview?" 

"No, of course not." My voice betrays the lie and Jack's expression morphs into something completely unreadable. "Okay, when you put it that way, it sounds bad." 

"Yes," Jack agrees. "You know, you're a very odd person." 

"Tell that to your parents," I quip. "First date. Isla caught my attention with her interesting behavior."