No more dates came between the camping trip and Chris' birthday supper. That meant I had no luck in convincing someone to play the role of Arty. I had no one to convince.

      When I heard the sound of a motorcycle engine on the morning following my date with Bobbie, it took all of 12 seconds for Josie and I's tent door to be unzipped. A wild looking Sabelia had fixed me with wide eyes. "You told him you were a lesbian?!"

      From that moment on, my friends were even more confused. They weren't sure how to approach my future blind dates as they didn't know what I wanted. I had no clue what gender to expect on my next date, and I genuinely couldn't decide what I was hoping for.

      Since I had no other dates and a mathematician named Arty didn't fall from the sky, I had to take matters into my own hands. And taking things in my own hands meant calling Quinn.

      "Hello, darling," she greeted, always her cheerful self. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

      I was going to regret it. I was truly and utterly going to regret it. I had no doubt that this was going to come back to bite me in the ass, but nonetheless I had to do something. "I need a favor."

      There was a clatter of noise on the other end of the line, as Quinn prepared to fix me her undivided attention. I imagined she had tossed every file off her desk.

      "I'm listening."

       "I'm in need of a fake boyfriend who will answer to the name Arty." I told her all about the man I had invented and the mess I had gotten myself in with my mother.

       Quinn was attentive, listening to every little detail. I didn't need to see her to know that she was excited. "I know the perfect man for the job."

      "Really?" I didn't know many people who'd be willing to fake date someone. It was a lot of trouble for something that wasn't their problem. Would I have to pay them? If they were dealing with my mother, they definitely deserved the cash.

      "I've been meaning to set you up—"

      "You already set me up with someone."

      "Who said anything about getting only one chance? And Mark wants in on this one. So, we're going splitsies."

      "Splitsies?" I repeated ridiculously. "There's no money to be won. What are you splitting on?"

      "Bragging rights."

      I huffed. "He's going to know it's a fake relationship, right?"

      "Of course," she promised. "Mark thinks it'll be best to let you guys be friends first."

     I resisted the urge to groan at the idea of facing another set-up and reminded myself that she was doing me a favor. I ought to have been grateful.

      "Thank you," I said honestly. She was saving my ass. "Is he really going to be okay with going to a family supper?"

      "Oh yeah. Oli's a great guy. I'll give him a call this afternoon."

      "Sorry, this is so last minute," I grimaced. She only had two days to make this work.

      "S'alright," she said. "T'is preparing me for motherhood."

       With a promise to have him text me if things worked out, Quinn set off to work. When she said work, I genuinely couldn't decipher if she meant a case or my love life. Probably the latter. Quinn would have no trouble in sweet talking herself into a later deadline.

      Sure enough, I received a text from an unknown number, only a few hours later.

Unknown number: Hello, this is Oliver Mattie. Is this where I apply for the role of Arty the fake boyfriend?

       Despite my uneasiness with the situation, I laughed at the message. In my cow print pyjamas, I fell atop my couch, thumbs drumming rapidly on my phone screen.

Me: Hello, Oliver Mattie. This is Yasmine Sarraf, and I am pleased to inform you that the role is yours to take. Strangely enough, you were the only applicant.

Oliver: Fantastic! I look forward to working with you.

      Only the slightest frown painted my face. Fake working, right?

As do I.

In all seriousness, you really don't mind?

In all seriousness, I have nothing better to do.

Wow...

 I didn't mean for that to sound so pathetic. Great first impression.

Can't be more pathetic than my need for a fake boyfriend.

Fair enough.

Hey!

Kidding! ;) I know all about wanting to please an overbearing parent.

Do tell, Arty, lover of mathematics.

Math? Really? I'm an art major... Any chance she'll be convinced by a confident 2+2=4?

There's not much to tell. I don't remember much of my night out of Swanford. I was

on a date with my mom's friend's daughter and next thing I know I wake up in a van

with a poodle in my lap and a fresh tattoo on my ribs.

       I laughed out loud, stretching out on the couch.

Don't worry about the math. She'll be too focused on other things; like judging the amount of

gel in your hair or the strength in your right hand.

Did you know too much hair gel can mean compensation from some grand secret? And too

strong of a grip means a likely chance of heavy wanking. And thus, the potential for weaker

sperm... At least according to Zaina Sarraf. There's no scientific proof.

What kind of tattoo?

These curls are all natural, no gel. And I'm left-handed, what does that mean in Zaina's

book?

It's Chinese characters.

Statistics show that left-handed people have an increased likeliness for allergies. Increased

likeliness of transmitting un-optimal genes.

What do the characters mean?

Chicken nugget.

You have the words chicken and nugget tattooed on your ribs?!

I do love me some chicken nuggets.

Is there a greater pleasure in life than chicken nuggets?

None that I have yet to discover.

I think I'm going to enjoy working with you, Yasmine Sarraf.

I think so too, Oliver Mattie.

       Just work, right? Purely business. Hopefully friendship. Nothing more. Please do not ruin what is looking like the beginning of an amazing friendship.

Shall we talk money? I had to make the business part clear somehow.

Money?

I'll pay you of course.

Absolutely not.

But you're getting nothing out of this.

I'm getting a free upper.

But...

      Uh oh. I waited in anticipation. What was the deal breaking favor he'd ask?

There is something you could do for me...

???

      Do not disappoint me, Oliver Mattie. If the word hand or blow appeared before the word job in his next message, I was breaking up with Arty. My mother would simply have to deal with the displeasure. And I would endure her superior gaze.

       The three little dots never seemed to disappear. Was he writing an entire sex scene?

Arty is a man who gets straight to the point.

I shall work on that.

All I ask is that if a certain blonde named Macey approaches you, you pretend the relationship is real.

       I heaved a breath of relief. That's it? I could do that

Deal.

Current love interest? Are you making someone jealous or is Macey your mother?

Definitely not my mother.

Ex. Very toxic ex-girlfriend.

I see. I can handle toxic. But how toxic. Am I in danger?

Nah. She's all bark and no bite.

Nothing I can't handle. I'm used to barking, biting too. My clients aren't always pleasant.

I'm really hoping your clients are animals...

#1 thing you must know about your fake girlfriend: I am a vet.

Dope. Anything else I need to know about Arty?

All things Arty:

-Lover of mathematics.

-Mechanical engineer apprentice.

-Looking for a cat.

-Recently bought a car.

-Favourite color is orange.

Slightly strange list but I can work with it.

Great! Thanks again.

Does meeting at my house at 4:30 on Tuesday work? It'll give us a half hour to go over

everything.

Works for me. Supper is at 5 then?

Supper is at 6, so that means my mother will be there at 5.

I see. You should have told her supper was at 7.

Tried that years ago. She found out Dina and her had different hours and wasn't impressed. And Zaina's not always pleasant even on days she is impressed.

Well, I look forward to meeting her.

You poor naïve man...

        He was going to regret saying that. He would regret accepting the role of Arty. He did in fact, sound like a great guy, someone my mother would like. But he did not understand the nightmare that Zaina could be.