Then he goes down on one knee in front me, holding the box like a sacred offering. “Juniper Winkley,” he says, mock seriously. “You’ve been the best fake girlfriend a man could ever want.” “Dex—” “Don’t interrupt my proposal,” he growls. I mime locking my lips shut and throwing away the key. “As I was saying, you’ve been the best fake girlfriend a man could hope for. You haven’t gone back on our deal, you haven’t backed down, and you haven’t even found a hitman to haul my carcass down to the Ozarks and be done with my shit—though I know you’ve thought about it plenty.” I bite my bottom lip,
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