“One, you will be my fake date as many times as I need within the time constraints. You will be prim and proper, and you will look at me adoringly. You will not blow our cover and won’t tell anyone about that time a balloon got stuck in my braces in eighth grade and everybody thought it was a condom.” She gave me a frustrated look. “Rhyland, it was a condom.” “It was a beige-colored balloon, Dylan.” It was a condom.
