Elijah would do anything for Locke, a fact long since proven by the numerous dates he had gone on while pretending to be his best friend. It was a long story, but one that Elijah wanted to end immediately. He was paid handsomely for every bachelor and bachelorette he scared off, with Locke’s parents believing their son to be so asocial that they had to arrange blind dates for him. Locke got to go out partying, and Elijah got paid to scare off the randoms.

“I just love money,” the redhead drawled, resting his cheek against his palm. The individual in front of him was pretty, he had to admit, but he couldn’t exactly acknowledge his attraction without either betraying his friend (and losing out on an easy five hundred dollars) or casually admitting that he was committing identity theft—the usual Friday night occurrence.

Embarrassment and humiliation were languages he was well-versed in. On his first date with a lady named Petunia, who was triple his age, all he needed to do was fake a demonic possession, and she had his number blocked immediately. On the seventh, he called Jamie’s dog an ‘ugly pool noodle,’ which, in his defense, it was. This was his twelfth; he had been keeping track.

A dreamy huff escaped his lips as he swirled his red wine around in his glass. “I mean, I’m not a gold digger,” he began, a smirk spreading across his face as he took in the expression of his date, noting the distaste in their eyes, “But I’d definitely ask to be on that old dude’s life insurance if I wasn’t chatting you up.” He gestured over his shoulder at a poor, old man.

“Are they fake?” he asked after a moment of awkward silence before laughing obnoxiously loud, enough to turn heads. “Your shoes, that is,” he added with a cunning smile. “Don’t be getting a big head on me, sweetheart."