“Why do I have to be your pretend boyfriend?” Mista asks, resting his chin on the table. “We might as well actually date instead.”

He doesn’t mind being your fake date to your cousin’s wedding. He’s always liked you—ever since you were both kids. Mista used to be a crybaby, and you’d defend him. It’s different now. He’s the one always looking out for you.

“You don’t need to make it so complicated,” he says. He’s lazily moving his wineglass around, watching the contents swirl about.