By the time the fireworks started, my work rival had already ruined my shirt, my holiday, and the clean little hatred I’d spent six months building for her. She dragged me to her family’s Fourth of July barbecue as a “favor.” Then she smiled at thirty strangers and called me her boyfriend.
Clare Bennett introduced me as her boyfriend while I was holding a paper plate of ribs and trying not to choke on a jalapeño.
Her grandmother looked me up and down like I was a used truck with suspicious mileage.
“This is him?” the old woman asked.
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