A/N: This chapter is almost entirely dialogue, with very little description. Does it read better or worse, or the same?

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She bellied up to the bar a few minutes later, feeling vaguely depressed, as well as angry at herself for being depressed in the first place, which just made her more depressed because she was angry at herself . . .

"Hey, sweetcheeks," Oli said, slipping back into his comical bartender persona as he approached her. "What's wrong? Bobby leave you hanging?"

She shook her head. "No, he's here somewhere. I think I'm just coming off the sugar rush from dessert or something. Feel kind of crappy."

"Ever had a chocolate martini?"

She blinked. "A what?"

"Chocolate martini," he repeated, producing a martini glass from under the bar. "They seem to cheer most women up. Although," he added, giving her a wink, "you're a cut above most women."

Ah, this was what she had been hoping for. Some cheerful conversation where she didn't have to lie. "Well, thanks. I'll try the martini. What's in it?"

"My version has vodka, Godiva liqueur, and creme de cacao."

"Damn," she said, slipping onto the lone stool that sat in front of the bar. "When you say chocolate, you mean chocolate!"

"You bet." It took him only a few seconds to mix the drink and then slide it in front of her. "All yours."

She took a tentative sip, then a larger one. "Mmm. Do I need to tip the bartender when he makes me an amazing drink?" she said with a teasing smile.

"You can tip the bartender by giving him information," Oli replied, leaning his elbow on the bar as if settling in for a conversation.

Alex took another sip and tried not to mutter something obscene at the thought of more questions. "What kind of information, exactly? Do I need to point out that you know far more about me than I do about you? Or about anyone else here, for that matter."

He paused and seemed to consider that. "Well, what do you want to know about me?"

"Got a job?" she asked after another sip of her drink.

"Yup."

She threw a handy maraschino cherry at him. "You know what I mean."

He turned his palms up in surrender. "I'm gonna charge you for that cherry," he joked. "And I'm a teacher."

"What kind of teacher?"

"A poor one," he said with a grin. "I teach sociology and psychology to classrooms full of bored teenagers. What can I say, public schools like multitaskers."

"Aha!" Alex toasted him with her drink. "That explains why you see things."

"See things?" He moved away from her for a second, opening a beer for himself, then looked back up. "You mean things like the fact that something's really eating you right now?"

She sighed. "Yes, but if you could forget that particular item, I'd appreciate it."

He shook his head. "Sorry, no can do. Hasn't anyone ever told you that bartenders are the best psychologists? Go on and tell me, maybe I can help you talk it out."

"That's not a good idea. It's . . . personal."

"I'm all ears and no lips," he said sincerely.

"That's a new way to put it." She sighed. "I'm just . . . having a crisis in my self-confidence or something."

"What's 'or something'? Does this have to do with Bobby, the magical fiance-who-isn't-or-maybe-is-but-you're-not-sure?"

She almost choked on a sip of her martini. "What?"

"Well, you two seem to be a little confused when it comes to figuring out your relationship. I'm assuming that you agreed to pretend you're dating, and then someone went a little too far?"

She didn't have the energy or inclination to argue with Oli after getting a lecture from Annie only minutes ago. "Yeah," she said sullenly, staring into her almost-empty glass.

"So what's the problem? Enjoying it too much?"

"Stop noticing things."

He pried her empty glass from her hands and put it in the sink behind the bar. "You want water now, or another drink?"

"That martini had quite a kick, time to tone it down. I'll have whatever beer you're having," she said distractedly as she looked over her shoulder.

He checked his bottle. "Miller Lite? Sure." He opened one and sat it in front of her. Noticing that she still seemed to be searching the crowd, he tapped her hand to get her attention. "I think I saw him dancing with Annie a few seconds ago."

"Oh."

"Come on, what happened to the cheerful Alex I saw at dinner?"

"She got sent on a guilt trip. Leave a message after the beep," Alex replied, turning back to him.

"Guilt trip, huh? Who paid for the airfare?"

She cracked a smile and took a sip of her beer. "Annie."

"Uh-oh. Is this a jealousy thing? I don't do so well with those," Oli said nervously, eyes on her face.

Jealousy, hah! If only it were, things would be so much easier. "No, not jealousy," she sighed. "The opposite."

"She tried to sell you her husband?" he guessed.

Alex reached behind her to re-tie the bottom tie of her shirt, which was feeling dangerously loose, then looked back up at him. "Not quite. She's like you, she figured out that we're not what we've been saying."

He resisted the urge to take a peek at her semi-bare back when it was visible, then rewarded his restraint with another sip of his beer. "So? I don't seem to be making you feel guilty, what'd she say that was different?"

She looked over her shoulder again, this time catching sight of Bobby and Annie dancing in the crowd, and sighed. He looked like he was enjoying himself, which made her feel slightly less guilty. On the other hand, he was dancing with another woman while enjoying himself, which was less than ideal.

"Alex?" Oli prompted.

"Oh, sorry. Uh . . . she sat me down and gave me a lecture about how I may think we're only pretending but really Bobby's in love with me and won't admit it because I'm his favorite food. Or something."

"I was with you up to the 'favorite food' part. Give me that again?"

She gave him a tiny smile. "Mixing my metaphors, sorry. What she was trying to tell me - I think - is that I ought to know that he's desperately in love with me even though he's never given me the tiniest sign, because she can read him better than I can and she can tell."

He blinked. "That's a mouthful."

"No kidding. A headful, too."

"It's probably true, though," he said, leaning past her to grab an empty glass a passer-by had set on the bar. "Annie's pretty insightful."

She was not going to let herself get sucked into this! A minor unrequited crush on her partner was more than enough for her to handle, let alone a full-blown infatuation. "Well you've been watching us all night. What do you think?"

Oli glanced at the dance floor, then looked back at her. "Look, I don't know him nearly as well as Annie does, but for what it's worth, to me it looks like he's definitely interested in you. Love? That I can't tell you."

Alex groaned and took another swig of her beer. "That's what I was afraid of."

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As Alex sipped her chocolate martini, Annie pulled Bobby onto the dance floor with a swift yank on his arm. He stumbled after her, surprised. "I thought you hated dancing," he said, looking down at her.

"I do. But I make exceptions when I'm pumping my co-dancer for information."

"No," he said firmly, moving to pull away from her. "All I've been doing all night is answering questions about me and Alex, I'm tired of it."

She kept her grip on his hand and gave him a knowing look. "Maybe that has something to do with the fact that fake girlfriends make people curious."

"I . . . what?"

Annie snorted. "What did Alex tell you we did in the bathroom?"

"She didn't tell me anything, yet." He drew back from her slightly to look her in the eye. "What did you do in there that's so secret? She told you . . . the truth?"

"Uh, not quite. Actually, I told her the truth and she eventually owned up to it. She seemed really upset to be found out."

"What kind of 'upset'?" he said worriedly.

"The kind where she begged me not to tell anyone because it might make you look bad," Annie said with a grin. "Pretty, a hardass, and loyal. She may be a fake, but you picked a winner anyway."

"So, uh . . . what else did she tell you?"

"Bobby, are you asking me to reveal the secrets of girl talk?"

"Well, yes. Unless," he added hastily, "it involves your sex live or anything illegal."

"Want to hear about our period cramps?"

"Not those, either. Come on, Annie. You brought it up, now show your hand."

"Oh, fine. Spoilsport," she said, poking him in the side. "Let's see . . . she informed me that you and I dated; I informed her that you and she weren't dating. She -"

"Wait, she told you that?"

"Calm down, she figured it out for herself. Informed me that 'I'm a detective'," she said, mimicking Alex's voice, "and that figuring things out is what she does. She's not upset about it, don't worry."

"Oh. What, uh . . . what else?"

"Why didn't you just come out and ask her?"

"I thought she was going to tell me, but the dance ended before she got around to it. So now you get to fill me in."

She sighed. "Fine. Ok, well after I said I had been worried she'd get upset, she informed me that it was hard to be jealous when she could tell I was only interested in Mike. Then . . . hmm, we made a bargain involving wine and not hitting on each other's dates."

He blinked. "Where does the wine come in?"

"Gets poured over the head of the person who breaks the bargain," she said with a smirk. "You know, she really cares about you," she added casually, watching his face.

"She's used to trying to protect me; I think it's become reflexive."

"And you're used to underrating yourself. Why isn't it possible that it's not just reflex?"

"Uh." He turned his head, scanning the area for Alex; he thought he caught a glimpse of her back at the bar, but before he could be sure, it was gone again. "I'm not saying it's not possible. I'm just saying it's not what happens to be true in this case."

Without warning, Annie pulled her hand out of his and smacked him in the side of the head.

He jumped back and put a hand to the injured area. "Ow! What was that for?"

"For being an idiot!"

"About what?"

"Oh, wonderful, you're even being an idiot about being an idiot. Come here," she ordered, pulling him off the flashing dance floor and out of the path of traffic. "Tell me this: if this is just business as usual for both of you, why have you not let go of her for more than, oh, half an hour at a time? And why has she allowed it? Granted, I don't know her well, but I get the impression she doesn't do clingy."

"Because . . . because it's a nice change. I don't get much physical contact with people who aren't violent criminals."

"She says you have plenty of dates. With bimbos, might I add."

"Yeah, well, Alex doesn't come home with me at night."

Oh, the replies she could make to that! Annie took a moment to consider which of his statements she should address first. After a second, she decided to go chronologically and said, "You didn't answer my question about why she's allowing you to cling to her."

He shrugged. "She agreed to play the role. She's playing it to the hilt."

"Do I need to hit you again?"

He backed up a step. "Uh, I'd prefer you didn't."

"Well then stop playing dumb. I know you're way smarter than this."

"What am I playing dumb about, Annie? Seems to be I'm being realistic. Scientific, if that sounds better. Believe no theory until you have duplicable evidence."

"Look at her," she said, jerking him forward another step and pointing to where Alex sat at the bar, "and tell me you only asked her here as a convenience."

"I . . ." He sighed heavily. "Why are you pushing me about this?"

"Because I like her and I think I'd have fun getting drunk at your wedding. Now answer my question."

"What's the answer I'm supposed to give to make you leave me alone?"

"You can be such an asshole sometimes, you know that? If you really want to get rid of me, that's fine, I'll go hunt down Mike. But I'll leave you with one thought."

"What's that?" he said tiredly.

"When you kissed her temple at dinner she almost melted in her chair. See you later." And with that, Annie had disappeared into the throng of people and Bobby was left standing at the edge of the dance floor, trying to figure out what, exactly, melting implied.