Page 40 of The Faking Game
“I’m not good with surprises,” I say. “Tell me.”
West chuckles, hand tightening around the wheel. “You’re so demanding, Nora. You have to learn to be patient.”
He’s not making this easy.
God, he’s so arrogant. And he doesn’t seem to mind when I push back. He just speaks his mind and expects the world to adjust to it, to shape to his wants and his needs. I hate him a little for that, and I envy him for it, too.
“I don’t like being kept in the dark. Tell me where we’re going.”
His scarred eyebrow lifts. “Or what?”
“Or I’ll get out of this car.”
His lips curve. “Well done,” he says. “Much better. We’re going to the movies.”
The praise rolls through me like a warm wave.Well done.
And then I realize what he’s said. The movies? I was expecting him to do something extravagant. A dinner, seated opposite him, forced to make polite conversation with him for hours. But the movies? I can handle that.
“Oh,” I say. “That’s really nice. Nearby?”
“Yeah, it’s a fifteen minute drive.” He looks at me again, and then back at the road. “Tell me about yourself. What’s it like to be a model?”
I answer his questions on the way to the cinema. They mirror ones I’ve gotten many times before, and I wonder if he knows that, too.
If this is also a facet of the part he’s playing.
I smile at him and do my best to answer truthfully, adding a little joke here and there. Like I usually do on dates. The talking is not the hard part. It’s everything else. The expectations beneath the sentences, the hope and want for something more. That we’re two single people constantly evaluating the other, and that I can never decide whether I even like them before they’ve already made up their mind.
West’s expression doesn’t change. He nods as I speak, asks follow-up questions. But I don’t see that smile on his face. I don’t get anotherwell done.
At the movies, West and I sit in silence beside one another. The lights dim, and darkness settles like a thick blanket over us. He’s taking up the entire armrest between us, and I wonder if that’s on purpose. If it’s another test for me to push back, like he told me in the car.
Maybe. But it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s the kind of man who takes up the space available because he’s used to doing it.
Because he always has and has always been rewarded for it.
The movie is okay. It’s some kind of buddy-cop movie. I can’t fathom why he chose it. He asked me before we went in if it was okay if we saw it, because he’d loved the first movie.
His face was blank when he said it, no facial cues other than his words.It’s one of my favorites.
So I nodded and said yes.I’d love to.
But my mind drifts off during the movie, and I’m making lists of all the fabric I still need to buy. I found a great new sewing machine the other day, so at least that’s sorted. But I need to find a really good stretch jersey…
By the time the end credits roll, I realize I missed the ending completely.
We walk out of the theater, me still clutching the giant bag of candy he bought me. I prefer chocolate, not gummy bears. But he said they were his favorite and asked me if I wanted to share, and I nodded and said yes.
Outside, the spring air is crisp. Perfect running weather.
He stops beneath the marquee. “So,” he says. “This is the part you like the least.”
“The end of a date?”
“Mhm. Pretty obvious from your list.”
“Yeah,” I admit. He looks nothing like the guys I usually meet for dates. A little nerdy, nice, some shy and some too talkative.
