Page 14 of Personal Foul
“You’re right, it’s not. But unless you wanna invite me over to your place for something, this is what’s available.”
She wrinkles her nose in an adorable expression of disgust. “Mmm, I think I’ll pass.”
At my laugh, she gives me the first genuine smile I think I’ve ever gotten from her. Sure, I’ve seen her smile before. But it’s never been directed at me.
I have to admit, getting her to smile might be more gratifying than watching her temper explode. It feels like I’m making progress.
I put my elbow on the table and rest my chin on my fist. “You’re really pretty when you smile.”
Her smile fades immediately. “Next you’re going to tell me I should do it more often,” she says sarcastically.
Or maybe I’m just deluding myself into thinking I’m making progress. Laughing again, I shake my head. “I wouldn’t dream of it. It was just an observation, Charity. Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Of the two of us, I hardly think I’m the one who would let a compliment go to their head.”
Jerking my head back, I do my best to pretend to be affronted, but really I’m fighting back a smile. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
She reaches over and pats my arm. “Oh, come on. I know athletes have a reputation for being dumb, but do I really have to explain it to you?” She props her head on her hand, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “You’re the arrogant pretty boy. Not me.”
Fighting back my own smile, I hold up a finger. “One—you’re not a boy. And two—you think I’m pretty?” I like this. I like trading these kinds of minor barbs with her, this kind of banter. She’s more relaxed and less angry than when she’s at my house. Not so distant as when we’re in a group. This kind of teasing is fun. Dare I say, flirtatious.
“That’s what you took from that?”
I shrug and lean closer. “The fact that you think I’m pretty is very significant to me. I’d say that’s the most important part of everything you just said.” My eyes are drawn to her lips and the smile pulling at the corners. Maybe I could kiss her. I probably should. To sell the fake relationship.Or just because I really want to when I’m the one making her smile …
She leans away, rolling her eyes and removing the opportunity to give her a kiss. “Aren’t you just proving my point?”
“What was your point again?”
She presses her lips together and shakes her head, looking away. “Are your friends just going to stand there and watch us?”
“Do you want me to make them leave?”
That brings her attention back to me. Her brown eyes widen and dart back and forth between my friends and me. “Meaning … you would stay, and they would leave?”
“That’s usually what happens when you make somebody leave.”
She spreads her hands, her face a mask of confusion. “But why would you do that?”
I glance at my friends, who’re still watching us, whispering together like little school girls. “If they’re making you uncomfortable, I can tell them to get lost. Or we can ask them to join us. Whichever you prefer. I’ll admit, it’s kinda weird that they keep standing there watching us, though.”
For some reason, that makes her laugh hysterically. Like wiping tears from her eyes hysterically. My own lips twitch with an involuntary smile at her laughter, even though I’m not sure what’s so funny. Finally, when her laughter has died down to intermittent giggles, I ask, “What’s so funny?”
That provokes another burst of laughter, which is fun and has me smiling too, but she gets it under control faster, wiping her eyes and shaking her head. “That you”—she presses her lips together and shakes her head again—“that you would pretend to care about what would make me uncomfortable. You of all people probably care the least about my comfort.” She leans in close, her voice barely more than a whisper and all humor gone from her face. “Otherwise why would you make me wear that ridiculous uniform?”
Ah. Right. Of course she’s not feeling the same way about our interaction as I am. For a moment, I’d forgotten that I’m the villain, that we’re not flirting, that those smiles and laughs are an anomaly and not part of our regular repertoire. She’s just acting her part.
I rub a hand over my chin, contemplating how to respond. Finally I drop my hand on the table and lift one shoulder, offering as much honesty as I’m able to right now. “You’re supposed to be my girlfriend.”
Leaning back in her chair, she crosses her arms, contemplating me. “So this is more for their benefit.” She nods toward my friends. “Not mine.”
Frustrated, I decide it’s time to end this interaction. I shouldn’t be surprised or annoyed that she’d interpret my every action in the worst possible light. I’ve given her no reason to do otherwise. But it still grates. “Alright, well …” I place my hands on the table and stand. “It was good to see you, sugar bug. I’m gonna grab my snack now and head to class. I’ll see you later this afternoon.”
Her face goes blank. “Great,” she mumbles. “Looking forward to it.”
I bend so my face is close to hers with my back to my friends.
When she tries to jerk away, I place my hand on the back of her head to keep her in place. “What the fuck, Dylan?” she hisses.
