Page 33 of Personal Foul
I point at her. “Exactly. See? You don’t want me doing any of that romantic shit. It’d just make more work for you.”
“That’s true,” she says slowly. “I also don’t want you to do any of that kind of romantic shit because you’renotmy boyfriend.”
I wave away that technicality. I don’t want to dwell on it. “To-may-to, to-mah-to.”
“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to. Let’s call the whole thing off.”
That has me jerking my head around to her. “Wait, what?” Is she really calling this quits? I know I’ve wanted her to quit all along, but we’re finally getting to know each other and have fun. I’m not ready for this to be over now. She can’t call it off.
She laughs at my shock. “It’s a song? Those are the lyrics.” She sings the lines we just recited.
“Oh, right. Yeah. Sorry. You startled me for a second there.” Whew.
“Sorry.” She holds up a hand. “But why would calling this off bother you?”
“Well, I’d have to find a new cleaner, for starters,” I deflect. She snorts out a laugh, and I grin, glad we’re back to joking and laughing. “And who would come around and deflate my oversized head if I didn’t have you?”
That makes her laugh harder. “Good point.” Our laughter subsides, and we settle into a comfortable silence. After a moment, she sucks in a deep breath, holds it, and then lets it out in a gust.
Or maybe I was the only comfortable one.
“Soooo what now?” she asks, looking around like she’s expecting some activity to pop out of the walls.
Draining the rest of my beer, I set the bottle on the coffee table and relax against the arm of the couch so I can look at her. “I hadn’t made any specific plans. I figured we could hang out.”
She blinks at me, her face blank. “And just stare at each other?”
That makes me grin. “We could. I am quite beautiful.” I hold my face up in a cartoonishly conceited pose, giving her my profile. She cackles, and I pretend to be affronted. “Are you disputing that fact? You called me pretty the other day.”
Shaking her head, she waves me off. “Any other suggestions?”
“We could take turns reading to each other.” She snorts, even though that was a genuine suggestion. My sister and I used to do that growing up when we were restricted on our screen time, and we had a blast. “I have Shakespeare’s collected works.” I point at the bookshelf behind me. “We could act out one of the plays.”
“Oh my god,” she cackles. “I had no idea you were such a nerd.”
“This from the woman who lost her virginity to a theatre major,” I deadpan.
“Right, but you’re not a theatre major are you? I’d expect that from him. But you?”
This time my affront isn’t all pretend. “Are you suggesting that I’m too pretty to be smart? Or is it the fact that I’m an athlete?”
That sobers her, and she looks away. “I mean …”
“Oh, I get it. You just assumed my parents paid my way for everything?” That stings. I know she doesn’t have a high opinion of me, but I thought we were getting past that, at least a little. We went to the same high school, the same university. Is it so unbelievable that I could have gotten here on my own merits? Sure, their money helps with living expenses, but I got admitted on the strength of my application, not because of money or nepotism.
She spreads her hands and gives a half shrug, as though to say,Can you blame me?Or maybe it’s,Take your pick.
With a grunt, I shake my head and stand, taking my beer bottle to the kitchen, annoyed with her assumptions.
“Can we do something normal, like watch a movie?” she calls after me.
I set the empty bottle on the counter and brace my hands on the marble, giving it a squeeze, focusing on the feel of the cold stone under my hands as a distraction from my frustration. “Sure,” I grunt after a moment, turning to the fridge and grabbing another beer.
If she’s going to be busting my balls all night, I’m going to need it. I know I started it. But we were joking around, I thought. Her reaction just now doesn’t feel like much of a joke.
I can’t drink too much, though, because I’ll have to take her home eventually.Unless you get drunk and can’t and she can just stay the night,whispers a wicked voice in the back of my head.
That would help sell our fake dating story, after all.
