“What are you doing out here?” I ask, leaning back and mustering the best smile I could for him.
He doesn’t turn his head, but I can see his eyes move toward me.
“Swinging on this chair, on my phone.”
I’ll throw that phone away right now.
“What are you looking at on your phone?”’
At that, he lowers the device abruptly, turning to me. His brows are narrow, expression tiptoeing between confusion and scepticism.
“So, are you just obsessed with invading my privacy now? First the train, nowthis-”
Oh mygosh, this is going to be impossible.
I’m about to get up, declaring a failure to this plan, until movement through the kitchen window in front of us, just diagonal from where Marlon and I are, catches my peripheral vision. My gaze flickers in its direction.
It’s Mum and Tita Regina.
They’re observing us through the window. Mum’s eyes meet my own and upon realising I see them, they rapidly scramble, swivelling their bodies away. I could almost laugh.
Our Mum’s are actual teenagers trapped in 40-year-old bodies.
It hits me then. The confirmation that this couldactuallywork.
They’re so gullible, willing to believe any little crumb when it comes to Marlon and I. Even something as stupid, asimpossible,as fake-dating.
I turn back to Marlon, and drink in his appearance.
Sure, his curls are…nice. His lashes are long too, and his cheeks could be seen as objectively cute, I guess. He’s not…badlooking after all.
I could pretend to love him, I think.
Ihope.
He catches my gaze just as he lifts his puto to his lips.
“Enjoying the view?” he asks, sarcastically.
As much as I’d love to knock the puto from his hands, I smile instead, and through my teeth, I say, “Pretend to say something funny.”
He perks an eyebrow.
“Heh?”
A spit of puto jumps from his lips.Ugh.
Pocketing my disgust, I laugh loudly, hitting his arm. The impact makes him drop the rest of his puto and we both watch as it bounces off the edge of the garden chair, falling to the floor in a pathetic splat.
Shooting me a glare, he exclaims, “What the hell?” at the same time I say, “Marlon, you're hilarious!”
At this he freezes. His eyes fall on me, scrutinising me as though I’m an alien. Which isn’t so far from how I feel.
“What are you doing…?” he questions, tone sliding over the words cautiously.
“Just play along, please. I promise this is the last thing I want to do,” I push the words through the sweetest smile I could bear.
His expression dances between amusement and uncertainty.
