Page 128 of Flipping His Script


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"Who's to sayyou'rethe stabber?" I tried to smile. "Maybe you're thestabbee. You ever think of that?"

To my surprise, he actually smiled back. "So that's how you're playing it, huh?"

At his smile, my heart gave an annoying little flutter. But I refused to be distracted. "Look, you want people believe we're romantic, right?"

"That's the idea."

"Well, have you ever considered how difficult that is when you're so rude in private?" When he said nothing in reply, I continued. "I mean, I knowyouact for a living, but I don't. Maybe I can't turn everything off and on like a switch. You ever think of that?"

On a roll now, I kept on going. "And here's another thing. I don’t even know your favorite color. Or your favorite food." My voice rose. "Cripes, I don't even know if you have a washing machine."

His eyes filled with amusement. "So you've been thinking about my washing machine?"

I froze.Damn it.

Too late, it occurred to me that I should've picked another example to illustrate how little I knew of his house.

My gaze narrowed. "If anything, I've been thinking about your knife drawer."

"Good to know."

Was it?Feeling suddenly overwhelmed, I looked once again to my lap. Between the lack of sleep and aching ankle, not to mention the fact that I was now freezing thanks to my face-plant in the mud, I was a total mess.

And Istillhad to get back to his house. In spite of my claims, I didn’t truly see myself limping along in the mud, especially with no shoe, which meant that he'd feel obligated to carry me, whether he wanted to or not.

I was still staring at my lap when he said, "So tell me, what can I do?"

I looked up. "All right, you wanna know?" I met his gaze head-on. "From now on, you could at leastpretendto like me."