Page 66 of Don't Go Faking My Heart

"I'm from Colorado. I'm familiar with hockey."

"Not like this, you ain't."

She pushes my shoulder. "I love it when you say 'ain't.' It feels like you do it on purpose, to show that you're human."

"What do you mean? I am human."

"No, you're a secret ninja or superhero, or something," she says, eyeing me. I grab my sweatshirt from the back and then come around the cab to let her out. She hates waiting for me, but I insisted that I open the door for my girlfriend, fake or not. I hold my hand out to her, and she steps down, continuing her thought. "In the last week, I've learned all these tantalizing pieces of information about you, and the mysteries just keep coming." She pats my duffel bag. "Let me guess: you're secretly the captain of the hockey team?"

"Not even close. Although Sean is."

"Sean? Patty's brother?"

"We played on a team in middle school together, in fact. He's two years older than me, but Mullet Ridge didn't have enough kids who wanted to play, so they were desperate."

Ash shakes her head, and her curls go everywhere, including my face. "Wait, wait, wait. You played hockey?"

"Only for a few years. I wasn't that good."

"He was decent," Tripp says, coming up from behind us with Jane. "Way better than he was at basketball."

"I was better than you," I say, though it’s not true. We're both fine at basketball—nothing to write home about, but Tripp’s height gave him a huge advantage. We played on the high school team because small towns use every available athlete, and we were certainly athletic. But I preferred baseball and football.

"You were better than me at H.O.R.S.E, maybe," Tripp says.

"It counts," I say.

Ash is looking at me like she can't believe her ears. "What else am I going to learn about you?"

Tripp and Jane are walking ahead, and I take Ash's hand. She has the cutest hands. Her fingers are short but slender, and her nails are painted, for a change. They're not the electric blue of her hair and glasses but a pale pink. With her hand in mine, I run my thumb over one of her glossy nails.

I like the curious way she’s looking at me. I like thinking of her wondering about me when she's trying to fall asleep. I like the feeling that, for the first time since we met, I'm living rent free in her mind.

"It doesn't matter," I say.

"Of course it matters. I thought I knew everything about you. We talk constantly. We watch movies together and listen to audiobooks while we work and eat breakfast together all the time. What have we been talking about if not … this?"

"Stuff that does matter," I say.

We get in line behind our friends at the ticket counter. Sonny and Duke both draw small crowds, but the fans try to act cool.

"Debating if Wrath of Khan is the best Star Trek movie doesn't matter."

"I disagree," I say. The line isn't moving, so I tug on Ash's hand so she's facing me. "The reasons you like what you like matter. Knowing how you think matters. I don't need to see your yearbook to know you."

"But you have seen my yearbook! Greg sent you a video about it! And where you've been informs who you are," Ash says. Then she closes her eyes. "Sorry, I'm not trying to pout. I just feel like a bad friend. You know about my seventh grade science project, and I didn’t know you played hockey for three years."

"Technically four. I played until Sean graduated high school and then I quit."

She swats my chest, and I take that hand, too. Our hands dangle between us. "You know what I mean. You ask me questions constantly and I word vomit everything about my life?—"

"Ash, I love that you're an open book."

"And I hate that I didn't realize that you're password protected."

Password protected.

I can't deny it, so I don't try. I should try, though, shouldn't I? I should at least explain that I've never purposefully kept things from her. Except that's not true. I've purposefully held back plenty.

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