Page 33 of Strictly Pretend

There’s a pause. “You’re right. I should.” Then she lets out a sigh. “I know nothing about you. This isn’t going to work, is it?”

“Not like this, no,” I say. But I need to get her to see that unit. I need her shop out of my damn building. There has to be a way to make it happen. “We need to do this face to face,” I tell her.

“What?”

“We need to learn about each other. Like for an exam. Tell each other everything. I need to know your deepest, darkest secrets.”

“I’m not telling you those.” She sounds alarmed.

“And we need to do it without you whispering them to me.” I’m getting ear strain from trying to hear her.

“I’m not telling you my secrets,” she says again.

“So you do have secrets,” I say. Damn, I really want to know what they are.

“Doesn’t everybody?”

“I guess.”

“I bet you have secrets,” she says, turning the conversation back on me. “I bet they’re big. And juicy.”

“No, I don’t,” I lie.

“Tell me one.”

“I’m not telling you anything.” I eat another handful of chips. They’re steak and onion flavored. Meat and vegetables – they’re practically a full meal.

“Can you stop crunching?” she asks me. “It’s hurting my ears.”

“You whispering is hurting my ears. I preferred the howling.”

She lets out a grunt. “Tell me one secret or the deal is off,” she says.

I frown. “You tell me one first.”

“I asked first,” she whisper-replies.

God, she’s annoying. “Okay. When I was seventeen my oldest brother caught me jacking off to aBaywatchepisode.”

She laughs really loudly. Then there’s a thud. “Shit, that’s them. I’m so going to get another letter.”

“I’ve told you mine. Now tell me yours.”

“I have nothing. I’m an open book. And I never got intoBaywatch.” She sniggers again.

“Tell me why you changed your mind about this arrangement,” I say. That shuts her up. There’s no laugh. Just silence.

“You really want to know?” For the first time in the entire conversation she sounds vulnerable. Like the woman who made herself shoeless and in need of my help. Not gonna lie, it makes my chest feel tight. I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress. Even if I’m not anybody’s white knight.

“If you want to tell me,” I say, because underneath everything I’m not a complete asshole.

She lets out a long breath. “I got a call from Jemima today. That’s my ex’s girlfriend. The one he…”

“Yeah, I remember.” Why am I trying to make this easier on her? I’ve no idea, yet suddenly I want to. “Why the hell was she calling you?”

“She told me she doesn’t want me to go to the wedding.”

“What?” I shout. Christ, I hope she doesn’t have me on speaker. “Why would she say that?”

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