Page 26 of Fence

“Where did you live in the states?” he asked.

“Scranton, Pennsylvania.”

“Where The Office was based,” he grinned.

“And nothing else,” I added with a heavy sigh. “You can’t imagine what it was like, moving to New York for college. I felt like I was stepping out of a tunnel, into the light. I couldn’t see at first. Everything was too bright.”

“I do know the feeling,” he said, nodding.

“Oh? How so?” I leaned closer, genuinely interested.

“Why do you want to know so badly?”

Answering a question with a question. He was good at that.

I couldn’t help the little flash of frustration which bubbled up in my chest. “Why can’t you ever simply answer a question? Are you in the CIA or something?”

“No.”

“A spy?”

“No.” A smile played at the corner of his lips.

“Don’t laugh at me.”

“I would never laugh at you.” His tone was grave, and his face went blank.

I believed him, though it was a grudging belief.

“What is it, then? Why do I get the feeling this is all a giant ruse to keep me away from something?”

There it was. Dropped on the middle of the table, right in front of the both of us. I hadn’t wanted to say it out loud, because I was afraid of admitting to myself that things couldn’t be as perfect as they seemed. He’d asked me out to dinner and told me to pick a nice place. He looked just as tasty as anything on the menu—maybe more so. He was charming and flirtatious. And the whole thing rang false.

It seemed too easy. Too neat.

If my question got under his skin, he was gifted with a wonderful poker face which gave nothing away. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I feel like you do. It’s just too convenient for my liking.”

“Don’t you believe I could be genuinely interested in you?”

The question didn’t sit well. Maybe he knew it and maybe he didn’t, but I didn’t have a strong history with men. Growing up as the nerdy girl, the bookworm with buck teeth and frizzy hair and thick glasses, hadn’t exactly made me popular. Carrying that stigma became a habit. I couldn’t believe he’d be interested in me.

Rather than answer directly, I asked, “Why can’t you ever be straight with me? I feel like there’s so much you’re holding back, and I’m having a difficult time enjoying my meal when I get the feeling you’re using me in some way.”

“How would I use you?”

I rolled my eyes. “The connection you have to the clan.” I kept my voice low. “For some reason, you want all the information I can give you on them. I don’t know why, because God knows, you won’t tell me. Even if I ask, you’ll put on the innocent act and try to deflect somehow.”

“I suppose telling you how beautiful you look tonight wouldn’t be helpful, then.”

“You said you wouldn’t laugh at me.”

“Does it look like I’m laughing?”

“No,” I admitted, “but it sounds as though you’re having fun with me.”

“I’m not. I swear that much.”

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