Page 68 of Problematic Summer Romance

He purses his lips. “He’s not your father, is he?”

“Yikes. What’s up with everyone thinking that we are related?”

“Simple process of elimination.”

“Okay, well…Can you act like you’re flirting with me? Only as long as he’s looking?”

The corner of his mouth lifts up. “If I do, will he come and cause a scene? I’ve seen the way Italians run public transportations. I doubt I’ll survive their penitentiary system.”

“No, he won’t.”

“You seem certain.”

“He’d first have to admit to himself that he cares who I talk to, and I can’t see him doing that. I’m not even sure he does care.”

The guy’s eyes briefly flicker up. “He does.”

“It’s complicated.” I lean my arm against the rough stucco wall to our right. He does the same, giving me a curious look. “He’s my brother’s closest friend. And he’s…older.”

“How much?”

“Fifteen.”

“That’s not too bad.”

“Says the dude who thought he was my dad.”

Said dude shakes his head, laughing. “Is that your type? Older guys?”

“Just the one.”

“You don’t sound happy about it.”

“He’s been a bit of a chronic issue for me.” I sigh. “I fear he might be terminal.”

“Is that why you’re playing games with him? Making him jealous?”

“It’s not—” I cut off. I don’t know this guy. I could not care less about his opinion. And it’s refreshing to admit to my most immature impulses without fear of judgment. “IwishI could make him jealous.”

“But?”

“The simplest explanation is that he’s protective, and thinks that chatting with some guy I’ve only just met is putting myself in danger.” I close my eyes, feeling suddenly exhausted, weighed down by the sheer stupidity of the stunt I’m pulling. I should try harder to fall for someone else. “I’m the one who’s pining from afar, not him.”

The German nods slowly, as if considering the situation fromall angles. I bet he’s a great student. His transcripts must be a wet dream. “As someone with long-term expertise in pining from afar, I’m happy to play the pawn in your game.”

“She made you work for it, huh?” I glance at the girl, who’s still on the phone. I get the impression that if she asked him to tattoowhippedon his forehead, his only question would be: What font?

She’d get him to agree to papyrus, too.

“It was worth it,” he simply says.

“She won’t be mad that you’re helping me?” I tap my chin, thoughtful. “Maybe I can make Conor believe that we’re having a threesome.”

His small smile is hard to interpret. “Oh, she’ll love this. Give me your phone.”

“What?”

“Get your phone out and give it to me.”

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