Page 42 of Homecoming

“Yes.”

“And you wouldn’t tell anyone that we’re dating or blow it up to be more than it actually is.”

“Right.”

“You have to swear to God you won’t tell anyone I’m your girlfriend.”

“I swear to God I won’t do that.”

“No matter how many aunts pressure you for details, you won’t share any because there are none to share.”

His lips quivered with the start of laughter.

“What’s so funny?”

“You are.”

If she asked him to elaborate, that’d be encouraging the continuation of an excruciating conversation that she desperately wanted out of. However, she was too curious not to ask, “Why am I funny?”

“You’re terrified of anyone thinking we might be a real couple.”

“Because we’renota real couple.”

“Yes, I know. Any other conditions?”

“There’d be absolutely no dating privileges of any kind.”

He sat on the corner of her desk, settling in, which wouldn’t do at all.

“Don’t you have work to do?” she asked. “If you don’t, I do.”

“We both do, so let’s complete this negotiation and get on with our day.”

“I haven’t said I’d go with you yet.”

“I’m aware of your lack of confirmation.”

The son of a bitch was enjoying this a little too much.So are you, her brain said.Shut up. No, you shut up.

“Renata?”

Startled out of the fight with herself, she glanced at him and saw that he was watching her with a warm, affectionate look on his face. She didn’t want to encourage that.

“I don’t think I can go with you, but thanks for asking.”

His smile quickly transformed to a frown that reminded her of a little boy who’d dropped his ice cream on the sidewalk.

“Don’t be that way,” she said.

“What way?”

“All sad and pouty. You had to know I was a huge long shot on this favor.”

“I did know that, but I was still hopeful you might remember that time I drove more than an hour—in a snowstorm—to pick you up when your car broke down, or that other time when I fixed the roof on your house when it was raining inside, or that one time when I?—”

“You’ve made your point.” Clearly, she needed to stop calling him when she found herself in a jam. “What’s the dress code for this thing?”

“Formal.”

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