Page 47 of The Problem with Princes
I lift the pen off the paper. “Hey, is she closed just because you’re here?”
He licks his cone. “Yes.”
“Then shouldn’t we leave so she can open for business again? She’s probably losing money because we’re sitting here playing this lame game.”
He shrugs. “She’ll be compensated.” He taps the paper again. “If you would quit stalling, she wouldn’t have to be closed for so long.” He bites off a piece of his cone. “Man, Gee. This game is taking forever.”
“Fine. I need the names of three cars you like.”
His face scrunches up. “You mean like the names I give them?”
I tilt my head. “Do you name your cars?”
His brow creases like he’s trying to decide how to answer. “Doesn’t everyone?”
Probably. All my brothers have named their cars. Maybe it’s a man thing, instead of an American thing. “Not proper names. Like brands or models.”
He nods. “Okay. So like Jaguar—” There is the longuagain. “Audi and Ferrari.”
I write each car down on a line to the side of the square. “Now I need the names of three women.” I can’t look at him when I ask for these.
“Women that I like—as with the cars?” What is that tone in his voice?
“Yeah, sure.” I keep hyper-focused on the paper in front of me.
“Grace.”
“Huh?” I look up and he taps the paper again. I should institute a no touching the paper policy from now on.
“You said women I like. I like you.”
I shake my head. “Other women. This is like telling your future. I’m not your future. I go home tomorrow, remember?”
“Are you trying to change fate, Gee?”
I give him my blandest face.
He narrows his eyes at me. “Fine. Calliope.”
Who is this Calliope woman? Does he like-like her or just like her? Ah, crap. Now I’m acting like I’m in elementary school. I lean forward to lick my cone, hoping my stomach will stop feeling like I’ve just eaten a bowl of jalapenos. I write down Calliope’s name. “And?”
“Grace.”
I shake my head. “I already said no. Pick someone else.”
“Very well. Chloe.”
I feel an instant dislike for this Chloe person. What is my problem? Haven’t I told him he can’t pick me?I can’t dislike people for displacing me on the list when I am the reason I’m not on the list. I knew this was a bad idea.
He touches the last line. “And Grace. This is my game. You can’t tell me who I can add and who I can’t.”
I give a token roll of my eyes. “Fine.” I write my name on the last line and my stomach goes all flippy. Stupid stomach. It isn’t like this thing is real. Even if I feel more invested in the outcome than I ever did when I was in grade school.
“Okay. I need three numbers.”
“Four, nine and twelve.” He rattles them off without thought.
I give a low whistle on the last one.
