Page 21 of The Perils of Pretending
He holds up his thumb and pointer finger, leaving a small space between them. “There’s this little problem of not having a wife. I’d like one of those before having children.”
I wouldn’t normally ask him this, but since we’re supposed to be together, I feel it’s only necessary that I dig deeper. “And you haven’t found a wife because…”
“Simple. I haven’t dated anyone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”
He’s either too picky or has terrible taste in women. It’s most likely both reasons. “Sounds like a you problem.”
He points to himself. “I’m amazing. It’s definitely not me.”
My brows rise. Everyone should have a healthy dose of self-confidence. But Max? His self-esteem is on steroids. “Moving on. Tell me where you went to school.”
“Elementary through high school was at my local public schools in Anchorage. I went to The University of Utah for my bachelor’s and got my master’s in school administration online at University of Phoenix while teaching middle school science.”
I should probably write all this down, but if anyone found the paper with all this information listed, they’d probably question why I’m keeping a notebook of facts about my boyfriend. “Got it. Tell me your favorites.”
He ticks each item off on his fingers. “Light blue, steak, summer, Thanksgiving, woodworking, sunrises, movies, and Saturday.”
I tap my temple, repeating in my mind what he said. I most likely won’t remember it all, but even if a few details stay with me, our relationship will seem more real. “Locked and loaded. How did we meet?”
He holds up a hand. “Pause. This isn’t a one-sided conversation. What do you like?”
“Why? You don’t need to fool anyone.”
“And what if I’m asking because I want to know?”
I can’t tell if he’s being sincere. “Do you?”
His brows pull together as he looks at me with disbelief. “Of course. Why do you think I don’t?”
I blink, confused at how to respond. He says we’re friends because I used his body to shield my nose on the last flight and he’s helping me out by giving me a reason to avoid Dorian. But then he says dumb things like how he won’t stop calling me princess and how awesome he is. I see two sides of Max—sweet and annoying. He’s hot. There’s no denying that. But there are also a lot of things I don’t like about him, which makes it easier to keep him in the box labeled: Brother’s best friend/Has the same job as Dad/No thanks.
Chapter 8
Max
Sadiefiddleswiththeend of her seatbelt. Finally, she answers my question about why she doesn’t think I want to get to know her. “Because I really can’t take you seriously. When you say you want to get to know me better, I can’t tell if it’s true or if you’re teasing.”
I do joke around a lot. But I genuinely want to understand who she is, what makes her tick, what her likes and dislikes are, and more. When we get together for family gatherings, there’s a lot of surface-level/polite conversation between us, then Sadie sidles up to one of her girl cousins and I don’t talk to her again. For as long as I’ve known her, I don’t really know her except from what Brody’s told me. It would be nice to know Sadie through Sadie. “This is me asking. Tell me about yourself, please.”
She’s silent, but the way her head slightly tilts tells me she’s thinking. After a minute, she says, “Light pink, pastries, spring, Christmas, trying new food, sunsets, books, and Friday.”
We don’t have a lot in common, except food. But there also aren’t any red flags. “See, was that so hard?”
“I never said telling you about myself was hard, I only said it didn’t matter what you told other people and that I wasn’t sure of your sincerity.”
I tap her knee. “But that’s where you’re wrong. I do care.”
Sadie’s cheeks grow pink.
Why did my comment make her blush?
Sadie clears her throat. “Moving on. How did we meet?”
That’s obvious and easy. “We can tell the truth. We met at Brody’s twenty-fifth birthday party.” Does she remember it like I do? She came into Brody’s backyard, carrying a bowl of potato salad, laughing with Poppy about something. The moment I saw her I was attracted to her smile. She was only nineteen at the time and still had a carefree edge. It’s hard to believe that was seven years ago. She’s matured, which is good, but she’s lost some of her fun side. At least around me.
“When and why did we start dating?”
“Uh, hello?” I sweep a hand down the front of my body. “Isn’t it obvious?”
