Page 56 of Lessons in Faking
McCarthy snickered in amusement, eyes flickering toward me again. He was quiet only for a beat, then: “Hungry?”
Usually, I was too preoccupied crying, sleeping, or moping to make eating a priority this time of year. And McCarthy had ambushed me before I’d even made it out of bed. The reminder made my stomach rumble, and it was answer enough. He pulled off the interstate and into the first fast-food place he spotted. “You still owe me, remember?” The car slowed.
I did remember. His first text pretending to be a spam number, then inviting himself to be taken out by me. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” I pretended, though already searching for my wallet in the bag by my feet.
His hand wrapped around mine, slowly guiding it out of the bag, then snatching my wallet and throwing it onto the backseat. “Seems you’ve forgotten your wallet at home,” he said like he hadn’t just taken it from me. “Shame. What do you want? My treat.”
“Surprise me.”
When he came back through the swinging doors, he held two bags in one hand and drinks in the other, gesturing wildly for me to open the driver’s door. “Never let me make food choices for you again.” He complained, dropping the larger of the two bags in my lap. “I feel like I bought the entire menu.”
“I can see that.” I was already happily rummaging through the results.
“I got you a hot chocolate.” He nodded toward one of the cups in the holder. “And thought we could share the strawberry smoothie. Do you like strawberries?” His brow furrowed in light concern (in case Ididn’tlike strawberries) and interest (hoping that Ididlike them).
“Yes.” My cheeks hurt from smiling, and my nose crinkled. “I do like strawberries.”
“Good.” He nodded, eyes shifting. “Very good.”
Falling back into the seat with a handful of fries in my mouth, I sighed contentedly. Still, I was getting sick and tired of thanking him over, and over, and over again for doing unexpectedly nice things for meover, and over, and over again.
“Thank you” slipped past my lips anyway.
Putting the car in reverse, he placed his arm on the back of his seat to glance over his shoulder. His gaze passed over me to the rear window before doubling back as if he couldn’t help himself. Then he winked, and I knew I was in trouble when I didn’t even cringe at the gesture. My stomach gave a nervous flutter.
I was moving into fairly dangerous territory, and nothing could stop me.
“And stop being so nice to me,” I added as an afterthought. His self-satisfied grin just grew when I took another sip of the smoothie.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because my gratitude is getting to your head, McCarthy.”
“And I know where my being nice is getting you.” His gaze raked up and down my seated frame. The three seconds he took were the longest he’d allow his eyes to be off the road.
“Where?” I laughed. “Your childhood bedroom?”
“Yeah,” he said, amusement still lingering in his tone. “Exactly.”
Chapter 26
Entertaining ourselves on the long drive turned into 5 Questions, 10 Seconds, an impossible game Wren had come up with in our first week together.
I’d been drunk from my first college party, energized off the high of free booze, socializing, and meeting Jason. Not at all tired, I’d found my new roommate in bed with a book in hand, unbothered when I bulldozed through the door, louder than I should have at two in the morning. On a whim, I’d challenged her to 21 Questions, to get to know her better.
Nobody answers twenty-one questions honestly, she’d explained. Though with five questions in ten seconds, you hardly have time to answer at all, never mind make up a lie. The stress alone made you blurt out the inevitable truth.
It was my turn to ask. “Favorite fruit?”
“Apples.”
“Least favorite girlfriend?”
“Ella in kindergarten.”
“Favorite girlfriend?”
“You.”
