Page 71 of Lessons in Faking
“Like your soul,” I sighed, kind of mindlessly.
“Wow.” His hand flew up to his chest, clasping his heart as if it were aching. The playfully pained expression made me smile. “What happened in the past five minutes that has made me the subject of your harsh criticism, Pressley? Seriously,” he pressed. “I’m hurt.”
Another laugh rattled out of me. I think I realized right then that he wasn’t just a great distraction when we were trying not to have sex with each other and half failing; he was a great distraction,period. “And to think I got you Sour Patch Kids—I should probably return them while we’re still here.” He nodded at the bag in my lap with a teasing smile he tried to suppress, then started the car.
The way he made me laugh so effortlessly took me by surprise. There were many things I thought might come out of this agreement: My brother’s affection, the feeling of sweet revenge. A dead body. But I didn’t expect genuineenjoyment to be one of them. Even my occasional lapse-of-judgment attraction, or the urge to kiss him whenever his dimple showed, was less shocking than that.
“So.” My head twisted in his direction when he spoke.
“So,” I mirrored, eyes narrowing in suspicion.
“Do you have an answer for me?”
I blinked.Did I miss something?
“For my statistical problem,” he added in explanation.
“Now I remember why I called your soul cold,” I grumbled, crossing my arms. “You’ve been torturing me for an hour, Dylan. Can’t I just enjoy the rest of our little road trip?”
“You’reenjoyingour little road trip?” The question felt like a trap, so I just groaned and slumped back into my seat.
“I’mtryingto.” If my eyes weren’t closed, I’d have rolled them to distract myself from the same realization I’d had just a few moments ago: I was enjoying this. Not just the road trip, not just the distraction, but his company. Him.
“And I’m trying to help you pass Statistics, Princess.” This time, I could tell the nickname was back to being an insult. However, my stomach, and the way it fluttered, did not interpret it that way. At all. “So let’s not give up now, all right?” His voice had adopted a soft, reassuring tone. Almost a murmur. The hopeful look in his eyes when they flicked my way was all it took.
With a defeated sigh, I turned back to the road ahead. “Like I said,” I teased under my breath. “Soulless.”
He seemed to take that as a sign that I was on board, because he adjusted in his seat happily.
“Youhavebeen getting better,” he reminded.
Another word of encouragement or praise, just another word in that silky smooth tone of his, and it would get significantly harder for me to keep my head clear. In fact, it was already filling with how much I enjoyed being around him.
I tried to steer away from that as best as I could.
“Well, I’d hope so,” I joked. Tried to joke. I wasn’t very convinced it landed until the corners of his mouth twitched. “You’d make an exceptionally shitty teacher otherwise.”
“Or the problem might be an exceptionally shitty student.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Then I couldn’t seem to stop. When the sound of his laughter joined mine, it was like the floodgates opened, and every sound from him was funnier than the last.
My belly hurt, my cheeks ached, and it was probably the most physical activity I’d done in a while. That’s how I felt, at least: Exhausted, but energized. Happy, carefree. Distracted.
I was still smiling when our laughter died out. “Touché,” I said, eyes on him. “I guess the probability of your hypothesis is much more likely.”
And he almost looked impressed.
Chapter 31
Who’d have thought that after being trapped in a car with Dylan McCarthy Williams for hours on end, the part I would dread most would be arriving at our destination?
> got some things to explain, talk when we’re home
The memory of Wren’s message made me unbuckle my seat belt uncharacteristically slowly and slip into my coat even slower. I redid my bun twice and adjusted my glasses at least a dozen times.
Dylan had hopped out of the car as soon as we’d stopped in front of the brick complex, grabbing my bag from the trunk. It seemed he hadn’t even noticed my hesitancy until he swung the duffel bag over his shoulder and saw I was still in the same spot he’d left me in.
In the rearview mirror, I caught him scanning me intently with narrow eyes.
