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“What do you want to know?” he asks.
“What's your favorite book?”
“Guess.”
“To Kill a Mockingbird,” I say.
“Exactly right,” he nods. “What else?”
“What do you eat for breakfast?”
“Cereal and a banana. And tea. What else?”
“What were you like in high school?”
“I wouldn't talk to anyone after my mom died. I just sat at home and worked through her movie collection. It was a bunch of art house stuff I didn't understand.”
“French new wave?”
“Exactly,” he says. “When my dad got tired of my attitude, he sent me to a fancy all boys private school. It was better than living with him.”
“Like Holden Caulfield.”
“And Catcher in the Rye is your favorite book?”
“Am I that obvious?” I ask.
“My next guess was A Streetcar Named Desire.”
“You think I'm crazy, don't you?”
“No,” he says. “Well, I think you're crazy for staying with Ryan… but I'm going to try not to antagonize you about it.”
“I don't believe you.”
“What about you? What do you eat for breakfast?”
“Oatmeal and coffee.”
“And what were you like in high school?”
“Lonely,” I say. “I was so miserable until I started acting. It was the only time I felt like I could really express myself. At home, I tried so hard to hide things from my mom. At school… I had a lot of attention from guys—I developed early—but none of them really cared about me.”
“Except Ryan?”
“Yeah,” I say. I swallow the guilt that creeps into my throat. I bring my gaze back to Luke. To his big, brown eyes. “Why do you like me?” I ask.
“Because you know how to hold a conversation, an
d, even though you barely know me, you don't let me get away with being an asshole. Or with using the incorrect pronoun.” His fingertips brush against my hand. “Why do you like me?”
“Because you're good in bed,” I say.
“Is that all?”
“You're also ridiculously hot.”
He smirks. “Fair enough.”
