My thoughts are justGERBO GERBO GERBO.“I doubt that,” I say evenly.
“I earned this, okay,” he bristles, shadowboxing with an argument he assumes I’m going to make. “I work hard.”
“You’re stressed,” I say, stroking his hair. “Let’s talk about something nice.”
He curls back up on his side. “For example?”
My mind is drawing a blank, and my superego is shouting,Don’t say GERBO!
“Tell me about something you like.”
A tiny puff of air comes out of his nose. “Attention.”
I laugh in spite of myself. “Don’t you get enough attention?”
“Your attention specifically.” He nuzzles his nose into my wrist. “It feels like an accomplishment.”
My heart waffles, and a distant voice in the back of my head shouts at the rest of me,Come on, really? You’re going to fall for that?
“You have my full attention,” I say, kneading his earlobe between my thumb and forefinger, and the corners of his mouth curl up.
Mark Winterson opens his eyes, looking overcome with affection.
“Do you have anything to wear to a wedding?” he asks, and I nearly choke on my spit.
“A wedding?”
“This weekend. I had a plus-one when I RSVP’d, but…”
Oh God, what happened to the last girl?
“Anyway, I still have it. I didn’t update them.” His eyelids drift shut again, like it’s too much effort to keep them open. “Would you come with me? Sorry it’s last-minute.”
“What’s the dress code? I…might not have anything.”
“It won’t be a problem,” he says vaguely.
But before I can ask him to explain, he’s snoring already, out cold.
Chapter
39
I sleep over at Mark Winterson’s house again on Tuesday, and once again he leaves in the middle of the night. But when I creep downstairs and search his office and living room, there’s no sign of papers anywhere—it’s like he’s never printed out a thing in his life. His computer is locked, and of course I don’t know the password. I pace the room, biting my nails.Why did I think I could be some kind of spy?It’s not like I have relevant skills.
I’m scanning every surface of his office, like that will yield a clue. The leather and chrome chair that looks very Modern Design, the red and blue Persian carpet, the cringe mini samurai sword sitting on the desk by his computer.
I take a picture of the mini sword and send it to Sarah with the caption,What did I get myself into?
Sarah must be a night owl, because the dots that show she’s typing leap up right away.
Sarah:
i’m trying not to judge but
hahahahahaha
Ruby:
