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Jack sighed.
After another few seconds: “You got that, Jack?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Attaboy.”
Mood broken, Jack relaxed his arms and loosened his hold on me. I slid down to my own feet.
It was good that we got interrupted.
Never go to bed with a famous actor after a jelly jar of moonshine just before you’re moving to Korea.
Isn’t that a saying?
We faced each other like that for a minute, catching our breath and shifting gears, as Jack pulled at my shirt to straighten it, brushing me off and neatening me up.
I leaned back against the wall and looked up at him, like What just happened?
Then Jack said, “Hannah?”
I met his eyes. “What?”
“Go on a date with me.”
“What?”
Jack nodded. “A date. Tomorrow. Back in town. With no parents anywhere.”
“You want to go on a date?” I asked, like that word might not mean the same thing to both of us.
“Yes. I want to order takeout and sit up on the roof of my house and eat it with you.”
But I still wasn’t quite sure what we were talking about. “Why?”
He frowned like it was obvious. “Because I have a thing for you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“What’s to understand? I like you.”
“But… aren’t we pretending?” I asked.
“Are you pretending?” Jack asked.
I didn’t know how to answer that. “I thought we both were. Wasn’t that the whole concept?”
“I’m not pretending,” Jack said. “Not anymore.”
I know I’ve already confessed my insecurities about whether or not I was lovable.
But those were deep, subtle issues.
I need to point out here that most of the time, in my life, I walked around feeling reasonably confident. I was good at my job. I was a nice person. I had good hair. If this had been a regular man saying he liked me, I’m pretty sure I would have thought that sounded plausible.
Why not, right?
But this wasn’t—I think we can all agree—a regular man.
