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“So. What else do you know?”
“You hate salad, love dogs, and won that award for being TV’s Hottest Hairball.” I leave him on the porch to slide into the sun-warmed seat of the Mustang and snap my seatbelt over my shoulder. “And you have an older sister.” That, he’d told me himself.
He gets in the car and backs out of the driveway. At the end of the street, he turns to me. The intense way he watches me, his insatiable smile, sucks me in.
I need to get sucked in by him as much as I need him to kiss me unconscious. Getting cozy with my door, I pull my feet under me on the seat.
“I do hate salad. Depends on the dog. It was TV’s Sexiest Beast. No hairballs involved.” The car rumbles as he shifts gears. “You’d like my sister. But right now, she’s not speaking to me, so...” There’s something heavy in his sigh that invites menotto ask questions.
No one lives in his house. His Mom’s MIA like mine. And his sister is mad at him. Like me, there’s a lot more going on with Gabe than the world sees.
Eventually we enter the ramp for the highway. I close my eyes and let the wind have its way with my hair.
Gabe shifts a few times, until the rumble stables out, then his fingers skim lightly along the back of my hand. Turning it over, he strokes his thumb over my wrist, across my palm, encouraging tingles to dance up my arm. Weaving his fingers through mine, he rests our tangled hands on the console. “Would it be so horrible hanging for the rest of the week?”
It would be the opposite of horrible. That’s the problem. I roll up my window enough to keep my hair out of my eyes and raise our linked hands. “I don’t know what to do with this.”
“Well, I don’t know what to do withyou.I guess that makes us even.”
Wrong. He seems to know exactly what to do with me. I’ve never been so turned upside down. “You’re beyond confusing.” I straighten my legs and rest my feet on the floor on top of my flip-flops.
“Because I want to hold your hand?” He tightens his grip, but he’s not looking at where our fingers connect. He’s staring at my mouth. While he’s driving.
“I’d like to get back to the hotel intact.” Reclaiming my hand, I press on his jaw and rotate his gaze forward. Light stubble prickles my fingers, making me want to touch the rest of his face. I put my hands under my thighs.
He shifts his attention back to the road. “Maybe I’m practicing playing boyfriend.” He reaches for the radio and flips on a rap station, turning the volume low. “In case you change your mind.”
Based on the pictures of him and Kimberly Kane, he’s nailed that role. And probably her. And that gorgeous blonde from the text. I cross my legs and lean against the window. “I won’t change my mind.” Even if I didn’t care about everything we do going viral, I don’t fit into his life.
“The gossip says we’re already dating.”
He’s not wrong. I slump in the seat and prop my face in my hand.
“I’ll do all the work.” He speeds up and shoots into the left lane to pass a few cars, then swerves across traffic to exit. “All you have to do is stand next to me and try to act like you’re not on death row.” He laughs, making the whole thing sound easy.
But I can’t handle Gabe as a boyfriend. Not even for pretend. “I’m not like you.” I rub my eyes. “I can’t hop personalities every other second.”
My words level his tone. “That’s what you think I do?”
I have the weirdest urge to re-tangle our fingers. “You play a part. Depending on who you’re with. It’s who you are.” I saw that the minute I met him.
“You think you know who I am?” He clenches the steering wheel.
“Not even slightly. You’re like seventeen different people.”
“Everyone plays roles.” He stops at a red light across from the hotel but keeps his eyes straight ahead. “It’s not that hard.” His voice is as tight as his grip on the steering wheel. “To play my girlfriend, all you have to do is sort through your experience with guys. Pick the emotions you need.”
“Emotions aren’t T-shirts. You can’t put them on and take them off.” What would he think if he knew he’s the sum total of my guy experience?
The light turns. He pulls into the parking garage and finds a spot close to the side entrance to the lobby. He turns off the engine and pockets the keys, but he doesn’t seem excited about leaving the car.
I’m not either. Behind the revolving door, the lobby’s gone from ghost town to Grand Central. There’s no chance we won’t be noticed. Someone will want a picture with Gabe. And Gabe will be next to me.
I’m makeup deficient, flat-iron challenged, and wearing cats. If Gabe has his choice, I’ll be wearing him too. He always finds a way to wrap some part of himself around me. His fingers. His hand. His arm. And it’s getting harder and harder to pretend I don’t like it.
Tossing his keys on the console, he twists in his seat to face me. “What do I have to do to get you to agree?”
I ask the one thing I know he won’t do. “Tell me the truth.”
