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“Freaky stuff?” she repeats with an actual snort. “Yeah, okay.”
“Okay then. Might be too far-fetched. You can’t get into freaky stuff at home, not with your dad watching you all the time, anyway.”
“You make zero sense.”
“Come on.” A smile stretches across my face. “You have to know that everyone working for the Flyers thinks of your dad as a helicopter parent.”
Her annoyance seems to grow, but she remains silent. Instead, she stares down at her plate and plays with a piece of tuna.
Another theory flashes in my head, and the delight knocks away every other feeling.
“You can’t stand him, can you?”
The moment I say that, a wary look fills her eyes.
Jackpot.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” There’s a slight tremor in her voice.
“Your father. He raised you to be . . . well, boring. And yourebel by stealing off from time to time to some huge city and partying up a storm and flirting or . . .”
I stop short, realizing the thought of Britney with another guy, even in a hypothetical scenario, does not make me feel good.
A flash of irritation crosses her gaze. “You’re insane.”
“Am I?” I ask mildly. “Because right now, I can wager you alternate between the dowdy persona you like to display here and then jet off every other weekend to some place no one knows about.”
Her fork trembles in her hand. “You’re an asshole.”
“An asshole that’s right.”
“Fine,” she spits, dropping her fork and looking up at me. “You want to know everything? Fine. Here goes. You’re absolutely right on one thing. You don’t know anything about me. Neither does my father. I don’t jet off on alternate weekends, but I do dream of saving up to leave here and start a life far away from anyone that reminds me of this place. Including you.”
I stare at her, my amusement giving way to surprise. I’ve never heard her speak this much before, ever. The two versions of Britney are coalescing in my head, and while I could be feeling literally any other emotion, all I feel is interest.
I want to know more. Way more than I want to fuck her tonight.
“Why?” I ask.
Her eyes are flashing angrily. “Why what?”
“Why do you pretend?”
She seems genuinely surprised that I asked a non-sarcastic question. Her shoulders sag for a moment, then she straightens and picks up her chopsticks, looking down at her food.
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. Her voice is low and silvery,but this time, it’s not the fake voice she puts on when she’s trying to be docile. She sounds real. “I have no fucking idea.”
I raise a brow. All things considered, it should not surprise me that Britney curses. It’s incredibly sexy on her, making me think of all the dirty things I want to do to her.
“Is that why you wanted to do this?” I ask, sounding more caring than I ever knew I was capable of. “This fake-girlfriend thing,” I add, when she raises questioning brows. “Something to spice up your life, maybe?”
She lifts her gaze, and for the barest second, a look I can’t quite read flashes across her eyes, dark and unfathomable. But then, a second later, she’s back to normal.
“Yeah, I suppose.” She shrugs. “You can be fun.”
My heart warms up with an emotion I didn’t know I was capable of feeling. Empathy. Britney has been a fixture of my life, though mostly in the background, for the past twenty years. And I’m only seeing the real her right now. Even if I do enjoy being a dick to her, I cannot imagine what it is like to live most of your life playing a role you hate.
Her cobalt eyes are filled with a vulnerability I’ve never seen in her before.
