Page 27 of The Fake Date Deal

“Because it wouldn’t look good if you were ‘cheating.’ If Rafael jilted me, then you had a side piece. That would defeat the whole purpose of us being here.”

“I don’t. I’m not. She’s not— Hold on.” He thumbed his phone back on and pulled up his texts, and scrolled up past her bare chest to their history. “See? Her last message was ten months ago.”

“I believe you,” I said, feeling petty and stupid.

“I’d get it if you didn’t. I do have a past. But, yeah, I’m yours now, for as long as you want me. Till we’ve got our revenge, I mean.” He looked away. I stared at him, trying to parse his expression. He looked almost hurt, or a little bit sad. Then he smiled again, and slapped his palms together.

“Okay, let’s not dwell on it. Change of subject!”

I leaned back, relieved. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“I was trying to ask you at dinner, the other night, before those reporters came and we had to run…” Marco frowned, maybe trying to find the right words. “So, I’ve shown you my passion. You’ve seen me race. But you’re still a mystery. What makes your heart race?”

I winked at him. “You.”

He shook his head. “No, no, I’m serious. I mean, for real. Your dream. Your passion. I know you have one.”

I bit my lip. I did, but…

“Come on. You can tell me.”

“There is something,” I said, suddenly nervous. “But I never really pursued it. My parents, they always… No, it’s not their fault.”

“Well, spit it out. What is it?”

I exhaled, harsh and shaky. “I could show you right now. But you have to promise to laugh.”

He cocked a brow. “You mean, not to laugh?”

“No. You must laugh, or I’ll be highly offended.” I stood up. “Get dressed.”

“We’re going out?”

“That’s right. Now get dressed before I change my mind.”

Ten minutes later, we were in the back of a taxi. Marco wanted to drive us, but I wouldn’t let him. Giving him the address would spoil the surprise, and I wasn’t ready to answer his questions. Not till he’d seen, and he’d laughed, or not laughed. Not till I knew if he’d be on board with my dream, or if he’d dismiss it like so many others. Why bother? It’s hard. Almost nobody makes it. It’s constant rejection, and you don’t need that. You have everything already, so why?—

We pulled up at a bar in an old, narrow street, its peeling sign hanging askew. Marco paused with his hand on the door handle.

“Is this the right place? It looks kind of sketchy.”

“What, are you scared?”

“No, but that window…” He pointed at a window with a crack running down it, the pane held together by a zigzag of duct tape.

“It’s part of the charm.” I grinned and got out. Marco hurried to catch me, and we headed inside. I watched his face as he took it all in, the wobbly tables. The butcher’s-slab bar. The ramshackle stage with its single spotlight; the NO CAMERAS sign with its crossed-out cell phone. A wave of laughter went up, and he blinked, bemused.

“A comedy club? Are you going to tell jokes?”

“Wait here,” I said, and ducked into the crowd. Marco started after me, but I left him behind. I shouldered up to the bar and waved down the bartender, and his face lit up at the sight of me.

“Tell me you’re going on.”

“Yeah, if there’s room.”

“I had three comics cancel, some bug going round. I was about to do open mic, but that’s always a trainwreck.”

“Well, I can’t fill up three sets, but I’ll do fifteen minutes.”

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