Page 70 of Fake It 'til You Make It

‘You look like you’re enjoying that, Sausage Girl.’

Rolling my eyes, I take another moreish bite of my food and once I’ve swallowed it, I ask, ‘What is it I love about Michael Thomas, then? Why have I fallen for you enough to bring you home to meet my family?’

Mike licks his thumb then his finger and leans back on both elbows. ‘Besides fame and fortune, you mean?’

I grimace, leaning my head to one side, but actually, I imagine there are a lot of women keen on catching themselves a sports star, if they actually knew anything about the sport, that is. ‘For real.’

‘Ah, okay, for real. The fact I’m great at something. My confidence and bravado.’

‘Which knows no limits.’

He snorts. Genuinely snorts. ‘You asked. Honestly, I think his,mymost admirable quality is that I know who I am and I don’t care about what I’m not. Bad things that happen and just wash over him, me, but when something bad happens to people I care about, I’m there for them, in a heartbeat.’

‘You do make yourself sound like a pretty good guy.’ I finish my hot dog and lean back next to him so we’re both facing the bigscreen, behind which the sun is setting and casting an orange hue across Manhattan.

‘And you’re surprisingly smart,’ I say, only teasing in part because I reallydothink he’s a very intelligent man. To me, that’s worth more than his fame and fortune.

‘Ouch, that sounded like pigeon-holing the jock, right there.’ In response to my flicking his ear, he flinches and says, ‘I’m kidding.’ He eats another chip. Then he tells me, ‘I guess I am smart,’ and chuckles. ‘I can recite the sporting averages of just about every sports player, across every sport played in the States. That’s something, right?’

‘Oh, so you’re a numbers guy! Now we’re talking.’

Mike twists his face, as if he’s confused by numbers being a standout characteristic for me. Of course, I’m an actress to Mike. Not some ordinary girl who likes simple things, especially logic and math.

‘We also both like being outdoors,’ I tell him, quickly skimming over my faux pas, licking mustard from my thumb.

‘We might be the most compatible fake boyfriend and girlfriend known to man.’

Lol.

As we talk, the sun falls lower behind downtown Manhattan, until there are burnt-orange and red wispy clouds in the sky and it’s dark enough for the movie to begin.

Despite the ancient graphics, I’m just as enthralled by the opening scene – creepy music, spaceship, adorable alien and all – as I have been every time I’ve seen this movie. It’s one of Dad’s all-time favorites. I remember how we used to watch it on the sofa together, Dee and I each tucked under one of Dad’s arms, Nate usually lounging somewhere like the floor or on a beanbag. We watched it every Christmas holiday season.

Mike and I whisper our childhood memories to each other,eyes fixed on the screen. The sky grows darker and we end up pulling the bottom of our blanket over our legs as we lie side by side.

When we get to the death scene, despite willing myself not to, I blub. True to his word, Mike offers me the sleeve of his T-shirt. I find my dirty hot dog napkin and use that instead but I’m grateful for the offer and even more grateful that he doesn’t laugh at how utterly pathetic I am. I blame Spielberg’s movie-making prowess.

It’s nice just being with someone, watching something we both enjoy, doing something I’ve never done before. Stopping, for once in my life, not rushing to or from the office, not running to the grocery store, not attending another one of my or Andrew’s client functions or watching him practice his work presentations, not feeling guilty about not having the time to do any of these things as well as I ought to.

When the movie ends and my tears have been wiped away, Mike returns the blanket and I trash our rubbish. Then we head across Squibb Park Bridge, back to Brooklyn Heights and home. It’s late and I’ve had a busy day, yet I don’t feel tired.

Mike and I are too busy talking about aliens, spaceships, which planet we’d like to live on when Earth combusts and how a flying basket bike would be pretty cool, for me to want to sleep.

We’re almost back at our block when suddenly Mike wraps an arm around my waist and leans into my ear. The move takes me by surprise. We’ve joked around for most of the night but we haven’t been in close contact, not really, not like this.

His hold is heavy, yet warm and welcome. His cheek grazes mine and the scent of him forces my eyes to close as I inhale, stilled by our connection, his familiarity. Lost in a sudden rush of desire for him.

I open my eyes to his, noticing we’ve stopped on the sidewalk and people are having to maneuver around us. Extraordinarilyfor me, I don’t care one iota what anyone else thinks because I’m consumed by my own feelings.

Our eyes meet and I tense, wondering what’s coming next, maybe hoping he’ll?—

‘Your ex is across the street,’ Mike whispers, his breath hot against my lips.

‘Andrew?’

‘Don’t look now.’ Then he nudges the tip of his nose against mine, playfully, and I could even be fooled into thinking lovingly, if it wasn’t all an act for Andrew.

I rest a hand on his cheek, improvising, all the while my disappointment like a weight falling through my insides, crushing my stomach.

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