Page 58 of The Fake Dating War

My irritation flares. “You’re late.”

“No one else is here.”

“We should still show up earlier. I’ve got a lot riding on this game of ours, unlike you. Though I should say this. You don’t want it to go wrong, either.”

“And why is that?”

“If we mess this up, I’ll be in a mood at work.”

“That would be a real threat,” he says sagely, “except you are alway in a mood.”

“Don’t tempt me. I’ll hide all the sugar-alternative packets you put into your coffee and cancel your subscriptions. No more Weekly Global Fiduciary blah-blah-blah Trends blah-blah-blah Trajectory Stocks….”

His mouth twitches. “I see your obsession with my habits grows stronger than ever, Patel. When should I expect you to start stalking me after-hours?

“Only after you get your delusions checked out,” I volley back. “This is the only week where I care about your behavior. I need this to work out. Which it will. Ithasto.”

My sister is pregnant and I’ve already messed it up by lying, and now I don’t want to mess it up any further.

He studies my face, his arrogant smile replaced by something surprisingly serious. “If you are worried about me, then don’t be. I’m not a man you have to manage. You might not be used to such competence, but I’ll have no problem making your family like me, so stop looking so worried. I’m not going to do anything to reflect poorly on you. Trust me.”

Trust me.

I don’t trust anyone anymore, including myself.

Also, he has no idea what today has in store for us. So many more relatives have flown in for the Maiyan. My mouth sets in a line at the thought of them.

I turn and head towards Bells Estate, wanting to get it all over with. He follows behind, and I hear him wonder, “How can you be such a terrifying force at work, but be intimidated by this?”

I don’t think he meant it as a real question, but I answer. “Maybe I’m dreading having to act like we’ve fallen for each other. To pretend we’ve ridden happily into the sunset.”

“It’s hard for me as well,” he says. “You should paint a picture. For example, is there a riding crop in this sunset vision of yours?”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “You know, it doesn’t surprise me at all that you like to be flogged.”

“Why is that?”

“Making the other person do all the hard work while you get off is typical Coleman.”

“Not everyone has what it takes to be a manager, Patel.”

“Or it shows what little you bring to the table.”

“Is this a disguised request for me to control you? I’ll see if I can pencil it in.”

“I’d rather skip on the disappointment, thank you.”

“I love it when you appreciate me. You’re so welcome.”

A gurgled frustration sound comes out of me, mixed with words about how he’s too much work to insult.

He laughs, and I smother any urge to join him. I also ignore how my heart piques with satisfaction when I make him break like this. When he surrenders to his amusement.

Coleman opens the door for me like a pretend gentleman, and I slip inside the main doors of the event venue.

Shockingly, I’m not such a nervous wreck anymore. My conversation with him left little room for anxiety. If we weren’t always so against each other, I would get him to do this for me all the time. It sounds stupid but being with him refills my inner well with a certain no-fucks-given attitude. Put plainly, he works me up, and I feel almost invincible.

It’s handy to keep around, but I can’t get used to it. This is just another game we’re playing, and it’s going to end in a few days.

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