Page 59 of The Faking Game

“And you’re my girlfriend.”

“Fakegirlfriend.”

“Fake or real, you’re mine,” I say. The words feel better than they should. “Take my card next time.”

“I’m perfectly capable of funding this collection. It’s mine.” She takes a step closer, and I catch the scent of her. Flowery shampoo and clean woman. “If you’re so eager for me to spend your money, I can think of more fun things to buy.”

“If that’s meant to be a threat, it’s only making me intrigued.”

“So if I spend it on buying lunch for all my guards every day,” she murmurs and tilts her head. “You’ll love that, will you?”

My jaw works. “As long as it’s my money you’re spending and not your own.”

“I’ve been a professional model for years. I have a savings account.”

I reach into my back pocket and slide out my wallet. Grab one of the black cards and set it beside her on the working table. “Use mine.”

“You know that I don’t like it when men pay.”

“I know. It’s on your list.”

She grabs my card, turns it over, and runs a finger over the embossed name.Weston Calloway.“People think it’s stupid. A few of my girlfriends tell me I should accept any free dinners and drinks that come my way.”

“Do you think it’s stupid?”

“No.” Her fingers curl around my card, and she looks back up at me. “I’ve told you—I hate when men have expectations of me. If they buy me stuff, well…”

“You don’t owe them shit,” I say. We’re supposed to be arguing, but this is too important. “You don’t owe your mother a career, and you don’t owe a man kisses or another date just because he chooses to pay for a meal.”

“I know it intellectually. But it’s not that easy.”

“It is that easy.”

Her eyes flash. “No, it’s not. Disappointing people isnoteasy. If it was, do you think I’d be the way I am? Maybe it’s easy for you. You’ve never struggled with speaking your mind.”

“Which is why I know it’s easy.”

She rolls her eyes. “Just for that, I’m going to take this card and spend it on all kinds of stupid stuff.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll think about it. But you’ll be too afraid to upset me for real to make good on it.” I take a step closer, and she braces her hands against the worktable behind her. “I wish you would.”

“If I do it, it won’t be to makeyouhappy.”

“Well done.” I slide a finger under her chin and tip her face up. Her eyes spark with the look I’ve come to crave. Surprise. Excitement.

Curiosity.

“You’re so good when you’re fighting back,” I tell her.

“I’m starting to like it.” Her words are whispered, laden with guilt. Like it’s an admission.

I slide my thumb over her lip. “You’re pretty when you stand up for yourself.”

“That’s not why I do it.”

“I know. But that doesn’t make it any less true.”

Her breath warms my thumb. “Is this when we practice ending an argument?”

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