Page 41 of The Faking Game

But West is the kind of guy I usually say no to right off the bat. Handsome, tall, smooth. They come with expectations, compliments and gifts.

He looks up and down the street like he’s surveying a kingdom. The guards are somewhere behind us, too, a shadow we can’t escape. I wonder what Sam and Madison think about what we’re doing.

“Let’s practice, then. We’re not West and Nora. You met me two hours ago, when I picked you up.”

“Right. And you’re… Paul.”

“Paul,” he repeats.

“It’s a normal name,” I say. “I’ve been on dates with at least one Paul before. I actually think my cousin is named Paul.”

West’s eyebrows lift. “Right. I don’t know how to interpret that, except that you’re nervous, so this is working.”

“I don’t babble when I’m nervous.”

“Yes,” he says, putting a hand at my elbow, “you do.”

We start walking down the sidewalk, and just like that, the familiarity is gone. He’s a stranger again, and I try my hardest to pretend he is indeed a Paul. Any Paul.

Except cousin Paul.

“I’m walking you to your taxi.” His voice is smooth in the darkness. He’s West and he’s not; a version of himself I’ve never seen until tonight.

“Thank you.” I fall into step beside him. This is always what the entire night hinges on. The goodbye. Men will look at me with those searching, wanting eyes. They’ll ask for another date. They’ll want to see when I’m free, if they can kiss me, if I want to follow them back home.

And I hate the awkwardness that happens when I say thanks but no thanks.

“The movie,” West says. “Did you like it?”

“Yeah, I thought it was pretty good. Did you?”

His hand brushes against mine, and heat rushes up my arm. “Yeah. But I was distracted by the beautiful woman beside me.”

I glance up at him. He’s smiling a bit, but he looks straight ahead.He’s playing a part.I have to remember that. He’s only pretending, and he’s laying the compliments on thick.

I usually feel like they increase expectations. Some guys use them like rain, when I haven’t even decided whether I like talking with them yet. It’s like they’re always five steps ahead of me.

“Thanks,” I say. “Um, I was distracted by the guy two rows in front of us who ate his M&M’s so loudly.”

“He was inhaling that bag, but it never seemed to end.”

I smile. “No. Do you think he had several?”

“At least a dozen.” West glances my way. We’re almost at the car. “Are you free this weekend?”

Oof. This is the moment I’m so bad at, where I feel awkward and tongue-tied and struggle with saying what I want. “I might be,” I say. “But I have some plans with friends, and I might be having dinner with family on Sunday. What are you up to?”

West turns so that my back is to the car door. “I’m not doing much,” he says. His voice is low, eyes locked on me. “I’d like to see you again, Nora.”

I’ve seen this expression on other men before, but never on West.

There’s an intensity in his features, a focus I’ve never seen directed at me. It makes my throat dry.

He looks at me like he wants me.

It’s similar but it’s notthe sameas I’ve experienced before,because it’s West. The man I once had a little crush on before he crushed it beneath an arrogant boot.

“You want to see me again,” I repeat.

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