Page 85 of Not Fooling Anyone

“Then that’s all that matters,” I tell her. “Don’t worry about anything else.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t worry about anything.”

I stare at her for a moment. “I worry about things.”

“Like what?”

About how she feels about me. About how much my diabetes is going to affect my future. About how I’m bound to get torn to shreds in my upcoming boxing match.

I don’t mention the first two things, though. That will either have her on her guard or invite questions I’m unsure how to answer.

“That match your dad set up for me.”

She makes a noncommittal noise. “I won’t say I pretend to understand now, but I could once. You’ll do fine.”

Even though it’s probably only an empty platitude, it still warms my heart regardless.

“Most of the guys in the ring are dumb as a box of rocks,” she says. “But you’re so much smarter than them. You can figure out how to win.”

“Will you come?” I ask before thinking about it. “To the fight? I know it’s not your thing, but it would mean a lot to me if you were there.”

Her fingers flex, and it’s a moment before she answers, “I’ll be there.”

I let out a sigh of relief, unaware it meant that much to me until now.

“You can be my cheerleader,” I joke.

In the darkness, I can barely see her answering smirk. “Don’t push it. I’m not a ring girl.”

Those girls in the tiny bikinis between rounds? “Oh, no. I didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t.”

There’s a sound from the other side of the house, probably Tom or Sean going to the bathroom, and she shifts, standing. “It’s late. I should head home.”

“Yeah, okay.”

I walk her to the front door and out to her car, the street silent this late. “I’m glad you came over. Even if I fell asleep for pretty much the whole time.”

“You were really that tired?”

I bring a hand up, tucking a lock of hair back behind her ear. “I couldn’t fall asleep last night. I kept thinking about you.” My fingers trail down the length of her neck, her eyes closing as she leans into me. “I really liked what we did.”

“I did too,” she whispers.

“If you want to get together again before Tuesday, let me know.”

She opens her eyes, looking at me for a moment. “Okay.”

I lean forward, taking a chance, and kiss her, waiting for her to tell me there’s no reason to be doing this. That there’s no one around to see, no one to pretend for.

But she kisses me back instead, briefer than I’d like, but her willingness is still there.

“Goodnight, Ethan,” she says, pulling away.

---