Page 116 of Not Fooling Anyone

And he honestly doesn’t seem bothered, calmly finishing up his salad.

But the notion of Savannah meeting Ethan’s family only raises a dizzying number of what-ifs in my mind.

“What if she says something about me at dinner? Like, tries to discredit me?”

He sets down his fork, turning to me. “First of all, it’d be pretty tacky of her to bring anything like that up. Second of all, we’d tell them the truth. And third of all, I’d let everyone know how she continually hit on me knowing I had a girlfriend. After I’d repeatedly reminded her. How she did it in front of you, for Christ’s sake.”

He blows out a breath and studies me carefully, his gaze tenderly tracing my features, relaxing me. “If you want to go tonight, I’m fine with that. If you don’t want to, I’m fine with that too. It’s totally up to you. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“I want to go,” I tell him slowly, deciding it as I say it. “I’d like to meet your family.”

He smiles at me, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “Now before you start worrying about it, they’re going to love you.”

I cover my eyes with my other hand, both hating and loving that he read my mind so easily. “It’s probably silly, but I want them to like me. Especially your parents. I’ve never met a boyfriend’s parents before.”

His lips curve in a wide grin, eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s the first time you’ve called me your boyfriend.”

“It is?” I swear I’ve said it a million times in my head. Maybe even doodledLexie Hudsonin my notebook a few times during Cost Accounting this morning, just to see what it would look like. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I’ve referred to you as my boyfriend to Travis a bunch already. He’s probably sick of hearing it.”

We’d had a big heart to heart the day after Ethan and I got back together. It was pretty necessary, though. The walls of our apartment aren’t soundproof, and he’d heard everything I yelled from the bedroom. But Ethan was right that I need to share more. After talking with Travis about everything that went down with my mom, I couldn’t believe the amount of support he gave me in response. Maybe he really does love me.

That still leaves the talk I need to have with my dad, but that’s a problem for another day.

“So, what can you tell me about your parents? What should I know before we go?”

He strokes his beard, looking up at the umbrella shading us from the midday sun. “Okay, there’s a chance Dad won’t be there because he works a lot of nights, but just talk about the Patriots or whatever new Black and Decker tool is on the market.”

I know next to nothing about football or tools, but okay.

“Mom will definitely be there. You can’t have a family dinner without her. She likes the idea of traveling to France or collecting these weird ceramic figures I was never allowed to touch.”

Um, okay? That’s not really helpful either.

He gets up, throwing the last scraps of his salad in the nearby trash can. “How about I pick you up around five-thirty tonight? Dinner’s supposed to be at six.”

“That’s all the prep I get?”

“I have to go to class,” he says, holding his hands out in a helpless gesture. “Linear differential equations wait for no man.”

“What about a woman? Namely, me.”

His mouth quirks to one side in amusement, and he bends down to press a soft kiss to my lips. “You’ll knock ’em dead. Love you.”

The returning words bubble to the surface, lingering, waiting, but ultimately don’t come out. I told him I’m falling for him. That I’m his. Fully. Completely. So why can’t I tell him I love him? I know in my heart I do.

I give him a warm smile instead. “See you tonight.”

If he’s disappointed with my answer, he doesn’t show it at least. He hitches his backpack over his shoulders and walks toward his next class, turning back toward me about fifty feet away to cup his hands around his mouth and shout, “Love you, Pookie Bear.” He waves an arm too, in case any passersby didn’t get the message, my cheeks heating at his ridiculousness.

I thought he’d forgotten about that nickname. Hoped he’d forgotten, more like it. But if I know him at all, there’s one thing he’ll love. And it’s kind of the perfect way to tell him.

I wave a hand back, yelling, “Love you, Snookums.”

He pumps his fists in the air, letting out a holler, and runs back to me, cupping my face with both hands when he reaches me. “I love you. Like, seriously love you right now.”

“I love you too.”

He kisses me long and slow, a prelude to something more even though we both have classes to get to, desire in his eyes as he pulls away. “I can’t wait till you sleep over tonight.”

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