Page 10 of Not Fooling Anyone

I stroke my beard, appearing to think it over. “Yeah, guess I got a little carried away. You’ll help me eat it, right?”

Her lips twist as she unrolls the wrapped silverware in front of her. “You’re real slick, you know that?”

I make a noncommittal noise, silently savoring my victory. “How about we do some fact quizzing? You said you wanted facts about me, right?”

She reaches in her bag to pull out a blue notebook. “I actually made a list for us to fill out the basics. Family info, likes and dislikes, things like that.”

She rips out a few sheets, sliding them across the table, and I look them over.

These are the basics? There have to be at least a hundred questions on here. They’re front and back, for crying out loud.

“You can fill it out here,” she continues, “and I’ll study your answers before we meet at the lab.”

I set them aside. “You’re one of those Type A people, aren’t you?”

She gives an exasperated sigh. “We need to be prepared. There’s a thousand each at stake.”

“All right, all right.” I hold up my hands in adon’t shootgesture. “But really, I doubt they’ll ask about—” I glance down at the top sheet. “Our childhood pets.”

“It could come up. You never know.”

“Well, Skittles, may he rest in peace, is wagging his tail in doggy heaven knowing we’re talking about him.”

The pained look she gives me is laughable. “You named your dog Skittles?”

I shrug. “It was the only thing me and my brothers could agree on. My vote was for Groucho Barks.”

She groans in response. “Oh my God, I didn’t think it could get worse.”

“You know, that pun was pretty clever for an eight-year-old.”

“I guess,” she concedes.

“Any childhood pets on your end?”

“No.”

“What? I can totally see Lawrence with some big pitbull or something. The kind that looks all mean but is the biggest softy when you pet them.”

She glances up as the waitress returns with my orange juice, setting a glass of water in front of Lexie too, even though she didn’t order it. “Thanks.” She takes a sip, delaying her response, but I wait her out, curious as to what she’ll say. “Dad didn’t stick around in one place long enough to have a dog,” she finally tells me. “He was always competing in different invitationals. Had to travel a lot.”

“Your mom didn’t want one?”

Her mouth tightens. “No.”

So the mom is a sore spot. Duly noted. “See? I’m learning way more talking to you about this stuff than by filling out a bunch of one-word responses. Why don’t we pretend like this is a date so we can get to know each other better?”

There’s still that firmness to her mouth. “This isn’t a date.”

“Yeah, but if weweredating, which we’re telling Dr. Clark we are, we would have gone on a first date at some point. It’s part of our cover story. You asked me out to Kate’s Kitchen, we laughed and wondered if there was a real Kate, yada, yada, yada. So, what would you talk about if it was a real date?”

She shifts in her seat, the vinyl booth squeaking. “I don’t know.”

“What do you normally do on a date?”

She’s silent, looking everywhere but at me. Tough crowd.

“I mean, you’ve been on a date, right?” I joke. She’s gorgeous. She must get asked out all the time.

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