Page 54 of The Love Hoax
I follow. “I’m not sure about?—”
“I can’t fly.”
“Sorry?”
Adam plops down on the sofa. The blissful one I’ve fallen asleep on twice. “I hate airplanes. Have for as long as I can recall.”
“Oh, I see.” I mutter, feeling like an idiot. He tried to keep his phobia to himself. Why did I have to push so hard?
I sit beside him. Close enough to touch. An awkward silence ensues. Adam chews on his bottom lip. I recognize it as his nervous tell. He runs a hand through his thick mane, the cowlick falling into his eyes. I want desperately to fixit.
Adam sighs. “When I was fifteen, my best friend’s parents were flying to New York when the pilot made an emergency landing. Miraculously, everyone survived but Kevin’s mother was left with a distinct limp.
Needless to say, he passed his fear along to me.”
“You never fly?”
“There are times I have no choice. Business that can’t be done virtually, where driving is not an option or when a deal is time-sensitive. Then, I take a sleeping pill. Knocks me out until we land.”
I suspect that stating stats of how more accidents happen on the roads than in the skies is one he’s heard countless times before. “Okay, we’ll drive.”
His shoulders loosen. “Thanks, Evie.”
“I suppose I should go pack.”
“Not yet.”
He has a look in his eye, one I’m beginning to understand. Playful mischief.
“What exactly do you have in mind?” I ask, the butterflies in my stomach taking flight.
Adam stands, offering me a hand. “I want a rematch.”
I grin, letting him help me up. “A game of pool?”
“What do you say?”
I’m already heading for the door. Over my shoulder, I call out, “I say, hold on to your wallet, Mr. Demetrius. You’re about to get fleeced.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Evie
Most of the tables in Yosemite Sam’s are available when Adam and I arrive. The smell of grilling meat is mouthwatering. A young guy in a fedora takes a seat by a keyboard I didn’t notice the last time I was here. A small space beside him has been cleared for dancing. Odd as it’s barely lunch time.
Dorothy saunters over, gesturing to the musician. “Pete’s new. He’s rehearsing for the dinner crowd.” She gives us a closer look, then smiles. “I see the two of you remained friends.”
I’m ready to set the record straight when Adam nudges me under the table. I don’t understand why, given that the only people we need to fool are his family, who live far away. But I play along. “Yes, we’re getting to know each other,” I say.
“Really well,” Adam adds.
After taking our order of burgers, fries, and beers, Dorothywalks away. Adam answers my unasked question. “It’s important we play the part,” he says.
“Here?” I whisper.
Adam nods. “If we don’t break character, we have a good shot at pulling this off.”
The keyboard strikes up, the singer belting out, “It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday. . .”
