Page 23 of All's Fair in Love and Blackmail

Even though I keep my eyes on the road, I can feel the look she shoots me in the fading light of the car. It’s suspicious, like she can’t tell if I’m teasing her or not.

“I’m genuinely asking,” I say as I roll to a stop at a stop sign. I glance over at her briefly. The sun is halfway out of the sky, bathing everything in a golden-pink light—her skin, her hair, her dark eyes.

“I don’t know,” she says with a sigh, and I face forward again. “Yeah, I guess.” There’s silence for a couple seconds. “I want to fall in love and get married and have a family.”

“You don’t need to be embarrassed,” I say as traffic starts moving again. I stop my little smile, in case she thinks I’m making fun. “Own it. You’re allowed to want those things. There’s nothing wrong with marriage or family.” I pause and then add, “Have you dated a lot?”

“Not much,” she says, and I can’t decide if I’m surprised or not surprised.

“Why not?” I hesitate only a second before going on, “You’re—attractive.” I keep my voice easy, don’t let myself stumble over my words. “I don’t think you’d have much trouble finding someone interested.”

She gasps, a loud, dramatic sound. “Does the famous Felix Caine think I’mattractive?”

And good grief. Am Iblushing?I can feel the heat in my cheeks.

India doesn’t seem to notice, thankfully. “I’m going to tell Cyrus you said that.”

“Don’t youdare.”

“Dear Cyrus,” she says, adopting a high-pitched voice and pretending to type on her phone, “your BFF just said I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen?—”

“Whoa, there,” I say. “Let’s not exaggerate?—”

“And that I’m the funniest person he knows?—”

I snort.

“And that he feelshashtag blessedto spend time with me?—”

“All right, you hooligan,” I say, grinning in spite of myself. She’s clearly deflecting. “I’m justsaying. You’re fun, you’re cool, you’re pretty normal. If you want to date, you’ll be able to. That’s all.”

She sighs and drops the act. “It’s not that I haven’t been interested, necessarily. I just—” She breaks off, and I glance over, waiting for her to go on.

When she doesn’t, I speak. “All right, answer this. Can you tell me the last time a guy showed interest in you?”

“I don’t know,” she says, her voice unconvinced. “There was a guy at the bookstore a few months ago, but he had a really big wart on his forehead that kind of freaked me out. And warts are fine, but it was justright there?—”

“Wrong,” I say, holding up one hand to cut off any more talk of forehead warts. “It was twenty minutes ago. The guy at the shop.”

“Sal?” she says incredulously.

“Not him,” I say. “The other guy. Scrawny, working on something at the back of the garage. He stared at you with blatant interest. But you didn’t notice. Not that I can blame you”—I break off, grinning—“because you were with me, a pinnacle of male perfection?—”

She snorts, and I laugh, turning in the direction of the grocery store with a flick of my blinker.

“Still need groceries?” I say.

She straightens up. “Yes.”

I nod. “And I don’t mean to harp on about dating,” I say. “I’ll stop. I just wanted to point out that you’ll be able to find opportunities to meet people. That’s all.”

She still doesn’t look totally convinced, but I don’t say anything else, and we drive the rest of the way in silence.

“So tell me this.Before you make a phone call, do you plan what you’re going to say?”

“What?” she says with a little frown. “No. Where did that come from?”

I shrug. “Just wondering if you plan on ending each call rudely, or if it happens naturally.”

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