Page 68 of Faker
I look down at my lap, trying to hide my disappointment. “I wish it weren’t the case, but you are correct.”
“I’ll take you home, then.” The dissatisfaction on his face does not match the politeness of his words. I’m grateful to see his expression though, because it means we’re both equally disappointed.
He drives the short distance to my place. When he parks in the driveway, he reaches for the bag of food. He insists I take all the leftovers, but I convince him to accept a container.
I dawdle a bit before opening the door. “So. Thanks.” I have no words in my head, and the ones spilling from my mouth manage to sound woefully inadequate compared to how I feel.
“That was fun.” He rubs the back of his neck.
“Pretty epic first dinner.”
He joins me in a laugh. We gaze at each other again, affection in our stares.
I reach for the door handle. “Good night.”
I expect to hear him say it back, to say, “Bye” or “See you in the morning.” What I don’t expect is for him to grab me by the wrist and say, “Wait.”
eighteen
Is everything okay?”
He gazes at me with wide eyes, his stare emboldened. “Was this a date?”
“Honestly? I have no idea. Do you think it was?”
He swallows, and I watch the muscles in his neck flex. “I kind of hoped it would be.”
“I hoped so too.” My feelings for Tate rush through my body, settling in my chest.
“What I said last night, about wanting to take things slowly, is it too difficult for you?” When he speaks he looks pained, like he’s worried to hear my answer.
“It’s definitely not easy, but it’s the right thing to do. I’m still pretty sore.”
He shakes his head. “No, I mean, what I said last night about needing to take my time with this, with us. Does it bother you?”
“Honestly?” I clear my throat. “It wouldn’t bother me if I knew why.”
He ruffles his hair. “I’ve always been a slow mover. I take my time; I don’t rush; and I only do things I want to do. I’ve been thisway ever since I was a kid. I hate it when people try to pull me out of my comfort zone. I’d rather quietly work things out on my own.”
“I can respect that. There’s something more though. I can feel it.”
He sighs. “It’s made dating and relationships difficult. I’m not an easy guy to be with. It took me a while to figure out why.”
“My money’s on your introvert personality.”
His half smile reappears. “Bingo. The women I’ve dated hate that I don’t open up about everything right away, that I’m so reserved. I’ve tried forcing myself to be open, but it’s always ended in disaster. It always felt so rushed, unnatural. It led to arguments, resentment, strain. Eventually, we’d break up because they couldn’t handle my personality long term.”
He reaches for my hand and laces his fingers with mine.
“With you it’s different. Comfortable. You set me at ease.” He points between us, then pauses to swallow. “I don’t want to mess up by jumping into things too fast. I’ve made that mistake too many times before. I don’t want to lose you too.”
There’s a tiny fireworks show happening in the middle of my chest, like a rainbow with every color in the world surging through my body. Tate is the champion of making me feel things I’ve never felt before.
“What if I said that tonight was a date?”
I bite back a smile. “Then I would say it too.”
“And what if I said I wanted to date you, but still take things slow? Would you be up for that?”
