Page 17 of A Flighty Fake Boyfriend
“The Pirates of the Caribbeansoundtrack. Perfect start, don’t you think?Bring me the Horizon!” he said, quoting the film.
“Oh my God.” I muttered, not unhappily. “You’re going to be the weirdest fake boyfriend ever.”
“There’s nothing wrong with weird,” he said primly. “Grape soda?”
I almost gagged. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Okay. But you don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Yes, I do. I have grown-up tastebuds.”
With a knowing smile, he handed me a grapefruit LaCroix. “Okay, then, mister. You’ll probably like this.”
I probably would. Goddamn it. How had he known that?
I put the car in gear and took off as the music swelled around us.
“It really isn't that long a drive.”
“Then we must begin right away. Eat up, my good man.” He pulled a couple of Kind bars out of his bag, stuffed them into the console, and then turned back to rustle around until he came up with chips. It looked as if Epic planned to feed me like a goose on the way to the foie gras follies. If only Cam and Daniel could see me now.
It was still early. We reached the nearly empty highway, and I felt as expansive as the road in front of us. Was this happiness? I wasn’t sure I had the skill set to know happiness when I saw it. Did I feel lighter than usual? Yes. Did I feel optimistic? I did.
But I also felt strained in a way I wouldn’t have had Laurie been in the car beside me. Laurie was the known, and Epic was very much part of an unfinished map with the words:Thar be danger past these waterson it.
What was it about Epic?
I’d already asked myself this question several times. Epic seemed to act on impulse, and in my ordered life, I had only made room for things or people I could predict.
“Can we stop at the miniature golf place?”
I slid a glance his way. “Now?”
“Yes, now. There’s a place ahead that features a fairy-tale theme. You can see the castle from the highway.”
“I played mini-golf once. I hated it.” I’d gotten to the ninth hole, realized there were eighteen, and nearly opened a vein right then and there.
“Of course you did,” he said sarcastically. “What happened? Didn’t you win?”
“I don’t have to win all the time.”
“But?”
“But mini-golf is so frivolous. I mean, golf is frivolous—”
His eyes widened. “Apologize right now. My ancestors invented golf.”
“I despise golf. My experience is that it’s the last bastion of ‘old boy’ handshake deals and classism.”
“You’ve never used that to your advantage? The networking possibilities seem to dovetail with fundraising. I’d think you’d golf if only for that.”
I had to give Epic the point. He was absolutely right. “The networking possibilities would outweigh my personal disdain for the sport if there weren’t others better suited. I have colleagues who play. They work within social circles I don’t have entry to anyway.”
Epic sent a calculating look my way. “You’re more a boots-on-the-ground man, then?”
“I’m not as comfortable on the fundraising side. Since I’m unattached and willing to travel, I’m more useful in analysis and negotiation.”
“I see.”
