Page 48 of A Flighty Fake Boyfriend
“I think the twelve-hundred-mile drive finally took its toll.”
“Because man was never meant to go over twenty miles an hour,” he said dryly. “It couldn’t possibly be because last night you were faced with the inescapable truth that your ex has moved on with his life.”
“Of course not,” I lied. “We were over ages ago.”
He spooned up some of his oatmeal. “I know you can hear yourself, so I won’t be a jerk and point out the obvious.”
“You just did.” I put my cup down. “What’s the object of saying you aren’t going to point out the obvious when you go right ahead and do just that?”
His eyes fell to his bowl. “I’m sorry.”
I glared at him for another three seconds, then felt ridiculous for starting a fight. “Me too.”
He checked his watch. “Exactly one hour from now, we’re going swimming.”
“Oh, are we?” I asked with a defiance I didn’t feel. Yet somehow, I ended up hanging onto the side of a rainbow-maned unicorn pool float while Epic, in his Speedo, sprawled on it like a porn star.
“How is this helping?” The ball of grief in my stomach hadn’t diminished. Sadness continued to surface on waves of memory like bioluminescent foam.
“It’s perfect. It’s early yet, but the sunshine will still do wonders for your mood.”
“Can the sun even get in after you slathered me head to toe with SPF 50 waterproof sunblock?”
“I know you’re not trying to tell me I shouldn’t take care of you.”
“Maybe I’m telling you exactly that?” I would have sworn I couldn’t pout anymore, thatpetulancewasn’t in my closet of coping mechanisms, but there we were. “I can take care of myself.”
“But you’re in luck, baby cakes, because you don’t have to. What shall we do this afternoon? I know. Let’s get your ears pierced.”
“What?”
“You’d look hot with pierced ears.”
“Why don’t I just go bald and grow a ponytail?”
He frowned at me. “I don’t think you’re taking me seriously.”
“It’s not you. It’s piercing my body parts. Pierce your own ears.”
“They are.”
I edged around the float to look. “How come you’re not wearing earrings?”
“I forgot to pack the ones I like.”
I rested my cheek on the warming white plastic. “You could pierce something else.”
“We could get matching tattoos.”
“No, we couldn’t. You could get one.”
He put a finger to his temple. “I’m sensing a theme.”
I led him straight there. “Ihateneedles.”
“That was the theme.” He smirked. “Afraid of a little boo-boo?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “And I’m not ashamed to admit it. Next suggestion?”
