Page 105 of A Flighty Fake Boyfriend
When I finally got a grip, I wiped my eyes and picked up the thread. “…or are we having a little tête-à-tête with our friend Jack? Because you’ve totally lost the plot.”
“Nope," I sighed. "No Jack.”
“Jim? Jose?”
“Not even the Captain. That may be part of the problem, and it’s all your fault. I’ve given up my usual coping strategies.”
“Oh, sweetheart. You dope.” His voice turned velvety soft and warm as honey straight from the hive in summer. “That wasn’t coping.”
“I know.” I loved when he called me sweetheart. It made me weak in the knees. I left my office and lay down on my bed. “So, I guess we’re talking now?”
He huffed. “Seems like.”
“How are you?”
“It’s a laugh a minute here, let me tell you.” I could practically hear his eye roll. “Steven and Chloe keep sharing stories of their wild younger days.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Maybe to convince me they were once human? Whatever. You haven’t lived until you’ve heard my mother describe naked psychedelic-drug shenanigans. I’m surprised my ears aren’t bleeding.”
“I can’t picture your mom—”
“Beglad,” he moaned. “Because there are actual pictures. I put my foot down hard there.”
“Your family is so weird. Did you ever learn why your parents changed so drastically?”
“You know, honestly, I have no idea."
"Don't hate them for wanting what they think is best for you."
"I don't." he insisted. "They were pretty tough academically, and we’re having a hard time now, but they were nice when I was growing up. They attended my soccer games and took me to Disneyland. We’re going to be fine. Eventually. It’s just tough going now because they’re really entrenched.”
“That’s actually nice to hear. They seemed pretty cold.”
“That’s because I won’t change my mind about what I want to do. I told them that. They’re still trying to convince me a stint in some global asset management company holds the promise of happiness, but they’re deluded. I have other options that are just as valid but not as lucrative. They’ll have to adjust.”
“I wish I’d had half your self-possession when I was your age.”
“Guh. You sound like them with thewhen-I-was-your-agecrap.”
“Sorry.”
“And you wish you were as self-possessed as I am at your age now. Don’t lie. Jesus.”
He was right of course. “I won’t.”
“Okay, so, now that we’re talking, we should also be texting. I’ll be expecting a good morning and a good night every single day from now on.”
“Oh you will, huh?”
“I will. And if I don’t hear from you, I will take drastic measures.”
“What would those be?”
“I’ll pay some random Canadian to tickle you until you squeal. Don’t think I won’t. The exchange rate alone—”
“Tickle me? You’d—okay. Wow.” I actually shivered at the thought.
