Page 127 of Fake As Puck
“So,” she says casually, watching the nail technician apply a second coat of pale pink polish. “You’re going to stay in the hotel room with my brother, right?”
“What?”
“The hotel room. You’re sharing, right? Like a real couple?”
“I... we haven’t talked about it.”
“You haven’t talked about sleeping arrangements?”
“We haven’t talked about anything.”
“Liv.”
“What?”
“You’ve been texting him every day for two weeks.”
“About logistics. Flight times. Weather. Normal stuff.”
“Normal stuff.”
“Yeah.”
“Not feelings stuff.”
“Definitely not feelings stuff.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m terrified.”
The admission slips out before I can stop it, and Tessa’s nail technician gives us a look that clearly says she’s heard this conversation a thousand times before.
“Terrified of what?” Tessa asks gently.
“Of what happens after. I just don’t know how we make it work, Tessa. He lives there with his career, and I can’t leave my parents.”
“I know my brother, and I know he’s probably sitting in Seattle right now having this exact same conversation with himself.”
“You think?”
“I think he’s been crazy about you for a lot longer than either of you realizes. And I think this weekend is going to be the moment when you both stop being scared and start being honest.”
That night, we’re back at her house in matching robes, sipping mocktails and scrolling through shoe websites on her laptop.
“These ones,” she says, pointing to a pair of strappy heels that would look perfect with the green dress.
“They’re beautiful.”
“They’re sex shoes.”
“They’re not sex shoes.”
“They’re absolutely sex shoes. Look at that arch. Look at those straps. My brother is going to see you in these and forget his own name.”
I laugh at this newest obsession she has with me trying to impress West. “That’s not the goal.”
“That’s absolutely the goal.”
