Page 37 of Faux Real
I let out a soft sardonic chuckle. “Yeah, well, you’re not alone there.”
Oliver reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a silver flask. “Cheers to shitty parents then,” he says, unscrewing the lid and taking a swig before passing it to me. “Want some?”
I purse my lips, shifting my gaze to the rearview mirror to make sure Eddie’s not looking. Not that he’d mind. He’s picked me and Max up from parties before. As long as we’re safe, he’s okay with it.
“Just a little,” I whisper, taking it from his hand. Once the liquor hits my tongue, I wince. “Oof, what is that?”
“Jameson,” Oliver explains, quickly shoving it back into his jacket. “Irish whiskey. Not a fan, I take it?”
“It’s not bad,” I say, blowing air out of my mouth, hoping to get the lingering taste to vanish. “A bit strong.”
Oliver smirks. “You’ll get used to it.”
“I don’t think so,” I say, rubbing my chest. “It’s still burning my esophagus.”
“Means it’s working,” he says, shifting his body toward me. “So what’s it like having a general as a father?”
“What do youthink?”
“Right. Well, it explains a lot,” Oliver notes. “Maybe you’re not completely mental after all.”
“Yeah? Granting me a little grace?” I ask, suppressing a smile.
“Perhaps just a tad,” he smirks. “Or maybe I’m just trying to suck up to you so that your father doesn’tmurderme.”
“Maybe you should suck up to me so thatIdon’t murder you,” I counter. “Ihavelearned a few skills over the years.”
“Really?” he laughs. “Like what?”
I lean in closer to Oliver and whisper, “Let’s just say I haveexcellentaim.”
“Americans and their bloody guns,” he muses, shaking his head in amusement. “I should’ve known.”
“Guns? Please.” I roll my eyes. “I was talking about archery. My dad won’t even let medrive. I doubt he’d let me fire a gun.”
“You can’tdrive?” he asks, widening his eyes. They’re more green than grey today. I wonder if it’s because it’s cloudy.
“Umm...I have my learner’s permit,” I explain as I avert my gaze, realizing I’ve been semi-staring at him. “But my dad says I’m not allowed to actuallydrivea car. It makes no sense, I know.”
“You should just do it anyway,” Oliver smirks. “Fuck what your dad says.”
“You don’t know my dad,” I whisper. “His word is final.”
“He’s in D.C. remember?” Oliver notes. “Can’t see how he could stop you.”
“Well, I have no one to teach me so—” I shrug. Eddie was supposed to teach me but then my father whisked him off to D.C. No one stays. I sigh, forcing a smile. Don’t be a downer. Positive. Happy. Manifest. “I guess it’s town cars for life.”
Oliver licks his lips, his eyes contemplative, thoughtful. “Want to learn how to ride a motorcycle?” he asks, his tone uncomfortable, uneasy.
“A motorcycle?” I snort. What an image. “Good one.”
“It’s not hard,” he says in a casual tone, tossing me a slight shrug. “I could show you sometime. If you want.”
“You’re going to let me ride your motorcycle? The one I wasn’t even allowed totoucha few days ago?” I ask, tilting my head suspiciously. “Seriously?”
He suddenly stiffens, turning away from me. I can’t see his face, but he seems mad. Why is he mad? “You’re right. Bad idea. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Great, now I’ve pissed him off. Good job. Way to go. What if that was his version of a truce? Was heactuallyoffering? I thought he was kidding. He must have been kidding. But if he wasn’t—
