Page 41 of The Art of Falling

“If the purpose of this project is to get to know me better, isn’t this the kind of thing we should be talking about? For instance,” I keep going before she can interrupt. “You see me with other women and you assume I’m sleeping with one or all of them and yet, you’ve never outright asked me. How do you know the answer if you don’t ask?”

“Some things are just that obvious.” She scoffs.

“Ask me anyway.”

“Fine. How does it feel to have slept your way through half the women on campus?”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t slept with half the campus.”

“Then how many have you slept with, and if you say none, I’m going to get up and leave right now because then I know you’re nothing but a liar.”

“Four.”

“Four?” She crinkles her nose in the cutest fucking way.

“That’s how many women I’ve slept with since I moved here.”

“I see you with four different girls in the span of an afternoon.”

“You take my politeness for something more. Just because I’m friendly, just because I let them flirt with me and I flirt back, doesn’t mean I’m sticking my cock in them.”

She flushes at the mention of my dick.

“You actually expect me to believe—”

“You know, you say that a lot,” I cut her off. “And yes, I expect you to believe it because it’s the truth. You want to learn about me, you want this project to be the best it can be, then start listening to what I’m saying and stop assuming I’m lying. I promise you, Rory, I may be a lot of things, but a liar is not one of them. If I say something, trust that I mean it. Can you do that?”

The air pings between us, like electricity building in the atmosphere. It’s only a matter of time before lightning strikes.

“Okay.” She nods softly after a long moment of silence passes between us. “I can try.”

“Thank you.” I readjust on the stool, the uncomfortable wood killing my fucking tailbone. “Now, let’s hold off on the horns.”

“No promises.” She smiles to herself, moving the colored pencil across the paper.

“Ask me a question.”

“What kind of question?”

“Any question you want. You no doubt have a list of them jotted down in that notebook of yours.” My eyes dart to the table for a brief moment before coming back to her, but I’m careful not to move.

“Okay then. How old were you when you started playing football?” She asks me the most generic question that she could likely find out by doing a simple Google search.

“Ask me something you can’t easily find out on the internet.”

“Okay,” she visibly swallows. “Have you ever had a serious girlfriend?”

“Once,” I answer honestly. “In high school. She was my first, well, everything.”

“What happened?”

“I chose the game over her.”

“Oh.” She’s careful to keep her eyes on what she’s doing.

“It’s why I don’t date. Because my first love will always be the game and most women, well, they want to come first.”

“Because we deserve to come first.” She switches pencils, looking up at me for a brief moment before her hand is once again moving across the page.

---