Faker - Sarah Smith Page 0,60
chemistry we had has fizzled.
He takes a bite of his raspberry sorbet. “What’s the deal with Tate?” he asks, ignoring my question.
“What do you mean?”
“Is he into you or something?”
“I thought you wanted to discuss promoting our homebuilding project.”
“I’m having a hard time getting a read on him.”
Now I’m annoyed. That’s twice he’s ignored my questions.
I pin him with what I hope is a stern stare. “Look, I appreciate the teddy bear and ice cream, but I thought we were meeting to talk about work, not Tate.”
He frowns. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I just wanted to know what I was up against.”
“Up against?”
With a flick of his wrist, his empty ice cream container lands in the nearby trash can. “Well, yeah. I thought that we . . . that you and I were—”
“Friends,” I finish for him. “I’m sorry if you thought it was more, but honestly, all I want right now is a friend.”
The letdown is hardly kind, but I’m not interested in kind. Jamie dragged me out here under the guise of work talk when all he really wanted to do was eliminate Tate as dating competition.
“A friend,” he repeats with a raised brow. He scoffs, then smiles. It doesn’t look happy though, more like regretful. “Well, then. Let me take you back home, friend.”
When we return to my place, I start to let myself out of the car, but he insists on opening it for me. He gestures to the porch, but I stop at the giant birch tree in the front yard. He stands on the pavement below me.
“Thank you again for the ice cream and the stuffed bear.” I cross my arms. “We’ll have to figure out another time that Tate, me, and you can chat.”
He sighs. “Sure. Have a good night.” He leans in to kiss my cheek, but I jerk my head to the side and end up bumping my head into a low-hanging tree branch. His wet lips land on my ear. He backs away into the street, a disoriented look on his face. The whole scene is a mess and a half.
“Sorry, I— Friends can kiss on the cheek, right?” he stutters.
I wipe my hand along the side of my face. “I don’t.”
“Uh, good night, then.” He gives me a limp wave before climbing into his car and driving off.
When I look up, the streetlight at the corner of my block catches my eye, but not because of the glow it casts on the darkened street. Because it perfectly highlights Tate’s silhouette as he walks over to me.
My breath comes out in a rough blow. Now we’re both standing on my lawn in the dark.
“I got your text.” His tone is nonchalant, casual, and every bit a surprise.
“Your timing couldn’t be more perfect. Or awful, depending on how you look at it.”
He shrugs. “I take it the meeting with Jamie didn’t go well?”
“You caught the tail end of it, didn’t you?”
He nods.
“‘Didn’t go well’ is putting it nicely. I’m pissed. We didn’t talk about work at all. He wanted to talk about you and me. And then me and him.”
He clenches his jaw, which shifts his expression into hard territory. When I cradle his face in my hand, he immediately softens. There’s a gentle moan.
“I told him I wasn’t interested in him other than as a friend.”
“A friend?” He lifts an eyebrow. “Friend” is the buzzword of the day.
“We have to work next to him for several months. You have to see him at the rock climbing gym. It’s best if we stay on friendly terms. You understand, right?”
“Not my favorite thing in the world to see him try to kiss you, though.” There’s an edge to his voice, but he seems to understand. I can tell by the softness in his eyes and how his hand squeezes my hip.
“I didn’t like it either.”
“Maybe you’ll like this.”
He places a giant orange and green papaya into my hands. My jaw drops at the sight of my second favorite fruit. I didn’t even notice he was holding anything. This is what he meant earlier in the stairwell when he said he would make it up to me.
“Can I ask you a question?” he asks.
“Of course.”
He takes my hand and leads me to sit down on the curb with him. “Why did your family move all the way out here?”
The randomness of his question nearly makes me laugh, but then I remember that he asked me this in the hospital. I never