Faker - Sarah Smith Page 0,65
no one is.”
“I believe you,” I say.
“Logically, I know they didn’t mean to hurt me. It just stings. They wish I could be more like Natalie. I can’t say I blame them. She’s the absolute best.”
“So are you.” I reach over and stroke his curls. He moans softly. “You’re amazing. Getting to your amazingness just takes a bit longer. You make people earn it. They have to dig a little, but it’s there.”
I ache with the hope that my words quell his self-doubt.
“What does your sister think about all this?”
I’m a nosy jerk to keep asking all these questions, but I can’t help it. Each nugget of info I get from him feels like a gift. Every time Tate opens up to me, it’s akin to earning a gold star. We’re growing closer by the second, and it’s the most enthralling feeling in the world.
“That’s the kicker. She always sticks up for me. Whenever someone would try to compare the two of us or make me feel bad for being closed off, she always shut them down. Even our parents. She tells them over and over to quit comparing us. It’s yet another reason why she’s the greatest. She has a giant heart and she goes out of her way to protect her grumpy, unlikable twin brother, who doesn’t deserve her support.”
“Stop. You deserve it. It’s proof you’re an incredible person that your sister would defend you so adamantly, especially to your parents.”
“It’s why I got into social media, actually.” He lets out an amused laugh, then stops to stare at the open kitchen behind the front counter. One of the cooks is flipping sesame chicken over and over in a massive wok. The aroma of sesame oil and peppers wafts over to us. We both watch for a long moment, hypnotized.
He pivots his focus back to me. “I wanted to prove to everyone who ever thought of me as a standoffish prick that I could be social. In my own way, of course. As it turns out, you don’t actually have to be all that social to work in social media. You just have to be good at Twitter, Facebook, and Google Analytics.”
“What a devious rebel you are.”
“It’s a huge yet acceptable middle finger to them all,” he says. “The irony of my profession is not lost on me, believe me.”
He runs his fingers up and down my arm.
“This explains so much. Thank you for telling me. I know it wasn’t easy.”
Our food arrives, and we chow down. I’m savoring every bite, but it’s not just because the meal is delicious. This conversation, this dinner, it’s a level of comfort I’m not used to on dates. Even our awkward moments I adore. It’s only our first meal together, but I already know I want to do it again.
Staring at his plate, Tate spears a chunk of fried tofu. “Thanks for listening.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
He chews, swallows, then offers a lips-only smile. “It’s easy telling you difficult things. I feel so comfortable around you. Like I can be myself.”
I beam at him, then at my half-eaten plate. All the gold stars in the world can’t compete with the bliss his words give me. This new comfort floating between us gives me the confidence to ask him about another difficult thing, to see if we can cross over from comfort to intimacy.
“If I ask you something, will you promise to answer honestly?”
He levels me with a you-should-know-better frown. “Okay.”
“Why didn’t you tell me Jamie called when I was in the hospital?”
seventeen
He opens his mouth but is drowned out when a gaggle of little kids dressed in T-ball uniforms enters the restaurant. All we hear are giggles, endless babbling, and high-pitched shrieks.
“What?” I shout.
“I said—”
A half dozen screaming five-year-olds push together the three tables next to us. Four of them immediately haul themselves onto chairs and begin jumping up and down. Two crawl under the tables and start smacking each other.
“Fucking hell,” Tate mutters under his breath.
“Hey. Language,” I scold.
“Like they can hear me.”
He stabs his fork into a strip of beef, then levels the lone adult in charge of this mini motley crew with a death glare. The man flinches when he makes eye contact with Tate, and I feel a pang of pity for him. Dining out with six rambunctious five-year-olds is a punishment I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.
He attempts to reason with the kids in a hushed, unsure voice. “Guys. Hey, guys. That’s enough. Sit down. I said