Page 53 of Under the Weatherman
Elizabeth
“Now I will believe that there are unicorns in Africa.”
The Tempest
I was threading a very fine needle tonight.
It was one thing to pretend to be friends for an hour after Evan was forced into my company, but a double date?
Chelsea came over to wait, scanning my outfit with a knowing smirk. I’d gone to extra trouble tonight with my clothes, hair, and makeup, hoping Evan would rue the day he rejected me. But I had no plans beyond that. The only reason I was entertaining this so-called date was to keep Chelsea from bailing.
When the doorbell rang, I stood back to savor Basil’s reaction to Chelsea, but Evan stepped in, and my breath caught. Either he was playing dirty, or he wanted me to see him beyond the fake glasses, faded sweatshirts, and unshaven jaw. He’d gone overboard for a fake date, wearing a button-up shirt and tie. I didn’t have the tools to date a guy this hot without stumbling, and I was going to make a total fool of myself—or end up flat on my back under him.
I quickly reminded myself it wasn’t a date. This was all for show. For Chelsea.
But then he ran his tongue across his lower lip as he took me in and said, “Wow.”
My head spun at the way his eyes grazed me, and I wasthis closeto suggesting we didn’t need to go out at all. But what I wanted—from any man I ended up with—was so much more than friends, more than fuck buddies, and Evan had already told me he didn’t want either. Not with me. He’d wanted it with someone else, a fiction. Me, but notme. Her, but nother.
When his hand settled on my lower back as we walked out, I started to question my sanity.
Although the guys came over in Basil’s car, I suggested Evan and I go in mine. That way, we could sneak away and leave Chelsea stuck on a real date.
Evan opened the driver’s side door, and for a second, I thought he was going to insist on driving my car, like some macho power move, but he just stood there, waiting for me to slide in, and I had to laugh at the chivalrous gesture. “I don’t think anyone’s ever opened thedriver’sdoor for me before.”
“I wasn’t raised by wolves, contrary to popular belief.”
The door closed, and he sauntered around to his side, just this casual work of art in my neighborhood. When he climbed in, I started the car and asked, “So if you weren’t raised by wolves, what sort of woodland creature are you?”
He snorted. “Oh, uh…” He strapped his buckle on. “That’s a good question.”
It was odd being in this small space with him, caught in this limbo of former lovers, new friends, coworkers, and possibly mortal enemies. And yet, I didn’t feel as awkward as I would have expected. I drove toward the Downtown Mall, struggling to keep the conversation from stalling and leaving us both rethinking this entire farce.
“I was raised by domesticated bears,” I blurted.
His gasp of a laugh was satisfying. “I didn’t know there was such a thing.”
“Oh, yeah. Someone millennia ago fed one of my long-lost ancestors.”
He laughed, again. “Despite all the signs forbidding it.”
“No, see, we’re the reason they post those signs in the first place. ‘Don’t feed the bears, lest many generations later, they create suburban families whose chief enterprise is watching football and barbecuing in their backyard pit.’”
“Not to mention the picnics,” he said.
“Exactly.” While we waited at a light, I said, “So we’ve established you don’t hail from a long line of wolves, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t feral.”
“Quite the contrary. I was raised by land porpoises.”
I glanced over, grinning at him for volleying this insane conversation, but the light turned green, so I focused on the road ahead. “I didn’t know there was such a thing,” I echoed.
“Right, well it’s a little known evolutionary fact that some of the less clever porpoises sprouted legs and began cultivating life outside the water.”
“Thelessclever porpoises?” I wound through a neighborhood next to the downtown mall looking for off-street parking to avoid the expensive garage, rethinking my strategy when it started to rain.
“My ancestors migrated to landlocked central Virginia, but always dreaming of their former life in the water, they’ve spent every waking moment, sailing and fishing.”
“I really can’t blame them.”
