Page 7 of If You Were Mine (After We Fall 3)
“Does it matter?”
“Yes,” I snapped. “How am I supposed to know what to call you?”
He grinned as he leaned toward me and lowered his voice. “Call me anything you want. You’re the boss.”
Was he flirting with me or making fun of me? I cleared my throat and pressed my knees tighter together. “I’d like to call you by your actual name, please. Bad enough I have to pay someone to play my fake boyfriend. I’d like something to be real, at least.”
He held his eyes steady on mine for a moment. I felt like he was sizing me up, trying to decide if he could trust me, so I stared right back without blinking. If anyone at this table was trustworthy, it was me.
“Theo,” he said quietly, his eyes dropping to my lips for the merest fraction of a second. “My name is Theo.”
There. Was that so hard? I smiled at him before picking up my latte.“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Theo.”
“What, you’re just going to believe me? You’re much too trusting, Claire. I bet people take advantage of you.”
I set the cup back down on the saucer with an angry clank. “Is your name Theo or not?”
“Shhh, it is, it is,” he said, laughing. Then he glanced over his shoulder like he was in the fucking CIA. “But I don’t give that out to just anyone. You should feel special.”
Good grief. Could I take an entire night of this guy? I picked up my latte again, wishing it had something stronger than caffeine in it. This was not going the way I’d hoped. “I don’t feel special. I feel ridiculous.”
“Why?”
“Why?” I gaped at him over the cup I held with both hands. “What kind of person has to pay someone to take her on a date? It’s humiliating.”
“Think of it as a business transaction,” Theo suggested, lifting his muscular shoulders. He wore a dark brown Henley that reminded me of Dexter Morgan from the series about the serial killer.
Not an association I wanted to have at the moment.
“That doesn’t make it any better,” I said. “Dating is supposed to be about romance, not business.”
“So why couldn’t you get a date?” He picked up his cup, which looked like it held plain black coffee, and studied me critically as he took a sip.
I sat up taller, feeling my cheeks burn. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re trying to figure out what’s wrong with me.”
“Oh, I already know what’s wrong with you.” His tone was matter-of-fact. “I’m just curious what you think is wrong.”
My jaw dropped. I was half-tempted to toss the remainder of my latte in his face, but some stupid part o
f me was like, What if he does know what’s wrong with me? “And?” I demanded peevishly, angry with both of us.
“You’re scared.”
“Scared?” It came out louder than intended.
“Shhh. It’s nothing to get mad about, Claire.” He was frustratingly calm. “I just mean that you seem like the kind of person who’s very careful not to take too many risks in life.”
He was right. It infuriated me. “What! You’ve known me for two minutes! How can I seem like anything to you?”
His expression was smug. “I have very good instincts. I can tell a lot about a person very quickly.”
“That’s ridiculous. And I’m not scared.”
“Yes, you are.”
