Page 43 of Play Fake

“She’s into books then?”

“Yeah. She’s got a whole bookshelf full of them. Always made us go to the library every week as kids, too.”

“Yeah? Little Waylon at the library. I bet you were adorable.”

“Oh, I was. Still am.”

She laughs, and I love hearing the sound of it.

“Do you know her favorite authors or anything?”

“Not really. It always seemed like she liked everything. Though I know she was into the classics.”

“Does she have a social media handle?”

“Uh yeah…” my brow furrows, wondering what she’s up to.

“What is it? If you know and she uses the same one everywhere, there’s a book site I might be able to find her on. She might have a TBR list we could use.”

I blink, surprised she’s put that much thought into this.

“The best gifts are the ones you have to think about. You find a hobby she has and try to think of something she’d like, better if it makes you have to do some research because then she’ll know you put effort into it.”

“Wow. You’re good at this.”

Another laugh and a genuine smile as we hop out of the truck to start walking the district.

“If you ever had an actual girlfriend, you too could know the power of tapping into a woman’s mind.”

“Girlfriends are harder than you would think.”

“Oh yeah? I guess they require more effort than just kicking her out of bed and waving goodbye in the morning.”

“Ha. Ha.”

She flashes me a little self-satisfied smirk.

“It brings me to the second favor I was hoping you could help with.”

“I am not helping you find a girlfriend. Taming one of those jersey chasers you like is all on you.”

“No, I was hoping you’d still be my girlfriend—or pretend to anyway, when my mom is here.”

She stops dead in her tracks and whirls around, pinning me in place with an inquisitive look.

“I think I must have heard you wrong.”

“It would just be for dinner after the game. Maybe one other thing. But probably just dinner.”

She pauses, considering it. I’m thankful there’s actual consideration happening rather than a flat outno, which I expected.

“Why do you want to lie to your mom?”

“I don’t want to lie to her. I just want her to be happy.”

She raises an eyebrow in question.

I run my hand up my arm, feeling more awkward than I thought I would be having to explain this.