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“What don’t you know?” he asks, turning toward me.
“Nothing.” Dampening a paper towel, I clean up the last remaining traces of flour from the countertop.
“No, you aren’t getting off that easy. Tell me whatI don’t knowmeans.”
I hesitate, finally deciding to be honest with him.
“It’s just,well, sometimes I can’t help but think that this is all an act. Some sick and twisted game of cat and mouse.”
“You think I’m acting?” He seems a little put off, but not angry.
“Well, I mean, kind of.”
“Does this feel fake to you?” He gestures between the two of us with the spatula that’s in his hand.
“No,” I admit.
“Blue, I’ve been nothing but genuine with you. This isn’t an act or a game or some fucked up way of me pulling you in so I can screw you over to win. I actuallyreallylike you. And yes, while my goal is to win our bet, I plan to do it honestly. Because when you fall in love with me,” —he quirks a smile— “you’re going to know it’s the real thing.”
I struggle to find words. How do I respond to that?
“Your pancakes are burning.” And, that’s how I respond.
“Shit.” He jumps, having seemed to have forgotten all about them. Turning, he quickly scoops them out of the pan and lays them on a plate. He grabs the bowl of batter and pours a fresh batch of pancakes into the pan.
“I really like you, too,” I admit, the words seeming to come out of nowhere.
“What?” He shifts to face me.
“I said, I really like you, too,” I repeat, a little louder this time.
And I do. He’s surprised me in ways I never thought possible.
I’ve always viewed him as this arrogant player, but when you strip away the persona he gives off, he’s actually a really great guy. He’s funny, caring, and attentive, among many other things. He’s also incredibly sexy and that sure doesn’t hurt his case.
I don’t know what we’re doing here or how it all will end. But for the time being, I’m really enjoying getting to know him.
He hits me with an ear to ear smile. The kind of smile that damn near knocks the wind right out of you.
“See, and it’s only been a little over a week. Just imagine how you’ll feel in three weeks.”
“I said Ilikeyou. Don’t let it go to your head. Just because you know how to sweet talk women does not mean you’re going to change my mind. Love...”
“I know, I know,” he cuts me off. “I also know you’re wrong. And deep down I think you do, too.”
“It’s not that I don’t believe in love. I know it’s real. Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents. I love my friends. But the kind of love you’re referring to, I don’t think it exists. And anyone who claims it does is lying to themselves.”
“Such a cynic.” He shakes his head. “Good thing I’m really good at making people see things my way.” He smirks.
“Is that what you think you’re doing?” I shimmy my way over to him, each movement slow and purposeful. I lean in close, pressing up on my tiptoes until our lips are inches apart. “Harris,” I whisper, meeting his gaze.
“Yeah.” His entire body tightens.
“You’re shit at making pancakes.” Snagging the spatula out of his hand, I rush from the kitchen.
“Oh no you don’t.” He makes a grab for me but I duck under his arm. Both of our laughter fills the room.
“So predictable.” I tisk at him.
