“Talk about what?” I say weakly.
“Whatever you two talk about. Ask her about her day. Or talk about your garden or something.”
I turn back to Nikolai and stare. “But it’s Nikolai...”
“Pretend.”
That’s the problem, isn’t it? I don’t work like this. Playing pretend, making up fake scenarios. I sigh before I lift my gaze, only to stare at Nikolai’s forehead and not his eyes. “How...uh...how was your day?”
Nikolai bats his lashes. “Oh, you know. Just raising two kids, messing around with some spreadsheets, falling in love with some grumpy Russian assassin guy. Same old,” he says in a squeaky voice.
I shift in my seat. “That’s not how she talks,” I mutter. “This is fucking ridiculous.”
“It’s practice,” Grigory says firmly.
“But it’s not real. He’s not talking how she talks.”
“This practice is so that you don’t freeze up during the real thing,” Matvey explains from where he sits. “It’s like running through mission plans and stuff beforehand to prepare yourself.”
“I’m not going to freeze up.”
“You have twice already,” Grigory says dryly. “You need to loosen up,” Then he tosses a couple of takeout menus onto the table.
I sit and look through the menu, but I’m disturbed by a loud cough.
I glare as I look up at Grigory. “What now? I’m pretending to decide what to eat.”
“You need tomake conversation. This date isn’t about eating. It’s about interacting with her.”
“If it’s not about eating, then why am I even taking her to dinner in the first place?” My voice comes out as a wail.
Matvey just gives a shake of his head as he looks on.
Christ, I’m no good at social niceties because of my autism. I’m awkward and unnatural. This ‘training’ isn’t helping me at all. All it’s managing to do is send my thoughts racing out of control and my anxiety spiraling through the roof—I’m already at a fucking eight out of ten.
I stare at them, trying to think of something to say.Anything. My chest tightens as my fist curls on my thigh a little tighter. “What do you want to eat?” I ask finally.
“Chicken nuggets,” Nikolai says instantly, flashing me his teeth in a toothy grin.
“Romantic,” Matvey snorts, rolling his eyes. “Didn’t realize you were five, Nikolai.”
“Fuck you,” Nikolai hisses. “Chicken nuggets are the best?—”
“Enough!” Grigory snarls. “Fuckingfocus.”
“He’s doing better than I thought,” Matvey comments. “He hasn’t insulted her.”
“Yet,” Nikolai mutters.
“Shut up,” Grigory and I growl together just before my phone buzzes. Automatically, I lift it to answer. “What?”
A chorus of groans fills the room.
Grigory yanks the phone away from my hand with a shake of his head. “No.”
“I was just?—”
“Learning how not to be a dick to her,” he finishes.
