“You want to go for a drink then?”
I smile. “Nah. I don’t want to interrupt your work.” I pick at a loose thread on the hem of my dress, then remember something. “I think Hayley has some herbal tea in the basement. I might just—”
“I’ll get it,” he says, standing. “You relax.” He heads down the stairs and I kick my bare feet up onto the counter, leaning back on the stool against the wall behind me. A few minutes later he returns with two steaming mugs of chamomile tea. A smile plays on his mouth as he hands me one. “This should help you chill out a bit.”
“Thanks.” I chuckle as I take the cup from him. This is far from the night I had planned, and yet I’m feeling almost… well, happy.
Weird.
“Want to tell me what happened?” he asks gently.
I eye him over my tea, feeling that same odd sensation I felt the other day, when I was at his place and Shane texted me. “It was nothing. But… it’s safe to say there will be no more Shane.”
“Oh.” He looks down at his cup. “Shit, that sucks. Sorry.”
I snort. “Yeah, right. You never liked him.”
Myles releases a quiet laugh. “I didn’t really know him. But, I don’t know. He didn’t seem good enough for you.”
I blow on my tea, mulling over his words. It’s funny—before tonight, I almost thought Shane wastoogood for me, with his fancy clothes and expensive taste. That’s why I was planning to take him to—
“Oh God,” I mutter, rubbing my nose. “I just remembered I agreed to that stupid dinner party at my friend Claudia’s house. I was going to take Shane and now I’ll have to cancel.”
“Why?” Myles cocks his head. “Go alone. Show them you’re fine as you are.”
“No way. You don’t know Mel. She’ll make me feel like crap, and then her and Mark win.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “I could go with you if you like. Pretend to be your boyfriend for the evening.”
I trail my eyes over him. Tonight he’s in his usual ripped jeans, with a gray Henley, his chestnut hair ruffled. I think of Claudia’s friends from the Upper East Side and how snobby they are. I don’t think Myles would enjoy having dinner with that crowd. “Thanks, but… I’m not sure you’ll fit in with them.”
“Why not? I can tidy myself up. If it helps, I won’t wear a cap—then no one will know I’m a skater.”
I can’t help but giggle. There’s something so disarming about the way he doesn’t take himself too seriously. Somehow, I can’t see Myles making me eat snails at La Bouffe or listen to whatever that was back at that speakeasy, and that makes me smile.
“Besides,” he adds, “Mark sure doesn’t seem to like me. If you want to piss him off, taking me should do it.”
“Huh.” He might have a point there. “Would you really come?”
“Sure.”
“It would take a lot of work,” I say teasingly. “You’d have to dress up a little, pretend to have good manners, attempt intelligent conversation—that sort of thing.”
“Oh, then no.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m not a caveman. I know how a dinner party works.”
“If you’re really serious—if you wouldn’t mind—then yeah, maybe.”
He gives me his cocky, self-satisfied grin. “You’d have me as your boyfriend for the evening?”
“Pretend boyfriend. And yes, if you don’t mind pretending to be into me for a night.”
“Who says I’d be pretending?”
I laugh. “Don’t waste your lines on me, Myles. I’m not tipping you tonight.”
He pretends to look hurt, then for one awful second I think he actuallyishurt. He can’t have been serious, surely?
I tear my gaze from his. “Do you like experimental jazz?” I ask, reaching across the counter for my phone. I unplug it from the wall and flick the stereo on, connecting the cable.
