Page 17 of I Think He Knows
I trail off as Lana’s reply pops up on my screen.
Lana Mae:Kidding, obviously. I will definitely not be seeing Billy again. And I’m sorry for texting you when you’re out with Freya. I’m just… ugh. Dating is hard. How do you do so much of it?
My heart clenches, because there it is: the hurt below the humor. But as far as I’m concerned, all seven of the idiots she’s gone out with must be deaf, blind and also really, really stupid if they couldn’t see what a catch Lana is. How lucky they’d be to be with her.
Any guy would.
Lana Mae:Just forget about all that for now and enjoy your date/work meeting. I’ll call you tomorrow.
“What’s her name?”
Freya is now smiling at me in a totally different way than she has all evening. You know, like a regular human being. She takes a sip of martini, not looking flirty anymore so much as genuinely curious.
“Lana Mae,” I answer, then realize that she was asking what my supposed girlfriend’s name is, not the name of the person I’m texting.
Who I guess she believes are one and the same.
“Pretty name. Where does she live?”
I don’t know why I don’t bother to correct her. I’m tired, I guess. My head is somewhere else, wondering about Lana and whatever happened tonight. So I simply say, “Atlanta.”
“From the same hometown as you.” Freya’s eyes widen and she waves her hands excitedly, causing her stack of gold bracelets to clink. “Is it serious?”
She’s the person in my life that I’m most serious about, sure. But I know that’s not what Freya’s asking.
“We’ve known each other for almost a decade,” I say hesitantly. I don’t like to lie as a general rule, but is omitting parts of the truth the same as telling a lie? It’s a question I’ve asked myself many times over the years—especially following some recent events—and I’m reminded of a poem I studied in my Epic Poetry elective, freshman year of college.Oh what a tangled web we weave…
Lana helped me with the paper for that one. She was always a whiz at that stuff. Before her pregnancy, her plan had been to go to college and do an English Lit degree. But by the time I was writing that paper, she already knew that that dream was going to be just that—a dream.
“I thought you just broke up with Sierra Duke.” Freya frowns.
“I went on a few dates with her.” My hands are itching to pick up my phone so I can call Lana now, not tomorrow. Would it be terribly rude to step out for a minute?
“So you’re saying… you and your girlfriend have, like, an open relationship?”
The gleam is back in Freya’s eyes and I hastily shake my head. Last thing I need is for the gossip columns tomorrow to be proclaiming I’m a swinger or something.
“No, it’s not like that.” I lean forward and look Freya in the eye. Because here it is, my chance to come clean and clear up this misunderstanding. “I guess… I dated a lot of people casually for a long time, but none of them ever made me laugh like she does.”
Well, frick. That might be true, but it wasn’t the truth I meant to tell her.
What Imeantto confess is that I don’t actually have a girlfriend.
“That is the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard.” She’s smiling as she reaches into her bag, pulls out her phone, and quickly types something. When she looks up, she tips her head towards the door. “You should go.”
“Sorry?”
“You should go. Get out of here and call the girl you love rather than hang out with me.”
I want to go. Everything in me wants to go. But Freya’s taken time out of her busy schedule to be here. Onmymanager’s request. “I don’t need to call her right now. In fact, I apologize for being rude and texting her while we’re having dinner, she’s just had a bad night and I didn’t want to ignore her messages. I’ll put my phone away now and we can finish up.”
Freya assesses me for a long moment, making me feel not unlike that lion stuck pacing in a cage at the zoo yesterday. Then, she smiles that totally normal, totally perfect smile of hers again. “You’re not the guy the tabloids say you are, Carter Callahan. Besides, I’m sure that all the noseys in here have taken a million photos of us together by now.” She tilts her head to the right, indicating a nearby table where two middle-aged guys are hunched over a plate of nachos. “And I’d bet my grandma that those dudes are paps.”
Interesting. She noticed the rubberneckers, too. Maybe she’s just a better actor than me.
“I don’t want to spoil your evening.”
Another laugh. “Please. I’m heading to the opening of that new club on East 11th—you know, the one that rapper owns. And I have about six male models on speed dial who could be my dates for the rest of the evening. I just hit the first one up.”