Faking It (Losing It, #2)(35)

“Right. Mace said you’ve been sick the last few days.” Spence made air quotes with his fingers when he said “sick.”

“Stay out of it, Spence. And don’t you worry. I’ll be good by tonight. I’ll look so sexy you’ll be dying to get back into my pants.”

“You know I’m always dying to get back in your pants.”

I rolled my eyes. “Har-har.”

He smiled, and took another drag on his cigarette.

“You sure Mace is coming?”

“Why wouldn’t he be?”

He shrugged. “Max1BM" ybaid="K0RSN">So





21

Cade

It was undoubtedly the worst idea ever, bringing Cammie to Max’s show. But my desire to see her play overruled any common sense I was still holding on to. I’d been in midconversation with Milo about date ideas when I received her text. I didn’t even hesitate before saying yes.

Cammie and I met up Friday night at a restaurant close to the venue. She was wearing a little black dress that fit her slim body perfectly. It also probably cost more than my entire wardrobe . . . maybe my whole apartment. When we’d met at Trestle her cheeks had been bright pink. I’d assumed she’d been flushed from alcohol. She’d also been the dictionary definition of giggly. Again, I thought alcohol.

Apparently, I was wrong on both accounts. That was just Cammie, cheeks drowning in blush and lungs made of laughing gas.

I went through all the motions of a date.

Pulling out her chair.

Ordering wine.

Small talk.

Cammie was nice enough, and very pretty, but a bit predictable. She ordered a salad and kept tossing her blond hair back and forth so much I was surprised she didn’t have whiplash. She giggled not just when stuff was funny, but to fill the silence.

There was a lot of silence on my part.

“So, my professor was completely unreasonable, and wouldn’t even consider letting me retake the test, when really the entire misunderstanding was his fault. You’d think for the amount of money we’re paying for his class that he would be a little better at communicating, right?”

Silence.

Cammie giggled.

I cringed.

I had to work on replying faster.

“Right. You’d think.”

She smiled and tossed her hair again. “I’m sorry. I’m probably boring you with all my talk about school.”

“Oh, no, not at all!” I said.

“Oh good. Because you know, I ran into the same professor at happy hour hitting on a girl my age. Can you believe it?”

I said as fast as humanly possible, “I cannot!”

“I mean, the guy was like forty. I suppose if I were a different kind of girl maybe he would have let me retake the test, but honestly. I wrote a letter to the dean about the professor. Maybe he’ll get fired. At the very least, my grade will get changed. Daddy is friends with the dean. They’ve been golfing together for ages.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“Oh yes. You know, I almost went to another school so that I could ‘make my own way,’ and all that, but in the end, I thought . . . why not take advantage of every opportunity I’m given?”?” she askeder19ifferent She kept going, but I was having trouble listening. I liked to think that I probably made it longer than most before tuning out. I was sure that there was a really cool person underneath the designer clothes and the manicured nails and the most obnoxious laughter known to man, but tonight I didn’t have the patience or attention span to find her. My body felt almost electric at the thought of where we’d be heading next.

I’d spent an embarrassingly long time Googling Max’s band Under the Bell Jar. I learned that they’d named themselves after a Sylvia Plath novel, which made me think of Max’s threat to stick my head in the oven on Thanksgiving, and I died laughing. The bass player and Max were the original founding members, and it looked like Max’s boyfriend was a more recent addition. His name was Mace. As in the stuff sprayed into the eyes of rapists and muggers. Or the ancient weapon used to bludgeon people to death.

He sounded like a real keeper.

I was snapped out of my reverie when the waiter came by with the check. My stomach clenched as I slipped a ridiculous amount of cash into the plastic folder. Maybe I shouldn’t be dating, not if I wanted to have the money to go home for Christmas.

I pulled out Cammie’s chair and offered her my arm.

She giggled.

God help me.

“I’m so glad I met you at that god-awful bar. My friends dragged me there, and I wanted to leave as soon as we got there. Well, until I met you.”

Awesome. That meant she was probably going to hate the place we were heading.

“So, tell me again about this band,” she said.

I’d been on the website enough to be able to parrot back to her, “They’re a local Philly band that blends rock and folk music. They’re supposed to be pretty good.”

“Cool.”

Giggle.

Giggle.

Giggle.

Dear God. I had to keep talking.

“Yeah, I’ve not heard them play before, but I know someone in the band. I think it’s going to pretty awesome. Do you like music?”

She started talking about Lady Gaga and I sighed in relief. That should last us at least until we walked the block and a half to The Fire. Then hopefully it would be loud enough there to drown out her inane giggling.