November 9
Page 24

It makes me laugh thinking about Ben fictionalizing our story, but I also hope he actually does it. It’s not every day a girl can say she has a genuine work of fiction loosely based on her relationship with the author. “You better make me funnier when you develop my character. And I want bigger boobs. And less flab.”
“Your body is perfect. So is your humor,” he says.
I don’t know why I bite the inside of my cheek like I’m embarrassed to smile. Since when did flattery become embarrassing? Maybe it always has been but I just haven’t been flattered enough to know.
At the top of the list of books, I write down the name of the restaurant and today’s date, in case he forgets. “There,” I say, folding up the paper and sticking it in his glove box.
“Get another piece of paper,” he orders. “I have homework for you, too.” He thinks quietly for a moment and then says, “I have a few things. Number one . . .”
I write down the number one.
“Make sure people laugh at you. At least once a week.”
I scoff. “You expect me to go on an audition every week?”
He nods. “Until you get a role you want, yes. Number two, you need to date. You said earlier that I was the first guy you’ve brought back to your apartment. That’s not enough experience for a girl your age, especially if I’m basing a romance novel on us. We need a little more angst. Go on at least five dates by the time I see you again.”
“Five?” He’s insane. That’s five more than I planned to go on.
“And I want you to kiss at least two of them.”
I stare at him in disbelief. He nudges his head toward the paper in my hands. “Write it down, Fallon. That’s assignment number three. Kiss two guys.”
“Are you about to tell me assignment number four is to find a pimp?”
He laughs. “Nope. Just three assignments. Get laughed at once a week, go on five dates, kiss at least two of them. Piece of cake.”
“For you, maybe.” I write down his stupid assignments and then fold up the paper and put it in my purse.
“What about social media? Are we allowed to Facebook stalk each other?” he asks.
Shit. I hadn’t thought about that, even though I haven’t really utilized social media much in the past two years. I reach over and grab Ben’s phone. “We’ll block each other,” I tell him. “That way we can’t cheat.”
He groans, as if I just foiled his plans. I go through both of our phones and search our profiles, blocking one another on every social media platform I can think of. When I’m finished with that, I hand him back his phone and use mine to call my mother.
I had a really early breakfast with her before she left for work today. The breakfast also doubled as our goodbye. She’ll be in Santa Barbara for two days, which is why Amber was going to drive me to the airport.
“Hey,” I say when she answers the call.
“Hey, sweetie,” she says. “Are you at the airport yet?”
“Almost. I’ll text you when I land in New York, but you’ll be asleep.”
She laughs. “Fallon, mothers don’t sleep when their children are hurtling through the sky at five hundred miles an hour. I’m leaving my phone on, so you better text me as soon as you land.”
“I will, I promise.”
Ben glances at me out of the corner of his eye, probably wondering who I’m talking to.
“Fallon, I’m really happy you’re doing this,” she says. “But I’m going to warn you, I might miss you a lot and I might sound sad when you call, but don’t get homesick. I’ll be fine. I promise. I’m sad that I won’t get to see you as often, but I’m even happier that you’re taking this step. And I promise that’s all I’m going to say about it. I love you and I’m proud of you and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Love you, too, Mom.”
When I hang up the phone, I catch Ben staring at me again.
“I can’t believe you haven’t introduced me to your mother yet,” he says. “We’ve been dating for ten hours now. If it doesn’t happen soon, I’ll start to take it personal.”
I’m laughing as I shove my phone inside my purse. He reaches over and takes my hand in his and holds it the entire way to the airport.
We’re fairly quiet the rest of the drive. Aside from asking my flight information, the only other thing he says is “We’re here.”
Rather than pull into a parking garage like I was hoping he would, he pulls into the drop-off lane. I feel pathetic that I’m disappointed he didn’t offer to walk me inside, because he drove me all the way to the airport. I can’t be greedy.
He unloads my two suitcases from his trunk and I grab my purse and my carry-on from inside the car. He closes his trunk and then walks over to me. “Have a safe flight,” he says as he kisses me on the cheek and gives me a quick hug. I nod and he makes his way back to his car. “November 9th!” he yells. “Don’t forget!”
I smile and wave, but internally I’m confused and disappointed by the lack of emotion in his goodbye.
Maybe it’s better this way, though. I was kind of dreading having to watch him drive away, but that not book-worthy goodbye somehow made it a little easier. Maybe because I’m kind of pissed about it.
I inhale a deep breath and push it out of my head as I watch his car move away. I grab my suitcases and head inside with not much time to spare before my flight. The airport is still buzzing despite it being so late at night, so I maneuver my way through the crowd and to a kiosk. I print my boarding pass, check my luggage, and make my way to security.