November 9 - Hoover Colleen. Страница 17

“We hold each other accountable,” he says.

“Again . . . we’ll never see each other after tonight. And I can’t give you my phone number.”

I know better than to give him a way to contact me. There’s too much I need to do on my own and if he had my phone number, my entire focus would be on what time each day he’s supposed to call me.

Ben releases me and takes a step back, folding his arms across his chest. He begins to pace back and forth as he chews on his bottom lip. “What if . . .” He stops and faces me. “What if we meet up again next year on the same day? And the year after that? We’ll do it for five years. Same date, same time, same place. We’ll pick up where we left off tonight, but only for the day. I’ll make sure you’re following through with your auditions and I can write a book about the days we’re together.”

I let his words sink in for a moment. I try to match the serious look on his face, but the prospect of seeing him once a year fills me with anticipation and I’m doing my best not to act too giddy. “Meeting up once a year on the same date sounds like a really good basis for a romance novel. If you fictionalized our story, I’d add it to the top of my TBR.”

Now he’s smiling. So am I, because the thought of being able to look forward to today’s date is something I never thought would happen. November 9th has been an anniversary I’ve dreaded since the night of the fire, and this is the first time the thought of that date leaves me with a positive feeling.

“I’m serious about this, Fallon. I’ll start writing the damn book tonight if it means I’ll get to see you next November.”

“I’m serious, too,” I say. “We’ll meet every November 9th. Absolutely no contact in between, though.”

“That’s fair. November 9th or nothing. And we’ll stop after five years?” he asks. “When we’re both twenty-three?”

I nod, but I don’t ask him what I’m sure we’re both thinking. Which is what happens after the fifth year? I guess that’s worth saving for another day . . . when we see if both of us actually stick to this ridiculous plan.

“I have one concern,” he says, squeezing his bottom lip between his fingers. “Are we supposed to be . . . you know . . . monogamous? If so, I think we’re both getting a raw deal, here.”

I laugh at his absurdity. “Ben, there’s no way I would ask you to do that for five years. I think the fact that we’ll continue living our own lives is what makes this idea so great. We’ll both get to experience life like we’re supposed to at this age, but we also get to be with each other once a year. It’s the best of both worlds.”

“But what if one of us falls in love with someone else?” he asks. “Won’t that ruin the book if we don’t end up together in the end?”

“Whether or not the couple ends up together at the end of a book doesn’t determine whether that book has a happy ending or not. As long as the two people end up happy, it doesn’t really matter if they end up happy together.”

“What if we fall in love with each other? Before the five years is up?”

I hate that my first thought is how there’s no way he’d ever fall in love with me. I don’t know what I grow more tired of. The scars on my face or the self-deprecating thoughts in relation to the scars on my face. I dismiss the thoughts and force a smile.

“Ben, of course you’re going to fall in love with me. Hence the reason for the five-year rule. We need firm guidelines so our hearts won’t take over until you’ve finished your book.”

I can see the contemplation in his eyes as he nods. We’re both quiet for a moment as we ponder the deal we’ve just made. But then he leans against the car next to me and says, “I’ll need to study up on my romance novels. You’ll need to give me some suggestions.”

“I can absolutely do that. Maybe next year you can take that kiss from a seven to a ten.”

He laughs, resting an elbow on top of the car as he faces me. “So just to be safe, if kissing scenes are something you like most about books, what’s your least favorite thing? I need to know so I don’t screw up our story.”

“Cliff-hangers,” I say immediately. “And insta-love.”

He makes a face. “Insta-love?”

I nod. “When two characters meet and supposedly have this great connection right off the bat.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Fallon, I think we might already be in trouble if that’s one of your least favorite things.”

I think about his statement for a moment. He might be right. It’s been a pretty unbelievable day with him. If he put today in writing, I’d probably roll my eyes and say it was too cheesy and unrealistic. “Just don’t propose to me before my flight and I think we’ll be fine.”

He laughs. “Pretty sure I asked you to marry me when we were on your bed earlier. But I’ll try not to get you pregnant before your flight.” We’re both smiling when he reaches for my door and motions for me to climb inside the car. Once we’re on the road, I open my purse and pull out a pen and paper.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you homework,” I say. “I’ll write down five of my favorite romance novels to get you started.”

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.