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How did I ever get myself into this?
Oh right. With a kiss.
One kiss. Jeez, all those who say kissing leads to more, leads to destruction, damnation, and hellfire…well, they’re all correct.
“Why are you…I don’t understand…” Asher isn’t leaving. In fact, he’s still standing there. Holding the coffees that he was kind enough to get. And yup, he looks seriously confused. And seriously hurt.
I tear my eyes away, but it’s too late. The soft, achy, terrible damage has already been done. “It’s just better if we go back to being fake,” I rasp, and the words feel like I’m being forced to eat a barbed wire sandwich. “It’s best for both of us.”
“That’s hardly…I…you’ve just decided this? Without giving me any benefit of the doubt? Without even giving me a chance? I know what my past might look like to you, and I know we don’t know each other well enough for me to tell you that you can trust me, but you can. I haven’t done anything but…but try to treat you how you deserve to be treated.”
Any more of this, and I am going to melt into a puddle of tears and regret, and I can’t do that. I have to be strong. I have to figure out how to get out of this somehow. How to get us both out of it with all our pieces intact.
“I just can’t do it. I’m sorry.”
Asher’s mouth sets in a grim line. “Fine. If you want to go back to that, if you want fake, then I can give you that.”
“Good. That’s what I want. Fake. The plastic kind of fake. We should only have to keep it up for a few more weeks before we go our separate ways.”
“Right. Well, here. You might as well have both of these. No, I didn’t poison them because fake people don’t feel enough emotion to even think of such a thing. Enjoy.” He sets the coffees down on the dresser. “See you tonight, fake girlfriend. I’ll be here to fake pick you up at fake seven to take you to eat fake food at a fake restaurant with my very real granny. I hope you’re on your fake best behavior. Have a great rest of your fake morning and a great fake afternoon.” Then, he pastes on a fake smile, turns, and leaves.
The door slams below me shortly after. The sound rattles through me, and my teeth knock together as I shiver.
This is exactly how I knew this would end up—in a big, nasty, out of control, flaming pile of disaster. Just like how my table went out. FML times infinity. I have no idea how to figure this out. I knew being fake would be complicated, but I had no idea. The only person I ever knew how to be, was me. I also have no idea why this fight with my fake boyfriend, who I’ve known for all of a little more than a week, hurts more than breaking up with Byron ever did. For the record, I was angry about what he did—humiliated and embarrassed. In the end, though, I was relieved. Relieved it was over and that I was free. I used that anger and relief to get me through, as well as axing and burning a table.
But there’s none of that to carry me through this time. No anger, no relief, and no burning tables or axes. It’s just me and the pain in my chest, and I’m scared it’s not going to go away.
CHAPTER 15
Asher
The herd of journalists outside the restaurant we pull up to only adds to the list of things entitled super shitty things that can and will get shittier in this already super shitty day that started out not so shitty but quickly descended into the vilest shittyness.
Emily is wearing a dress from my granny’s line. I know because granny told me on the phone when she told me what restaurant to meet her at. I knew it would be at seven because Granny always picks dinner for seven. I also know the dress costs three grand because granny promised she had it delivered sealed up tighter than a tight asshole—yes, she literally said that, which shocked the hell out of me. What I didn’t know was that there’d be an entire horde of journalists, their cameras at the ready.
As I get out of my rental and pass the valet the keys, I have to fight my way over to Emily’s door. She can’t possibly be ready for this despite the fake smile she’s wearing along with my granny’s dress. She looks great with her long hair done up in a tight roll at the back of her head, flawless makeup, including dark eyeliner and red lipstick, and a dress that looks stellar on an already perfect body. It’s black and sparkly, cut low in the back but modest in the front, and it falls to her knees. She’s wearing a pair of gold heels that make her legs look so good; I’d like to taste every inch of them.
