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He wouldn’t do all of that if he didn’t like me too. Would he?
It’s hard to tell because he’s such a good guy. I’m sure that he makes everyone he meets feel at ease and seen.
“Ugh, I’m going to drive myself crazy analyzing all of this,” I groan out loud. “Put it out of your head. Let’s just get dressed and get some work done.”
My stomach is too in knots to try to eat anything right now so I pull on my comfiest sweater and yoga pants and head over to the couch. I grab my computer and settle in. All the pictures are already loaded from my camera, and I flip through them, deciding which ones to edit for the blog and social media.
I try to get lost in work, but every picture makes me think of Rhett.
I should show him this place.
I wonder if Rhett would think that statue was cool.
I bet Rhett would have made this shot better. I could have asked him to take his shirt off and stand in the surf.
Great, now I’m turned on.
It goes on like that for another hour before I give up and start to pace around my apartment. It’s close to five now, and he should be getting off work any minute.
Should I text him? Or maybe I could call him and see if he can come over or if we can meet somewhere?
Scratch that. We should definitely do this in private. If things don’t go well, I don’t want to cry in front of many people.
I head back to the couch to grab my phone when it starts to ring. My heart leaps for one second and I hope it’s Rhett.
Mom flashes at me on the screen, and I hit ignore. A knock sounds at the door, and I look down at my outfit.
Would my parents come out here? Probably. I’ve been avoiding their calls for the past few days.
I straighten my shoulders and paste a smile on my face as I head to answer the door.
“Oh, thank god,” I gasp when I see Rhett standing there instead of my mom and dad.
“Uh, is everything okay?” He asks.
“Yeah, I thought that it was my parents knocking. I really didn’t want to deal with them today.”
“Understandable,” he says, and I grin.
“Come in. I was actually hoping that you would stop by. I needed to talk to you.”
“What a coincidence, because I need to talk to you too,” he says, and the relief I felt at seeing him quickly evaporates.
“You go first,” I say, chickening out.
“Okay.”
He takes a deep breath, looking like he’s giving himself an internal pep talk, and I wonder what he could be so nervous about.
Oh, no. He’s met someone and wants to call this fake relationship off. Or he doesn’t think we should sleep together again and is trying to let me down easily. Or—
“I want you to be more than my fake girlfriend,” he says, interrupting my internal freak-out.
“What’s that?” I ask.
There’s no way that I could have heard him right. Maybe I’m dreaming right now.
“I know that when we started this, we said it would be fake, but I don’t want that anymore. Hell, I never wanted that. I wanted to ask you out that first day when you hit me with your car, but you seemed so stressed out, and I didn’t want to add to that. Then you called and sprung this crazy idea on me.”
