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Henley takes my hand, and we walk back to the car. The tenderness we just shared isn’t there anymore, but perhaps I’m just imagining it.
He opens the car door, and I slide in. He gets in behind the wheel and pulls out onto the road, and we drive for a while. Curiously . . . he’s not touching me. Which is weird because he’s been all over me all night. “So, what are you going to tell them?” he asks casually as he drives.
“Huh?” I frown over at him in confusion.
“The reason why we’re breaking up—what are you going to tell them?”
“Oh.” My mind begins to scramble. That’s the last thing I thought was going to come out of his mouth. “I’ll think of something,” I say softly as I look out the window.
What?
We drive home in silence. Gone is the playful, sexy god who was my date.
Henley James is here in all his bastardly glory.
He stops the car outside my house, gets out, and opens my car door. He helps me out by my hand. “Good night, Juliet,” he says casually, as if I’m a stranger he met on a bus.
I frown.
“Have a good night.” He smiles.
I stare at him. What the hell? “You too,” I whisper distractedly.
He gets back into his car and circles around the cul-de-sac and drives off down the street.
What?
He’s going out?
I stand on the end of my driveway watching as his car disappears out of sight.
What the fuck was that?
Chapter 8
The hot water runs over my head as I lean up against the tiles.
I don’t understand this man at all. He was into it. I know he was because I was right there with him.
And then he flipped a switch—just like he did when we went on our first date.
Perfect when in the moment, and then he turns into something cold. It’s like he’s two different people. I’ve never met anyone like him.
Nor do I want to.
I run my hand down my face in disgust. And now to make matters worse, I have to see him every damn day—when I know he doesn’t like me—knowing that I like him.
My blood boils, and I’m infuriated with myself. He knew exactly what he was playing at, and I was like putty in his hands. Doing everything that he told me to do like a pathetic little puppy.
He’s probably at Vanessa the Undresser’s house at this very moment.
Giving her the steak that I preheated.
Ugh . . .
I roll into bed and toss and turn and kick myself for going there in the first place.
One thing I do know now for certain is that I’m not cut out for fake dating; all those romance books are full of shit.
