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"I’m freakin’ enraged, fuming, seething, on the verge of killing him right now. Take your pick."
Finn whistles from behind me. "This is where I leave you two." He reaches over and turns off the burner on the stove—“Good thing the sauce is done”—then turns and stalks off.
"Shut the kitchen door and stay on guard," I call after him.
He glances over his shoulder, and whatever he sees on my face makes him realize how serious I am, for he nods. The door to the kitchen snicks shut behind him.
"What are you doing?" She looks from me to the door, then back at me.
"You don’t ask the questions," I snap.
"Oh?" She scowls.
"Oh, yes, is the right answer here."
She firms her lips. "You’re acting weird."
"And you haven’t taken off his jersey."
She places the spatula on the island top, then folds her arms across her chest.
"Take. It. Off." I lower my voice to a hush. The color drains from her face. She swallows, then reaches down, grips the hem and pulls off the jersey. I snatch it from her, throw it over my shoulder, then pull my sweatshirt over her head. She threads her arms through the sleeves and smooths the fabric down her thighs. She’s swallowed up in it, and I roll the sleeves up to her wrists.
She looks down at herself, then up at me. "This is bullshit.”
"What’s bullshit is you dared wear someone else’s jersey."
"It was temporary,” she protests.
"Like our engagement?"
She pales further. "It is temporary, whatever this is between us, isn’t it?"
Of course it is. But right now, the way I’m feeling, I don’t care. "Right now, we’re engaged. We’re both playing a role which the media has bought into. A role which has convinced your ex you’re out of his reach, which is making him want you even more. A role which my grandmother believes is real. Which my teammates are convinced is authentic. A role which, if it gets out that this is fake will result in a media shitstorm, not to mention, break my Grams’ heart and show your ex the extent you’d go to take revenge for what he did." I frown. "Or perhaps, that’s your plan. You want him to know our relationship is fake, so the next time he asks you for forgiveness, you can go back to him."
She shakes her head. "You're the one who came up with this cockamamie idea!."
"And? Are you telling me you don't want to go back to him?"
"Of course not."
I frown. "Wait. You don’t?"
"I admit, I was confused, at first. Coming out of a relationship and meeting you and having all these strong feelings for you, it made my head spin. So, I told you I wasn’t sure about how I felt toward Denn—
"Don’t speak his fucking name in front of me."
She swallows. "I mean… him. I wasn’t sure how I felt about him, but now I know."
"You do?"
She looks away, then back at me. "I realize now, he was nowhere as caring as you. I know he didn’t respect people the way you do. I know he didn’t feel as passionately about things as you do."
"You must have me mistaken for someone else. I’m not a passionate person."
She laughs, then stares at me. "You pretend not to be a passionate person, but you are."
"Oh?"
