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She turns to me and pastes on the fakest smile I’ve ever seen her wear. My jaw clenches before she even speaks, hating the distance I’ve put between us—because I’m not dumb enough to blame this distance on her when it’s my own damn fault she’s acting this way. “Guess it’s time to put on a show,” she says.
I shrug, feigning a nonchalance I don’t feel. “Or we could just be us.”
Her smile stiffens like it’s taking everything for her to keep it on her face and not frown. “Not if we’re trying to sell that we’re a couple.”
“Why not? People used to assume that about us all the time. How many people from high school kept asking if we were finally dating?”
Her smile falls this time, and I almost wish it was back—even as fake as it was—because the hurt in her eyes before she drops her gaze to the table feels like being sucker punched. I reach over and grab her hand. “Hey, talk to me. Please,” I tack on, needing her to let me in.
She shakes her head and then looks up at me, her eyes guarded. “You don’t get it, Dom.” She leans forward and lowers her voice. “You think this is easy for me? I confessed my feelings for you, and you’re treating it like it’s not a big deal. Like I should be totally fine ‘faking it’ when I used to dream about moments like this.” She pulls her hand from mine and reaches for her water, taking a long drink. Her features soften as she places it back on the table, and that fake smile is planted firmly back on her face. “Let’s just get this night over with, okay?”
The waiter arrives to take our order, but I ask for a few more minutes since I haven’t even bothered to look over the menu. I’ve been too distracted by the woman sitting in front of me who I used to know so well and now feels like a complete stranger.
She looks down at her menu, but I can’t just ignore the comment she made. “I didn’t mean to imply this was easy for you. It’s not easy for me either.” I lean closer. “Laney, you’re my best friend and the most important person in my life. You think it’s easy to know I’ve fucked up so badly that you can hardly look at me? That you’ve only given me fake smiles since we got here? That you’ve put an end date on our friendship and I’m trying my hardest not to panic the fuck out over the idea of losing you completely? It’s not easy for me either. The only thing easy—the reason you were the only person I would agree to do this with—is spending time with you. I’m not ignoring your feelings or what you confessed. But you dropped a bomb on me, and I’m still processing. Can I process and still have a good time with you?”
Her brows are furrowed, and she’s got this cute little wrinkle above her nose. “What? You want me to just compartmentalize my feelings so we can laugh it up and pretend like everything’s fine? Like you didn’t ditch me at your birthday party for some Hollywood starlet and cause the scandal of your career.”
“Okay,” I say, wanting to make sure she doesn’t add more to the list of my faults—we both know that list could be a mile long. “Let’s start there. Clearly you’re pissed about what happened, so let’s talk about it.”
She looks around the half-full restaurant before focusing back on me. “We can’t talk about that here. We’re supposed to be cozying up and looking like we’re happy. If we talk about that, I’m only going to get pissed all over again.”
“Then get pissed. Get fucking pissed at me, Laney. Because this”—I gesture to her body and face—“this version of you is fake, and I didn’t pick you so that our conversations could be as fake as a porn star’s tits.”
She rolls her eyes. “Lovely image there, Dom.”
“Let me have it. Give me the real Laney.”
Her jaw moves back and forth like she’s chewing her words, and then she unleashes, and even though every word is like being cut with glass, it feels so good to see that fire back in her eyes that I’d take it all night long.
“Fine. You want the truth. I felt used and worthless after that party. I’ve felt that way for months. You only want me when I can do something for you. This whole arrangement, for example. You don’t care about anyone’s feelings but your own. And I can’t pinpoint when you became this person, but I hate this version of you. You’re such a selfish dickhead, I want nothing to do with you. Is that what you want to hear? That, as in love with you as I’ve always been, I can’t stand to be near you anymore? Well, there you go. There’s the whole fucking truth. I hate Jen Summers, even though she’s drop-dead gorgeous, so I totally get your infatuation with her, but that night was supposed to be us partying together. Us celebrating your birthday, not you ditching me to go have sex.”
She swallows and that fire rages in her eyes, even as they glisten and her voice shakes. “I hate that I love you. I hate that even after you continue to hurt me, I still wish you wanted me the way I’ve wanted you. I hate being this vulnerable with you when you’ve done nothing to deserve it. I hate that somewhere along the road I forgot who I was without you and now I need to figure it out because I can’t keep doing this, Dom. I can’t keep being your wingwoman that you keep in the shadows unless it serves you. So this is the last thing you get from me. Understand?”
Thirteen
My heart races and my eyes sting from holding back the tears that threaten to build, but this man has taken enough away from me at this point that I refuse to give him my tears too. He stares at me, his mouth parting slightly before he closes it again and something akin to agony fills those crystalline-blue eyes.
“Are we ready to order?” The waiter pops up out of nowhere, and I cover my surprise by looking down at my menu and pointing to something random. “I’ll have this.” I don’t even know what I ordered, but I don’t care. I need to pull myself together. Everything I told him was true, even if I’m not entirely upset about figuring out who I am without him. It’s been enlightening and something I probably should’ve invested time in long before now.
The waiter glances at Dom, his pen poised above his notepad, but Dom’s gaze is locked on me. “She’ll have the bacon-wrapped filet mignon, and I’ll have the grilled chicken.”
He hands the menu to the waiter, who remains frozen next to our table. My eyes are focused on Dom who doesn’t look anywhere but at me. I didn’t even realize they had bacon-wrapped filet mignon here, and even though I’m a little peeved he ordered for me, I also love steak.
“Um…are you sure you don’t want the stuffed tomato?” the waiter asks me, his eyes wide as saucers, unsure if he should take Dom’s order for both of us.
Wait…I ordered a tomato? I hate tomatoes.
“Uh, yeah. The filet will be great. Thanks.” I hand the waiter my menu and he scurries away.
Dom’s eyes soften when I look back over at him, and the corner of his lips tilt up ever so slightly. But then his expression sobers. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low but clear. “You’ll never know how much, but I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you. I’m ashamed of a lot of the things I’ve done, but I’m most ashamed that I’ve made you feel like you mean less than the whole world to me.”
I swallow thickly. “You can’t sweet talk me now and expect that to make everything better.”
“I don’t. I expect you to keep calling me out when I’m being an ass. As long as you don’t expect me to give up on saving our friendship before my six months are up because I won’t. That’s the one thing you can’t ask me to do.”
We’re silent as we watch each other before I finally say, “You were wrong.”
“About what?”
