Page 20 of Don't Go Faking My Heart

My heart was on a runaway train when Philip showed up out of nowhere.

It has screeched to a stop.

What did Rusty say?

I break from Philip, even as his hands try to tighten around me.

His possessiveness makes me feel sick and flattered at the same time, which in turn makes me feel sicker. How does he still have any kind of pull over me? He knows exactly what he's doing. He loves control.

And I hate him for it.

I break free the rest of the way and whip around to face Rusty. I'm standing in between him and Philip, and I shoot my friend a "huh?" look he immediately interprets. He answers with a quick "trust me," look. And then he pulls me in for a tight, protective hug—much better than Philip's—and he whispers, "Janes."

I'm back to feeling two opposing things at once:

Relief that my friends care so much about me that they would send Rusty to strengthen me in the face of my awful ex.

And embarrassment that I'm such a mess that my friends think they have to send Rusty to strengthen me in the face of my awful ex.

And I'm not sure they're wrong.

All of this internalizing happens in a second, long enough for Philip to take in Rusty's embrace but short enough that I still have no clue what to do next.

"She's a grown woman, you know," Philip says, a hint of challenge on his honeyed tongue. "She can make her own choices."

Rusty releases me from the hug and skims his hand down my arm. I'm not normally ticklish, but I must be more sensitive than I thought, because I swear, every teensy hair on my body perks up like they're prepping for Rusty to graze them, too.

Then he says something quiet enough that it feels like it's only for me but loud enough that it's obviously for Philip's benefit. His eyes jump between mine earnestly, supportively. "If you were lucky enough to love a woman like her, you'd do anything to keep her in your arms."

Shoot, that was smooth.

"You clearly don't know who I am," Philip says.

And then Rusty looks up from me almost like he forgot Philip was there. My boy's acting skills are unparalleled. "No, I don't."

"I'm Philip."

"Cool. Rusty." Rusty tucks me under his left arm and leans forward to shake Philip's very much not outstretched hand.

Before this moment, I could count on zero fingers the number of times I've seen Philip Dumfries thrown. He is always the one with the upper hand. He makes a point of it. He doesn't enter situations unless he knows what the power dynamics are, and yet somehow, my fruit stand operating, graphic design best buddy has rendered Philip speechless.

Well, mostly speechless.

"I don't think you understand," Philip says. "I'm Philip. Philip Dumfries. Ashley's ex."

Rusty looks down at me with a teasing smile. "Seriously, Ash? Another ex? Am I going to have to pull a Scott Pilgrim and battle a league of Ash's Evil Exes?"

I laugh at the reference to a cult classic film that Rusty, me, and probably five other people know. And Philip isn't one of them.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see his neck redden. He hates feeling like an outsider. He despises being ignored.

I could eat his frustration with a spoon.

I scrunch my nose mischievously, like I'm some saucy minx instead of a girl with exactly one ex ever. "So I forgot a couple. What are you gonna do about it?"

"I'll show you what I'm gonna do about it," Rusty says with a flirtatious growl. Then he nuzzles his face against my jaw and nips at my neck.

Holy sensation, Batman!

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