Page 54 of Fake Dating an Orc Cowboy

“No,” Rosey barked, not looking my way. “Take the first-class seat, Ostor. I’ll be fine in the one I booked before the trip.”

“I’ll sit with you.” Maybe then I could find a way to tell her I was sorry.

“I insist,” she growled, backing away from me. “Take it. You need the legroom. I don’t.”

“I don’t want to—”

“I said I’ll be fine!” She lifted her big suitcase and slammed it down onto the scale. “You’ll be too cramped if you sit with me.”

“Alright.” Maybe I could compose my thoughts and figure out how I could correct all the mistakes I’d made. By the time we landed, I could pour out my heart and make this right.

Ifshe’d listen. She seemed angry, though I already knew why.

I’d messed this up horribly.

We made our way through security and took seats on the other side to wait until they called for us to board. Before I could try to somewhat bridge the widening gap between us, she rose. “I need to go to the bathroom. I’ll be back. Watch my carry-on, would you?” She scooted away before I could say a thing.

She didn’t return until they were calling for us to board, and only then to grab her bag and sling it over her shoulder, give me a wan smile, and urged me to go with the rest of those sitting in the front of the plane.

I did as she suggested, but I sought her gaze as she made her way down the aisle. She kept her eyes studiously on the floor, not looking my way.

Not even once.

I truly had ruined this for us both.

Chapter 23

Rosey

By the time our flight landed back home, I’d come to the realization that it was over between Ostor and I before it truly got started. I’d tossed my heart at another man, though honestly, I hadn’t loved Jacob, but I’d been rejected even faster.

Ostor wasn’t interested in having more with me. If he was, he would’ve made that clear. Maybe he was only looking for a weekend fling. Did orcs do that sort of thing?

All guys do,I chided myself.You thought he was different, but you were wrong. Terribly wrong.

If only there was an exit off the back of the plane. But, yay, first-class passengers got to disembark first. If I was lucky, I wouldn’t see him again. Then I could go home, curl up on my bed, and sob for the rest of my life.

This felt so much worse than with Jacob . . .

. . . Because I’d fallen in love with Ostor. There it was. It only took three days of his charm, and I handed my heart to him only to have him chew on it a bit before tossing it back, mangled.

Every step I took, dragging my suitcase toward customs, felt like a fist tightening around my chest. It wasn’t the physicalweight of the bag. It was the load in my soul, this dense bundle of pain I couldn’t shake free.

Of course Ostor would breeze through first-class customs and vanish without needing to wait. That was a perk of flying with the elite, though I wasn’t mad about that. No, the bitterness coiling in my stomach came from the fact that he didn’t even say goodbye. No quiet “take care” or even a fake, polite “it was fun.” Just a long weekend, a handful of kisses and tons of mind-blowing sex, then he ghosted me at the airport terminal.

What did I expect? That he’d sweep me into his arms and declare his undying love, right in the middle of baggage claim? That this guy, who wasn’t tethered to this peculiar human world of mine would decide I was enough to make him stay? Yeah, right, Rosey. You’d think after my bad luck with one guy, I would’ve known better.

My eyes burned, but I wasn’t going to cry in public. Not here, surrounded by exhausted travelers clutching wailing kids’ hands, old couples kissing like true love actually lasted, and teenagers gazing around with sullen expressions on their faces. No one cared about some girl whose sorta boyfriend didn’t stick around long enough to say goodbye.

A stamp, a nod, a half-hearted welcome back, and then I was through customs. I scanned the crowd out of habit more than anything else, hoping for something I couldn’t give name to. But nope. Ostor was gone.

The carousel was another kind of purgatory, its endless rotation of spinning bags that weren’t mine mocking me. When my suitcase finally emerged from the blackened tunnel, I lunged for it. My hands trembled as I yanked it upright and smacked it on the linoleum floor, the wheels screeching as I pulled it toward the exit.

Outside, I tugged my bag along the sidewalk, the painted lines on the curb blurring. My chest felt hollow, achy. Just a fewmore steps, and this would all be over. I’d go home, lie on my bed, and spend the weekend crying about how stupid I was to think an orc cowboy would fall for me.

“Goodbye,” Ostor’s voice rumbled behind me, unmistakably his.

I froze, my grip on the suitcase handle tightening until my knuckles twitched.

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