Page 59 of A Fool's Game

My relief is overwhelming, but short lived.

“But he’s going to find out.”

I look down at my hands, feeling all eyes on me, waiting for me to answer. I have no idea what to say.

I know he’s going to find out. That’s hardly a revelation. And I know I have to be the one to tell him.

But I also know that when I do, I lose.

I’ve known Taylor for a long time. I know his heart, what drives him.

And I know that when it comes down to it, he’s not going to choose me.Am I horrible for putting off that reality for as long as I can?

“I just want it all to work out,” I manage to say finally.

Marisol nods. “It will.”

“But what if I lose him?” The question comes out a whisper, one I’m not sure I even mean to speak aloud at all.

“If you aren’t forthcoming, you’ve already lost.”

“And if I am forthcoming, I lose.”

“It’s possible we need to do some work around the idea of loss.”

Anger flares in me at her words. “Loss is loss. I don’t need to work on it. My whole life has been shaped by loss. It’s justone loss after another. Is it really so bad that I want to avoid this one?”

Marisol knows me well enough not to take my outburst personally. Her face is nothing but calm kindness as she reads my verdict. “If you wanted to avoid the loss, Gemma, you would stay. You are choosing the loss. That’s what you need to come to terms with.”

Tears prick in my eyes, and I shake my head, brushing them away. I feel so stupid allowing this conversation to go so deep tonight, threatening to ruin what should be a fun evening with my friends and lovers.

I turn back to the twins, who have been watching our exchange in polite silence. “Help me not let this evening suck, okay? I want it to be fun, and now I’m thinking about all this depressing shit.”

I watch as identical sly grins spread over the faces of my ethereally beautiful roommates.

“We’ll be happy to help.”

Chapter 22

Ainsley

“Can we come up with some kind of truce?”

I’m up to my elbows in some flour and cornmeal mixture, trying not to feel like too much of a fool in the hot pink floral apron Taylor insisted was the only other one in the house.

His apron is dark brown canvas with a handy front pocket.

Mine has lace trim.

He set me to work shaping dough into balls to “rest” as he put it. I think I did a pretty good job, considering it’s my first time.

Unsurprisingly, Taylor disagreed.

“What do you mean a truce?” he asks.

I sigh, leaning against the counter and patting one of my lumpy little dough balls. “You know what I mean, asshole. We’re in this thing together. Would it be so hard to stop acting like such a dick all the time?”

“Says the man who just called me an asshole.”

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