Page 45 of The #FakeBoyfriend Bet

Ryan, mixing a drink nearby, makes a choking sound that he quickly disguises as a cough.

Sophie's perfect composure slips momentarily before she recovers. "Max and I share history. Deep, meaningful history. The kind that doesn't just disappear because someone new comes along."

"History is called that for a reason," I counter smoothly. "It's in the past. Max's present—and future—is with me."

Max slides an arm around my waist, pulling me closer to his side. "Sophie, if you're here for a drink, I'm happy to make you one. If you're here to cause trouble, you should leave."

"Trouble?" She places a hand over her heart in mock offense. "I'm just getting to know your new…girlfriend. Making sure she understands what she's getting into with someone like you."

"Someone like him?" I echo, feeling a surge of genuine protectiveness. "You mean someone talented, hardworking, and genuine? Because that's who Max is, and I understand that perfectly."

"Genuine?" Sophie laughs, the sound brittle. "Oh, honey. Ask him how genuine he was when he walked away from his music career right when they were about to break through. Ask him why he really left the band. Ask him?—"

"That's enough." Max's voice cuts through her words, uncharacteristically sharp. "This isn't the place, Sophie."

An uncomfortable silence falls between the three of us, the bar's noise seeming to recede as if we're in our own bubble of tension. Sophie studies Max's face for a long moment, then mine, her expression calculating.

"You haven't told her," she says quietly. "Interesting."

Before Max can respond, I step forward slightly. "He doesn't have to tell me anything he's not ready to share. That's called respect—something you might want to look into."

Sophie's eyes widen momentarily at my directness. "Well. She's certainly fiery, Max. I'll give you that."

"One of the many things I love about her," he replies, the words landing with surprising weight despite our audience. He looks down at me, something soft and genuine in his expression that makes my chest tight. "Lena doesn't pretend to be anything she's not."

The irony of this statement in the context of our fake relationship isn't lost on me, but somehow, in this moment, with Max looking at me like I've personally hung the moon, it doesn't feel like a lie.

Sophie watches this exchange with narrowed eyes. "Love," she repeats, testing the word. "That's…fast."

"When it's right, you know," I say, the cliché flowing easily from my lips even as my heart races at the implications. "But you wouldn't understand that, would you?"

It's a direct hit. Something flickers across her perfect features—hurt, maybe, or regret. For a moment, I almost feel bad for her. Almost.

"Well," she says finally, reaching for her purse. "This has been illuminating. Good to see you, Max. Truly." Her gaze shifts to me, assessing one last time. "And nice to meet you, Lena. I hope, for both your sakes, this is as real as you're pretending it is."

With that parting shot, she glides away, navigating through the crowd and out the door without a backward glance.

The moment she's gone, Max exhales heavily, his arm still around my waist. "I'm sorry about that."

"Don't be," I say, surprised by how much I mean it. "Exes happen. Even fake relationships have to deal with real baggage."

He studies my face, something vulnerable in his expression. "You were amazing. The things you said..."

"All part of the performance," I hedge, though we both know that's not entirely true.

"Was it?" His voice drops lower, meant only for me despite the crowded bar. "Because it sounded pretty genuine to me."

Before I can formulate a response that won't reveal too much of my confused heart, Ryan appears beside us.

"Hate to break up this moment," he says, not looking sorry at all, "but we've got thirsty customers, Donovan."

Max nods, reluctantly releasing his hold on me. "I'll be right there." He turns back to me, hesitating. "Will you stay? My shift ends in an hour."

There are a dozen reasons I should say no. I have content to plan, emails to answer, a carefully curated life that doesn't include waiting around in dive bars for bartenders to finish their shifts. But what comes out is, "I'll be here."

His smile is like sunshine breaking through clouds. "I'll make you another Carter Special."

"I'll hold you to that." I watch him return to work, the consummate professional despite the emotional confrontation we just experienced.

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