Page 54 of The #FakeBoyfriend Bet

"I'm not canceling because I'm losing." My voice comes out sharper than intended. "I'm canceling because it was a shitty thing to make a bet about in the first place."

A silence falls over our usual hang-out spot—the living room of the apartment I share with Ryan, where Drew is a constant fixture. The three of us have been friends since college, through my band days, through breakups and career changes and everything in between. They know me better than almost anyone, which makes their failure to see how serious this is all the more frustrating.

Drew studies me, his expression shifting from confusion to concern. "What's really going on, Max? This isn't just about a stupid bet."

I run a hand through my hair, a gesture Lena often teases me about when I'm stressed. The thought of her makes my chest tighten further. "It's not fake anymore," I admit, the words feeling both treacherous and relieving. "Lena and I. We're actually together."

Ryan's eyes widen. "Wait, what? Since when?"

"A while now." I don't elaborate on the complicated progression—the night in my apartment during the rainstorm, the hallway at the charity gala, the confrontation with Sophie, the afternoon Lena finally admitted her feelings were real. It's too private, too precious to lay out for dissection.

"Holy shit," Drew murmurs. "Plot twist."

Ryan, for once, seems at a loss for words. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before asking, "Does she know about the bet?"

"No." The single word hangs between us, heavy with implication. "That's why I need to cancel it. I can't tell her I made a bet about not falling for her. It would hurt her, and she's been hurt enough."

"But if you don't tell her, and she finds out some other way..." Drew trails off, the conclusion obvious.

"I know." I stand, too restless to remain seated. "That's why it's keeping me up at night."

Ryan watches me pace, uncharacteristically serious. "You really care about her."

It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Yeah. I do."

"Then you have to tell her," he says simply. “You owe her the truth. Come on, man. It was a harmless bet.”

But I’m not sure she’ll see it that way.

"And risk losing her?" The fear that's been gnawing at me finally surfaces. "She's been through enough bullshit with men using her for their own agenda. If I tell her I literally made a bet about her feelings?—"

"Then you're being honest," Drew interjects. "Which is what real relationships need."

"Easy for you to say. You don't have to see the look on her face when I tell her." I sink back onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. "I've been trying to find the right moment, the right words, but they don't exist. There's no good way to say 'Hey, by the way, I bet my roommate I wouldn't fall for you, but surprise, I'm in so deep I can't see straight.'"

Ryan's expression softens unexpectedly. "You love her, don't you?"

The question stops me cold.Love.It's a word I've been circling in my mind, testing and retreating from. A word that feels simultaneously too big and not big enough for what Lena has come to mean to me.

"I think I do," I admit, the confession leaving me vulnerable in a way I haven't been with my friends in years. "And that's what makes this so fucking terrifying. I finally find someone who sees me—really sees me—and I have this stupid bet hanging over everything."

"If she really sees you," Drew says quietly, "then she'll understand that the bet was before. Before you knew her. Before this was real."

"Or she'll see it as one more man who saw her as a means to an end. A challenge." I shake my head. "You don't understand what she's been through with her ex, with the industry she's in. Everyone wants something from her. Everyone has an angle."

"And what's your angle now?" Ryan asks, surprising me with his insight.

"I don't have one." The answer comes easily, truthfully. "I just want her. The real her, not the Instagram version. I want lazy Sunday mornings and arguments about ice cream flavors and watching her try to identify constellations even though she has no idea what they're supposed to look like."

Ryan and Drew exchange a look I can't quite interpret.

"What?" I demand.

"Nothing," Drew says with a small smile. "It's just…I've never heard you talk about anyone like this before. Not even Sophie, and you were with her for over a year."

"Lena's different." The simplicity of the statement belies the complexity of the feeling behind it.

"Then you owe her the truth," Ryan says, returning to his earlier point. "And for what it's worth, the bet is officially nullified as of now."

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