Page 20 of Faking It with My Bossy Ex

I slowly creep forward until I’m able to poke my nose over the mound of pillows. Dylan’s blue-green eyes stare up at me, an obnoxious, cocky smile plastered on his lips.

“Good morning, Ames,” he says, a slow smile tugging at his lips. “Enjoying the view?”

I grab one of the pillows from the top and launch it at him. He narrowly dodges with a laugh.

“Hey!” He half protests, “I didn’t make the rules.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I was just checking to see if you’d finally gotten up.”

He chuckles, looking completely unfazed. “Sure, if that’s the story you’re sticking with. Can’t blame you, though. Pretty hard to resist a face like mine.”

If he was conceited before, he’s worse now.

My cheeks are red, I’m sure of it. No matter how hard I try to school my features, there are some reactions that are uncontrollable.

I give him my best death glare. Though it’s probably not as intimidating as I think. I’m scrambling to find something a bit more efficient.

Jerking my blankets up on my side of the bed, I do my best to leave it made.

“I’m going to change and then find something to eat. Everyone out there is probably expecting us to go together, seeing as we’re supposed to be acouple.” The sooner we can get away from the topic of me trying to get a look at him, the better.

“Wouldn’t miss it, darling.” His voice lilts with mirth as I excuse myself to the bathroom to change. Sharing a room with Dylan? This must be some sort of cosmic punishment for past misdeeds.

Fuming, I put on my clothes for the day and rejoin Dylan. He’s already changed and standing by the door, which he opens for me, making a grand gesture.

Of course, he’s making light of romantic gestures. He used to do little things like this just for me, even though he’d laugh and call himself ridiculous afterward. Now he’s doing them as a joke, poking fun at our fake arrangement, and somehow, it hurts.

I miss those little moments that made me dream about our future together. Knowing that I was his, and he was mine. I pushed those thoughts away, slowly getting past it while in Europe, but now that I’m back and we’re back together in the same spot, it’s not so easy to ignore.

The walk to the lobby is miserable. The snow clings to my boots and makes the hems of my pants drip with freezing melted snow. It reminds me of when I’d go out looking for a Christmas tree with Dad.

I never minded the discomfort then. He’d scoop me up on his shoulders and carry me. Once we found the perfect tree, I’d watch as he chopped it down, then would ride on top of it as he pulled it back to the house.

I smile at the memory. Those were easier times. Then I remember the last night I saw him.

“I don’t want you to leave.” I look up at him. “Maybe I can talk to Mom, and then she won’t ask you to go.” My tenth birthday in two weeks away. He’s never missed one. Who’s going to cut my cake? Will he be okay out there?

“Don’t worry, Ames, I’ll be back before you know it. Don’t hold this against your mom. We just need some space from one another. It’s not either of our fault. It just happens sometimes.” He leans down and pulls me into a tight hug, his body engulfing mine, the smell of smoke from the wood stove he just lit a little while before still clinging to the fabric of his coat.

“You promise?” Tears press at the back of my eyes. Make him stay. He’s never coming back. That little voice screams in my head, demanding action, but what else can I do?

“Pinky promise.” He clutches my pinky with his, then kisses my forehead. “I’ll be there to cut your cake, okay?”

“Okay.” He steps out the door, snow blowing, settling in wet specks across his coat, the only sign he was in that hallway a few seconds before. He’ll be there to cut my birthday cake. He’s never missed a year.

Turns out there are a few times in my life where my inner voice knows what it’s talking about, and that was one of them. My birthday came, and I sat by that cake waiting for him, through my birthday, through his funeral, through all the years after when I kept telling myself he’d just walked out for a little while.

My dad abandoned me. He said he’d always be there for me, but that wasn't a promise he should have made. I thought it was a fluke, but I’ve been abandoned three times by three different men, and it doesn’t feel like an accident anymore.

“Everything all right?” Dylan asks. He touches my elbow and I startle, realizing we’ve reached the lobby and I’m standing by the door like I’ve forgotten where I am.

“Fine. I just … never mind. Got lost in the moment for a second.” I force a smile.

“Are you sure?” He steps closer, touching my chin, and examining my face.

“I’m sure.” I look up at his face, taking in every detail of his features. Could there be a second chance for us in the cards? No. It wouldn't make a difference. He’d walk away, just like he did before and like everyone before him did.

I pull away from him and hurry inside before I say anything else. I pick a table near the back of the dining area, hoping to be common enough that no one notices us.

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