Page 3 of Faking It with My Bossy Ex

Of all the infuriating things …

I’m just another ex to him, an annoying one he feels responsible for because I’m at risk of freezing to death on the side of the road.

Bitterness rises in my throat. My stubbornness flares.

“Why? I’ve already tried starting the car at least half a dozen times.”

“So I can get your luggage out of the trunk.”

“I’m not riding with you.” I cross my arms, staring him down. He’s not about to boss me around.

“You are.” His grin widens.

“No, I’m not.” I glare, trying to ignore the way he looks like he still knows me. Like I wasn’t still half in love with him.

“Don’t make me carry you to the car.” He takes a threatening step and I scramble out of his reach.

"You're not going to carry me," I squeak. The last time we talked was the day he tore my heart out of my chest. Sometimes, I almost ask what changed, why he suddenly decided I wasn't enough. What made him give up on us right after we planned our future together? But my weak heart probably can't handle the answer, so the questions stay buried.

“It’s freezing out here.” Dylan’s rough voice says. “Let’s set aside our differences and just get to town, okay?” His tone drops and for a moment, it’s so gentle, my resolve almost crumbles.

I imagine myself falling into his arms, ugly crying, asking to start over, the whole nine yards. If I really overdid it, it would be like one of those cheesy movies where the past magically disappears. But this isn’t Hollywood, and I’m no damsel in distress. Maybe a little distressed, but definitely not in need of a Dylan-shaped knight in shining armor.

A shiver racks my body, and I can’t feel my toes anymore. My phone’s “No Service” message mocks me from my pocket. My stomach does an anxious flip as I weigh my options: losing a few toes vs. tolerating Dylan’s stupidly perfect face for an hour.

I drop my keys into his palm.

“Fine. I’ll ride with you to Snowfall Springs.”

Maybe my brain is starting to freeze a little too, because that would explain why I gave him the keys and willingly agreed to ride with him.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” His eyes twinkle mischievously, and I frown as he gets my suitcases from the trunk and transfers them to his. I linger behind. It’s still not too late for someone else to come by, perhaps a nice old lady who needs someone to keep her company on the long drive. When he holds the passenger door open for me, I can’t hold off any longer.

The car door slams shut and Dylan’s cologne fills the space. How is it possible to make a cologne that smells so much like cedar wood? My relaxing getaway just morphed into a front-seat view of my devastatingly handsome ex.

Note to self, choose losing a few toes next time.

Chapter 2

Dylan

I'm still not over her. Not even close.

Eight years might have passed, but Amy hasn’t changed at all. I can hardly pull my eyes away from her, she’s so beautiful.

I glance over. Her green eyes stare out at the snow covered road, her full lips slightly parted. Even under at least one layer of clothes and a clunky sweater, her curves are visible. Her thick winter coat, scarf, and hat, as well as two bright pink gloves, are strewn all over the car.

My hands grip the wheel tighter as the memory hits me like a sucker punch. I can still see her face that day in the park.

I spot Amy waiting for me at our usual bench in the park, her face lighting up as she sees me. That smile twists the knife in mychest. I've rehearsed this a hundred times, but now, faced with her radiant joy, the words feel like glass in my throat.

“Dylan? What's wrong?” Her smile falters, concern creeping into her voice.

I force myself to meet her eyes, knowing it might be the last time I'll allow myself to drown in their warmth. “Amy, we need to talk.”

“Okay…” Her voice is small, scared.

“I…I think we should break up.” The words taste like ash.

---