Page 83 of The Player + The Pact = I Do

I shouldn’t feel upset. It’s not like we were ever going to be a thing.

“No, Sophia and I have it.” I transfer my weight from one foot to the other, trying to think of something to say.

“Let me help,” he says.

It feels almost worse to have him moving me out. Like he can’t wait to get rid of me.

“If it’s okay with you, I’d rather do it myself.”

He shrugs. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” I say.

He narrows his eyes likes he knows I’m trying to communicate something but he’s not sure what. Me neither, honestly.

“I thought we were going to talk. Have sushi.”

I nod. “Yeah, sorry about that. I had to… get back to Jersey.”

His eyes narrow, like he expects me to elaborate, but what can I say? Sophia’s right, I’m running. But I don’t know what else to do.

“So do you want to get dinner tonight?” he asks, looking me straight in the eye.

“I think it’s best to keep things… to go back to being what we were before,” I say. My stomach churns as I speak. It takes everything in me not to take two steps forward and collapse in his arms.

“So, that’s it? Destiny is at a standstill?”

It’s the first time he’s referenced that first night we met since he found out I was Mystique.

“Destiny?” I ask him. “New Yorkers don’t believe in stuff like that.” I fight to keep my voice steady.

“Well, I’m technically from the UK and you’re from Jersey. So…”

I have to look away from him. He looks so hurt. Like he wants me to tell him we can try and make things work. But I can’t open myself up to him when I know at some point things will shift and he’ll leave. I can’t let that happen to me again. I’m too bruised and broken from a lifetime of people leaving.

He sighs and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Well, it’s been a blast,” he says.

I nod. I can’t speak, because my nose is starting to fizz and my stomach feels like it’s turning inside out.

“You’re the best fake fiancée a guy could ever wish for.”

The problem is, it got too real for me.

There’s no solution to the sense of loss I’m feeling right now. Accepting his dinner invitation would only prolong the inevitable.

“Glad I could help.”

Our eyes lock, like we both want to tell each other we’re feeling conflicted. I offer him a small smile that I hope saysI’m sorry.

“I’ve really enjoyed having you here,” he says, oddly formal all of a sudden.

“I’ve enjoyed being here. More than I thought I would.”

“Really?” he asks, the corner of his mouth twitching.

My stomach flips at the hint of flirtation in his voice. “Well, the kitchen alone makes it worthwhile.”

He nods and runs a hand through his hair. “Right.”

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