Page 65 of Playing Pretend

“So you care when I invade your privacy, but not when Julian does?”

“That’s not fair.” The toilet flushes. “Just because you were around for the blow-up at the bar doesn’t mean you’re a source of knowledge on my failed relationship.”

Okay, so now we’re arguing again. Fucking great.

I lean my forehead against the door, fighting the urge to release my frustration by banging my knuckles against the wood. “Then enlighten me. Explain why stalking isn’t an issue. Otherwise, I’ll tell Pete myself.”

The door flings open.

“Over my dead body.” She glowers at me, thrusting her hands on her hips. “If you say—”

“It could be,” I growl. “Over your dead body, that is. You’re surprised he’s stalking you, so what else is he capable of?”

Her eyes narrow to slits. “Drop it.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“It’s none of your business.”

Ouch. “If the safety of my best friend isn’t my business, then what is?”

She winces, her regret hitting me in the chest, which is a preference since it feels like she just kicked me in the balls.

I get that she’s embarrassed. That she doesn’t want to spark additional drama. But that prick needs to be punished for what he’s done.

Either the cops and Pete do it, or I’ll add it to my list.

“I’m not in danger.” She squeezes past me, making her way to the fridge alcove to snatch a bottle of water.

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.” She holds my gaze as she snaps the cap on the bottle. She’s confident. She knows something I don’t. Something she doesn’t want to share with me.

“We’ve got secrets now.” It’s not a question. Only a painful observation. After a lifetime reading her, I should’ve picked up the hint sooner. She’s withholding information. “I don’t get it. What have I done to earn a lack of faith?”

“It’s not a secret, Rome.” She takes a sip of water, replaces the cap, then throws the bottle to the bed. “I just…”

I let her stew, not filling the lengthening silence.

Two days ago, we were perfect. Attuned. In a state of disorganized harmony that I’d grown to depend on.

Now it seems to be slipping through my fingers. The space between friendship and something more is proving too much to overcome.

She stares at where the bottle lays atop the bedding, one hand playing with the hem of her sleep shirt. “He isn’t interested in getting back with me, okay? He wasn’t even interested in the relationship while he was in it. The complications he’s causing are over something else.”

“What else is there?” I demand. “Tell me.”

She keeps staring at the bed. “I don’t want to.”

I raise my chin at another direct hit.

I don’t get it. I don’t fucking understand. I thought we were solid. That we shared everything. Well, at least everything that didn’t pertain to the complicated feelings I have for her.

She turns to me, her face scrunching in dismay when our eyes meet.

I must look like a rejected puppy, from controlled and calculated to broken and battered all because she won’t open up.

“Rome, I…” Her chest rises and falls with a sigh. “I found out yesterday that Julian stopped having feelings for me a long time before the relationship ended. He was only using me.”

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