Page 37 of Boyfriend Maintenance

“Because this whole thing between us is fake?” I brave asking it and I don’t dare let out a breath, because I’m not sure I’ll be able to handle his reply.

Shifting away from me slightly, he looks down at me. His eyes are filled with heat. “This isn’t fake anymore, Emmy.” There’s no reassuring smile, no adoration in his eyes, I’m worried his words aren’t meant to soothe me. That he’s stating a fact and because of that, this realness between us can’t continue.

I’m a bundle of confusion and dread. Staring into his eyes I’m unable to figure out what his words mean.

He must see my wheels turning because he visibly softens all the hard lines in his face. A small, sweet smile replaces his near frown. He pulls me to him and kisses my forehead. “It’s late. Sleep.” He resumes a lazy path over my shoulder and arm with his calloused fingers.

Minutes tick by and my eyes grow heavy. As I start to doze off, I feel him turn his head toward me and whispers into my hairline, “You’re by far the best I’ve ever had.”

I smile into the dark and fall asleep.

* * *

Hourslater when I blink open my eyes, I first notice the sun peeking through the blinds, which is most likely what woke me. I take a moment as the events of last night filter through my mind. I’m facing the opposite side from when I fell asleep, so I turn over to face Jake. But he isn’t there. Sitting up, I look around my room. I lean over the bed to find his clothes are also missing.

Anxiety starts to flutter in my chest as I fear he left and didn’t bother waking me.Please just be in the kitchen or the bathroom. I repeat this mantra in my head as I pull my thin cotton robe off the hook in my closet and slip into it, tying the sash as I step out of my room. The rest of the apartment is quiet. I don’t have to strain my ears to know I’m most likely alone. I walk to the bathroom and see the door open, lights off. I walk back to my room to see if he at least left a note.

My heart has progressed from fluttering to pounding and I’m starting to worry I imagined last night. Maybe I just dreamed about having the best sex ever. Maybe Jake was so mad he didn’t give me a chance to explain my life. Did I just write myself into an alternative ending?

Searching my room, there’s nothing on the nightstand. I crawl onto my bed and move the sheets around, lift, and look under pillows. I won’t admit this to a soul, but at one point I desperately crawl on the floor around my bed in hopes of finding a fallen note.

Nothing.

He’s just gone.

Chewing on my lip, I realize I have no idea where my phone is. I never saw it in my pursuit for a note. Thankfully, it’s still in my purse, which I put on the table last night when we got back after the party.

I hurry back out to the table and fish out my phone. There is a text from Becca, and two missed calls as well as a text from Levi, all from this morning. I realize that it’s a little past nine. Then I see it.

A hastily scribbled note from Jake next to my purse. My eyes blur while I quickly try to read it. I slam my eyes shut to focus myself before reopening them and carefully reading his note.

Sex with you was everything I had hoped it would be and more. But that’s all it was, and it won’t happen again.

He even signed it “Jake Harper,” as if I wouldn't know who left the note. And then it hits me, I hardly knew anything about him. This fake relationship was so focused on me and my family and him getting his money that we never really got to know one another, aside from the moments when we were faking it. I just had amazing passionate sex with a man who didn’t even think I knew his last name. Was he making a point that I don’t know enough about him? If that was the case, maybe he shouldn’t have given me two orgasms before he left me in the middle of the night.

Heart, meet fist.

Chapter 16

Jake

I’m a jackass.

I’ll admit it to myself, that sneaking out on Emmy early this morning was a jackass move.

But I did it, there’s no changing it. The letter I left her—that … well, that was a dick move. But I don’t have a time machine, so I have to admit that I’m a jackass dick and move on. Because moving on is what needs to happen.

When I got home around three this morning, I tossed and turned until eight trying to get some sleep. I’ve been sulking around my shitty apartment all morning. I’m grumpy and tired. It’s nearly one and I’m lounging on the couch, waiting for Kevin to arrive. He’s coming over to watch the Mets since they are at an away game today.

My phone rings and I steel myself before picking it up off the coffee table. Emmy. This is the first I’ve heard from her today. I’m tempted to answer, staring at her name on my screen. A pounding comes at my front door. Kevin is here. My decision is made for me and I set down the phone and get up to let him in.

“Yo.” He hurries in past me. “Sorry I’m late, the subway was packed today.”

“I was wondering if you were going to miss the opening pitch.” I lock up behind him.

Kevin quickly makes himself at home by grabbing a beer out of the fridge, a jar of salsa, and a bag of chips from the counter. Hands full, he deposits it all onto the coffee table. He must have grabbed the opener because he uses it to open his beer then twists open the brand-new jar of salsa with a pop. As he rips into the bag of chips, he says, “Dude, the game’s starting, are you gonna sit?” Then he shoves a few chips into his mouth.

“Make yourself at home, Kev,” I mutter as I grab myself a beer.

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