Page 94 of Book Boyfriends
I vomit out all the sordid details. Everything that has happened in the last week spills from my lips. How our not-so-cute first date led me to make a wish. The appearance of my book boyfriends and their belief that one of them may be my happyending. My willingness to choose one of them. My failed attempt to stay away from him. My ultimate decision to choose my own wants. How much I want him, despite knowing that I’m no good for him. I even blather on about my choice not to attend the wedding. Davis just stands there, his eyebrows almost reaching his hairline, and his mouth slack.
When I finish, I rub my temples. “God, this all sounds unreal.”
“You think Lars, Owen, and James are book characters?” His question is hesitant, as if approaching a wild animal.
Perhaps, I am. Between my rapid speech and wild gestures, I’m the opposite of cool, calm, and collected.
“It’s all unbelievable. At times, even I have trouble believing it, but they are real,” I implore.
I’m not entirely sure what I’m asking for. For him to believe me? For him to forgive me? For him to still want me despite everything I’ve done?All of the above.
Even I know that’s too much to hope for. This all may be over with Davis. That knowledge snarls inside me. Despite the ache, I don’t regret telling him. I may regret my actions, but not my honesty with him.
“I should have told you sooner. You deserved to know this before I started something with you,” I murmur.
“But we didn’t start anything. Not really.” He slumps with a long breath. “We’re just friends. You didn’t owe me anything, and I shouldn’t be angry. Like you said, I wasn’t technically part of your little dating competition.”
“I’m still sorry. For my actions. For hurting you.”
His brows link, seeming to mull over something. “You pumped the brakes. Even if you didn’t tell me all this, you were honest that your life is messy and that you couldn’t do anything.”
I blink. “You believe me?”
He motions between us. “None of this makes sense. Not how this happened. Not that this happened at all. Above all, the fact that I believe you makes no sense. I don’t believe that youbelieve, but thatIbelieve this is all real. It may be early, but I know you. You may love happy endings, but you’re not prone to fantastical thinking. Somehow, you wished characters in your books into real life… Characters I’ve had ice cream with and played pickleball with. God…” He wrinkles his nose. “This really is happening.”
I let out a strangled laugh. “It’s so ridiculous, and I should have told you sooner. I just worried that you’d think I was a few chapters short of a novel or making up the worst excuse for not wanting to be with you.” I take his hand. “Because I do want to be with you… If you’ll have me.”
He releases it. “I can’t. Like you said, your life is messy. I can’t do messy, not again. I’ve already had someone tug me along with promises of wanting me, only to have them prioritize other things over me.”
I bristle. “I wouldn’t?—”
“But you already did,” he cuts in, his tone somber but hard. “You may choose me now, but who says you will make that same choice tomorrow? Who says that tomorrow you won’t wake up and decide that whatever responsibility you have to someone else is more important than me? I won’t let my heart be played like that. It took too long to put myself back together.”
Every protest dies in my throat. He’s right. His heart deserves better.
“I understand,” I whisper.
“I am sorry, Georgia,” he says, curling his fingers around the strap of his bag. “It may be best if we don’t see each other anymore… even as friends.”
Even though it feels like my heart is shattering, I nod. If I try to speak, I know tears will come.
Turning, Davis moves down the long corridor. The quiet squeak of his sneakers against the tile mocks the painful throb in my chest.
“It is for the best, Georgia.” James’s smooth English accent causes me to whirl. He stands there, his smug grin casting a sardonic expression on his face.
“Why did you do that?” I glare.
“It needed to be done.”
“Why?” Teeth gritted, I stalk closer. “Because you hate to lose, so you ensured you could fix the game. That you could win at any cost, no matter whose heart gets hurt. Even though this isn’t a game. It’s real life.Myreal life. My heart.”
“I play to win, and if Davis truly cared for you, he would too. Instead, he sulks away like a petulant child. If he were worthy, he would fight.”
“He is,” I hiss.He is, but I’m not.
“And yet he walks away.”
I say nothing.
