Page 29 of Fake Dating Adrian Hunter
“It was a pocket dial. I didn’t know I had his number saved in my phone,” I clarify, my heart racing as I make up details on the spot. If Adrian wants to play, then let’s play. “So, we start talking and because I’ve had too many drinks, I embarrass myself and tell Adrian about how much the cheater hurt me. But you know what Adrian said in return? That every girl he’s ever been with, all he could think about when kissing them was me.”
Phoebe raises both hands to her cheeks. “No way!”
“It’s true, actually,” Adrian says, and I’m stunned that he isn’t adding any more details to the story to make himself look better.
“Anyway,” I continue, my voice betraying me and turning into something exhilarated, “I flew to London for a weekend to be with him. When I arrived, Adrian had scattered rose petals throughout his house and, well… it was one steamy weekend. Let’s leave it at that.”
“No, please,” Adrian teases, “I want to hear the rest.”
Tory laughs. “I think we can fill in the blanks.”
Unlike my sister, Phoebe sits forward on her bar stool, fascinated by the story. “But the hate between you two, what was that all about?”
Adrian’s fingers tighten around me. “You know, I don’t remember. It’s been so long that the past has all faded away.”
His tone is so genuine that I stop for a moment, wondering if it’s the truth or all part of his act. Worse still is that I have no idea what I want the answer to be.
ChapterEleven
Adrian’s parents, Cece and George Hunter, have not taken their eyes off Adrian and me during this combined family dinner at the cliffside restaurant. They’re obsessed with the way Adrian’s arm rests over my shoulders and how he always saysusinstead ofIorme. I can see a film playing in the reflection of Cece’s eyes—a montage of Adrian’s and my future, filled with an army of children in our Sitka home.
My mother is worse. She keeps making jokes about how the neighbors of our bungalow will need to sleep with earmuffs to block the sounds of our baby-making. Whose parents talk like this? Give me a normal family.Please.
“Have you two discussed the logistics of your relationship?” Mom asks us across the dining table. “Adrian, you’re in London, and we all know nothing will get Verena out of New York. Long-distance can’t last forever.”
“Mom,” I warn.
Adrian gazes back at me with a doting smile. His fingers create swirling patterns on my arm, making it difficult for me to focus. “We’re taking things one step at a time,” he says. “No need to rush.”
“I don’t mean to play devil’s advocate, but yes there is,” Cece counters. “You two aren’t growing any younger. Fertility drops every year past the age of thirty.”
“We’re twenty-five,” I remind everyone. “I think we’ll be okay.”
Mom takes a bite of her pasta and giggles. “Time can easily slip away from you, especially when you’re focusing on your career. You need a plan. Adrian, I say put a baby in her and tie her down.”
From the laughter in Mom’s voice, it’s clear she’s joking. But my limits crack. This conversation isn’t even the slightest bit funny to me and I can’t take one more second of the Adrian and Verena sex talk. “Should we start stripping and have sex right in front of everyone?”
None of the parents realize how irritated I am and break out in laughter. Dad hits the table. “Is that what you two were doing last night in the ocean?”
With a foul taste in my mouth, I excuse myself to the restroom.
“You okay, Vee?” Adrian takes my hand as I rise from the table, but I slip out of his grip.
“Should we join you?” Tory asks me.
“I need a moment alone.”
I leave the laughing group behind as I make my way to the ladies’ room. The sight of our two families together annoys me. A familiarity exists between them like they’re all blood related instead of friends. It’s been like that for as long as I can remember. Our families are so tightly meshed. We basically lived in each other’s houses when growing up, the four adults co-parenting all of us kids. But ever since the day Adrian and I parted as friends, I’ve always been the odd one out. I don’t belong with them. I don’t belong anywhere except in Manhattan, where my true family consists of Darius, Zac, my show, and my fashion label.
Just thinking about Adrian’s and my friendship breakup has me slamming the restroom stall door. I thought I’d moved beyond all the hurtful emotions of losing him and replaced them with hate. I don’t know if it’s from seeing Adrian again after seven years, being reunited with our two families, or the tender way he looked at me after my fall during yoga, but now my chest is aching with sadness over the day he stopped talking to me. I understand he wanted more than just me as a friend, but there was nothing stopping him from bringing me into his new social circle with him. For some reason, which I’ve spent years trying to figure out but never will, I wasn’t good enough for him. I embarrassed him or something. I don’t know.
My throat grows tight as if I’m about to cry. Instead, I push the tears away and focus on hate, because how could he have left me like that? What did I do wrong for him to leave me?
But as much as I tell myself this feeling is hate, when the tears can no longer be fought off, I can’t hide from how sad I am. How much I miss my childhood friend. How I’ve spent years hating Adrian, but that if I could somehow change the past to get my friend back, I would do it without a second of hesitation.
Ten minutes pass before I’m brave enough to leave the restroom stall. I fix my hair in the mirror and touch up my makeup, assuring no traces of my tears can be found.
When I return to the table, there’s one person missing.
