Page 5 of Acting Merry
Which is, just…mind-boggling given the truth of what happened.
“How’d you know where to bring it?” I ask, not entirely sure I want to know the answer. Bree was never invited to my house. No woman was. I have no idea how she knows where I live.
Used to live.
“I saw your address on an invoice at my parents’.” Her tone isn’t even defensive. She sees no red flags, no problem with showing up at my house based on information she acquired from a private bill. That’s whyIfeel no remorse about my next move.
“Well, thanks.” I take the sweatshirt my fake girlfriend is holding. “It’s my favorite sweatshirt.” I put it over her head.
She accepts this turn of events with good grace, shrugginginto it and smiling at me with amusement as she fixes her mussed hair. It’s a warm, deep brown–the same shade as her brows and lashes.
“Looks good on you,” I say.
It does. She’s so petite, she’s half-drowning in it, but it’s a good half-drowned look, which I didn’t realize was a thing until this moment.
I sling my arm over her shoulders again, and she wraps hers around my waist.
“Bree.” Bree’s friend comes up and gently takes her by the arm. “Let’s go.”
Bree looks at us one more time. “Fine.” Her gaze moves to the woman beside me. “Just remember what I said.”
My brow ticks up. I almost ask her to expound, but if anyone here delays Bree’s departure, it won’t be me.
“Thanks for bringing the sweatshirt,” I say as she and her friend turn toward the car.
“Bye!” my girlfriend says brightly, waving energetically.
I’m still trying to grasp that she played along. Should that concern me? What exactly have I gotten myself into in order to get myselfoutof the situation with Bree?
The engine and headlights go on, and we both wave again as the car pulls away, Bree’s eyes following us until they can’t.
Once the car is out of sight, our arms drop, and I turntoward her. I like how she looks in that sweatshirt. “Thanks for…uh…”
“Don’t mention it.”
I search her face, then ask the question I can’t get out of my head. “Why did you do it?”
She laughs softly. “Well, to be fully transparent, I was leaning Team Bree up until I learned you’d only gone out twice. And when she called me a downgrade, I fully swapped to Team Cole. Let’s grab your mail, shall we?” She opens the door—the doorI’mused to opening for people—and I follow her inside.
It’s surreal. It’s my house, but it isn’t, like it’s wearing a new pair of clothes I’ve never seen before.
I like this pair of clothes. There’s a stack of unpacked boxes in the living room, but she’s made the house look homey in a way I never achieved but had always kind of pictured.
“So,” I say as she leads me into the kitchen, “does my new girlfriend have a name?”
“Don’t even remember your own girlfriend’s name? Bree was right. Cole Bradleyisa heartbreaker.” She shakes her head at me, then smiles as she grabs a stack of mail and hands it to me. “It’s Reese.”
“Reese,” I repeat. “My favorite candy.”
Her brows go up. “Are you a Reese’s cup guy?”
“Reese’s Pieces. All the way.”
She scrunches her nose. “I think that’s our cue to break up.”
“Aww, come on.”
“Sorry. Let’s call it irreconcilable differences.” She pulls off my sweatshirt. “Here you go.”
