Page 108 of Play Fake
“I’m supposed to believe this whole time, you’ve had a thing for me, and you were coming over just to be yelled at and told what a dick you are?”
“I mean, when you put it that way, now I’m wondering if I have a secret degradation fetish I didn’t realize, but yeah. That’s what you should believe because it’s true.”
We both laugh, but then her face grows serious.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“And for the record, I haven’t been with anyone else.”
“Since we…?”
“Since before that, but yeah. You don’t have to tell me if you have or haven’t. I just wanted you to know.”
“I didn’t hook up with Ezra. He kissed me—after I thought you had slept with her. But that was it.”
“You want me to believe he didn’t try to jump back in bed with you the second he saw an opening? I saw his face that night at the show.”
“He tried, but I shut it down.”
“And the kiss at the car?” It’s none of my business, not really, but I want to know.
“He kissed my cheek. Told me to listen to the songs he wrote. I told him I was sorry things ended the way they did but was glad we could be friends.”
“The songs he wrote for you?”
“Yeah.” She smiles awkwardly and stares at the plate, pushing some of the food to the side.
“How am I supposed to compete with that?” I laugh, but I’m only half kidding. He writes her love songs, and they have years of history, and I have nothing but good intentions.
“We’re just friends, Waylon.”
“A guy who writes you songs doesn’t want to be your friend.”
“He’ll get over it once he meets the next gorgeous, perky little redhead.”
“And us? Are we friends?”
“Of course. At least until you meet the next girl you want to date, or Holly finally grinds you down. Whichever comes first.” She flashes me a smile I know is supposed to reassure me.
“Mac…” I sigh.
“I can’t watch you sleep with other people anymore. I thought I could. I wish I could, but I can’t. And I know you don’t do dating or relationships, and I really appreciate that you put effort into tonight to try to smooth things over between us. I really do but—“
“I never said I didn’t do dating or relationships. You assumed that.”
“You told me not since freshman year.”
“I said I’d never met anyone worth it.”
“And I’m worth it?” The self-deprecating laugh she gives cuts me to the quick because the fact she doesn’t believe it means I haven’t done enough.
“Yes. I’m in love with you, Mac. I didn’t want to tell you. It seemed too fast, and you weren’t over him yet. And fuck, if I’m honest, I didn’t think I could handle the rejection. But every time I told you I’d do anything for you, I meant it. I still mean it. Whatever you’re willing to give, I want it. You want a relationship, you’ve got it. You just want to be friends, I’m yours. You want to call me late at night because the new guy can’t fuck you right. I’ll be there.”
She stares at me in return. The silence drags on, and I feel like I might choke on my embarrassment from having confessed too much to her.
“Christ, Waylon. You can’t just say that to me. Out in public.”
“What?”
