Page 67 of That Fake Feeling
I’vegot to tackle this, though.Momtaught me that if something bad is hanging in the air you should clear it as soon as you can.Itcan be painful, but she was right, it’s always for the best.Shenever mentioned it in relation to accidentally real-kissing a fake billionaire boyfriend, butI’msure it applies here.
Iundo my seatbelt, tuck my left leg under me, and turn to face him. “Weshould talk about last night.Imean, obviously—”
Hemeets my eyes and cuts me off. “It’sokay.Noneed.Likeyou were about to say whenSterlingcalled, it was a mistake.We’dhad a good evening and got carried away.That’sit.”
Andhe’s right.Iknow he’s right.Nothingcan happen.Ihave my life.Hehas his.Andthey are complete opposites.Buthearing him say those words still twists my stomach.
“You’reright.Yes.Amistake.”
Ihad no idea mistakes could feel so good.I’dalways thought things only felt that good when they’re right.Butmy brain knows this can’t be anything other than a mistake.Idon’t have the time or desire for a man in my life, and it doesn’t seem like he’s ever had a woman in his life for longer than a night at most.
“I’llsend the photos toSterlingwhenIget to the office,” he says.Bothhands are on the wheel, and he’s staring straight ahead. “Iwon’t be back till late.I’llsee you in the morning.”
Well, that’s clear.Hehas no desire to see me outside of our working relationship.Fromnow on, it’s all business.
“Yup.”Inod. “Seeyou in the morning.”
Mystomach screws into a tight ball asIswing the door open, step out of the car, and close it without looking back at him.
Thesecond it’s shut, the car pulls away.
AsIwalk toward the house, the bright blue door blurs before my eyes.
17
ROSE
“Rosedoes not need to see your butthole,Maisie.”
The, thankfully, out-of-focus cat's backside filling my laptop screen is suddenly whisked away by two giant blurry hands.Asthe furry body moves out of view, it’s replaced by adorableAuntJen, beaming as usual.
“Ah, there you are,” she says as she plopsMaisieon the ground. “Hello, darling.”
Herface is perfectly framed between the “MakeLove,NotWar” print and theWoodstockposter hanging on the wall behind her.
Ihave no idea how longIlay on this beautiful bed afterConnordropped me off beforeIpulled myself together.ButonceI’dgiven myself a good talking-to about being an idiot for kissing him and even more of an idiot for being upset that he thought it was a meaningless mistake,IdecidedIneeded to explain things toAuntJen.
SohereIam, sitting cross-legged on a luxurious duvet, propped up against a pile of fluffy pillows in what has rapidly become my favorite ever room.AndI’mabout to lie to the person who means the most to me in the world.
Whatthe hell haveIbecome?
Iwave and smile and hope it hides the dread weighing heavily inside me.
“How’sher tummy?”Iask.Maisie’supset stomach has been the main topic ofAuntJen’stexts for a couple of days.
Shestops adjusting one of the many bobby pins struggling to control her unruly salt-and-pepper hair and holds up crossed fingers. “Solidpoops today, so hopefully all good.”
Maisiemeows agreement somewhere off-screen.
“Anyway,” she says, settling back on her sofa and picking up a mug with a teabag tag dangling over the side. “Wehave more important things to talk about than my cat’s bowel movements.What’sgoing on with you and this man?”
“I’mactually not sure it is more important,”Itell her.Imean, how important can a nonexistent relationship be?
“Oh, come on.”Shejiggles the teabag, making her wristful of turquoise bangles clack together. “Spillit all.Iknow only whatIread in the article.Because, apparently, it slipped your mind to tell me you’ve fallen madly in love with someone and moved in with him in the space of about five minutes.”
Shesays it in a jokey way, butIknow she’s hiding how much she worries about me and how hurt she must be thatI’vetold her nothing.
Mystomach clenches.
