Page 129 of Fangirl
“What do you mean…today?” The world tilts. For a second, I swear I forget how to fucking breathe.
“I—yes. I was checking, and they didn’t have another flight for… for four days, so?—”
I shake my head. “You’re a terrible liar, Amelia Sinclair.”
She flinches, her lips pressing tight as she takes a small step back, putting space between us that feels bigger than this entire house.
And fuck me, there it is.
I wasn’t crazy last night. I felt it. The second she stepped out of that damn car with Mariana. I felt it when she smiled like it hurt and when she kissed me like it was goodbye. I knew something cracked, but I let myself believe it was in my head.
I let the sex distract me, let the way she touched me convince me it was fine.
It wasn’t.
“I need to pack, Jake. Please… move. My flight’s in four hours.”
The words hit like a gut punch, but I’m done. Done being the nice guy giving her space when all it’s done is push her further away.
I plant my feet. “Then you better start talking. Because trust me, Fangirl, I can stand here all day.”
Her eyes flash anger, hurt, and something raw, and she bites out, “Yes. Something I can’t do because of my limitations.”
The way she spits it—like a curse, like being her is aburden—it fucking guts me. I want to scream, to tear the whole goddamn world down until she sees what I see. But I don’t. I stand there. Swallowing it. Choking on it.
I almost cave,almost. But I don’t, not this time.
She exhales sharply, shaking her head. “You’re a hell of an actor,Jake Hollander.”
The sound of my full name from her mouth punches the air from my lungs. I blink, stunned, and force a humorless smile. “Funny… I’ve waited months to hear you say that. Doesn’t sound much like a compliment right now.”
“I just need to go home. That’s all. You know it was just… holidays.”
It sounds logical. Reasonable. She’s been here a week. But it’s a lie. I know it. So I push one last time to see if I’m losing it or if she’s just trying to pacify me.
“No. It wasn’t just holidays. Don’t insult my intelligence, Amy.”
“And don’t insultmine!” Her voice cracks like a whip, louder and sharper than I’ve ever heard it. Not even in London, betrayed and furious, did she raise her voice like that.
“You’re lying to yourself, Jake. You’re not Eli. Not even close.”
I actually stagger back, the words hitting hard. “How… how can you say that? Is this about last night? I told you that’s a role. There’s the man I am, and there’s the mask I wear.”
“Oh, you wear it so well,” she spits. “Toodamnwell.”
I rake a hand through my hair, my chest heaving. “Of course I do! That’s the job!”
“Too well,” she cuts in, eyes shining with unshed tears. “Last night? All you saw was that version of me, painted, polished, and perfect. You didn’t stop for one second to ask if I liked it. If it hurt. If those goddamn heels were breaking me. No. You loved it. Loved showing me off like your prize.”
“That’s not true,” I rasp, already reaching for her. “I saw you. I always see you.”
But she flinches back like my touch burns.
“No. You saw Mariana’s version of me. And you loved it.”
I open my mouth to argue, but she raises her hand, silencing me.
“And what aboutEverything That Follows, huh?” she throws next, her voice trembling.
