Page 29 of Holidating
“I like you for him,” he clarifies quietly. “He needs a feisty one. Not all those easy women he takes to bed.”
This comment I ignore. I don’t want to hear about the women Weston takes to bed. I’m jealous, to be honest.
“If only you were real,” he says.
That gets my attention. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Please,” Stevie whispers. “You’re not really his girlfriend. I’m not stupid. But it’s a shame.”
“Careful,” I say. “Or you’ll get one of my speeches, too.”
Stevie snickers. “See? I’m a big fan.”
“Dude,” Weston says from up front. “Are you seriously giving Abbi a hard time?”
“Nope,” Stevie says, shaking his head. “Just telling her how it is.”
He’s right of course. It’s hard to fault him for speaking the truth.
I do anyway.
An hour later, the awkward moment finally arrives—the lights are off. Weston and I are lying side by side in a double bed. Not a queen size. Not a king. Nope. Just me and the hottest man on campus in a double. Lying on our backs. Staring at the ceiling.
I thought this would be awkward because our charade has trapped us here within smooching distance of each other. I never anticipated it would be awkward for an entirely different reason—that I just told his father off in front of God and everyone.
“Look,” I say. “I just want to apologize for making tonight more uncomfortable for you. I failed at my job.”
“What? No,” Weston insists. “You did fine. Better than fine. You told my dad what he needed to hear. We’ve all tried. But maybe he needed to hear it from an outsider.”
“But my job was to lighten him up for Christmas Eve and Christmas.”
“Nah, my idea was dumb. I thought I could turn back time. My dad used to love Christmas. He used to make waffles on Christmas Eve morning, with all the toppings. He used to get a Bûche de Noël from the bakery, and hide little presents on the tree. This yearthere's not even a Christmas tree in this house. It's like he's given up.”
“I’m sorry,” I say softly.
“Don't be. You weren’t wrong about him. You told him how it is.”
“I sure did. Loudly.”
We both chuckle.
Beneath the covers, Weston uses his toe to nudge my toe. “Just so you know, I got my fake girlfriend a Christmas present. It's kind of a joke, though.”
My heart skips a beat. “Just so you know, I got my fake boyfriend a present, too. Also a bit of a joke.”
“What did you get me?” he asks immediately.
“You think I'd justtellmy fake boyfriend his gift before Christmas? Think again.”
We laugh, and suddenly this isn't so awkward. Because something unexpected has happened between us—we really became friends. That's how it goes when two people allow each other to see all the dark shadows of their lives. They bond.
And I like it. I need friends. Who doesn’t need friends?
“Goodnight, Abbi,” he says with a yawn.
I relax against the pillow as the awkwardness between us seeps away for good. It’s comfortable here in bed with Weston. He’s warm and cozy and he smells like woodsy goodness. “Goodnight, Westie.”
There’s a soft snort from his side of the bed. And then peace.
