Page 73 of Lessons in Faking
“You said we needed to talk,” I reminded her. “If we were dating, I would’ve assumed that text meant that you’re breaking up with me. Moving out seems like the equivalent here.” The words sounded more rational as they formed on my tongue; in reality, the thought had just popped into my head and was so scary, my overthinking made me stick with it.
She shook her head. Quickly. “What?” she said again. Perhaps it didn’t sound rational at all. “I’m not moving out—of course not.” Before I could even take a relieved breath, the confusion in her features was overshadowed by something else. “Do you want me to?”
“No.” I did not want Wren to move out. That much was certain.
“Okay.” She nodded, relaxing. “Good.”
Unsure what to do or say next, my eyes shifted, roaming the apartment as if I hadn’t already been living here for over a year. My arms swung by my side. I blew light raspberries when it stayed quiet for a few seconds too long to be comfortable.
This didn’t just feel awkward to me, did it?
“So.” I cleared my throat in an attempt to fill the silence, and Wren mirrored my gesture, nodding.
“So,” she repeated, dragging it out to keep from going quiet again. “Uh...” I didn’t think I’d heard her stammer once in the years I’d known her. And I didn’t know if that put me at ease or scared the shit out of me.
“I’m just going to unpack—” “I’m sorry—”
We spoke at the same time, cutting each other off.
“Oh, yeah,” she quickly agreed, gesturing to my bag with a nervous laugh. “Go unpack, I—”
But there was no way. Not after she’d just blurted out those magic words. I didn’t evenwantto unpack. It was by far the worst thing about going on a trip. “No, no.” I waved her off. “Go on. I’ve got time.”
Wren nodded, her short hair moving lightly. Then she sighed loudly. “How was your... trip?” The question sounded innocent enough, though I saw right through it.
“The trip you organized for me?” I hoped my suspicions were right. Although it caught her off guard, she nodded.
“Was that a mistake?” Concern riddled her tone, her features—her entire presence was nerves and anxiety.
“No.” My answer was deliberately calm, cool, andcollected—glad to report I was starting to find my footing again, and I was ready to hear the explanation that was clearly needed. “I had a good time.”
She nodded, seeming both pleased and disturbed by the statement. Given my history with Dylan, I was neither surprised nor offended. “Did he mess up?”
I couldn’t suppress the amused twitch of my lip, remembering her text vividly. “So that you can kill him?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
A relieved puff of air—and likely some disappointment that she wouldn’t get to beat him up. She was more sure of her words as she slumped against the sofa’s armrest, hands driving across her face in frustration.
“I’m sorry.” She groaned. “God, I’m so, so sorry. You have no idea.” As if just now realizing the weight of her actions, she groaned once more.
The next time our eyes met, the regret in hers almost tore me to pieces too.
“I overreacted, acted like a jerk, and then almost left you by yourself over Thanksgiving—” She shook her head so roughly, it cut off her words. “And all over fucking McCarthy. It’s not even my business what you do.Whoyou do. I guess I just didn’t expect it, you know? We hate that guy. I thought we did.” She stopped herself, eyes widening. “Or I did. I guess you just had the Henry thing. He hates McCarthy, so you do too. But that’s notreallya reason, is it?” Her gaze lifted from the floor, brown eyes taking me in as I leaned against the kitchencounter, playing with one of the paper takeout menus absentmindedly.
“Did you?” I asked carefully. “Have a reason?” I’d never really questioned Wren’s dislike for the guy. How much Henry hated him primed me to simply accept that McCarthy was the worst person to walk the campus.
“Not really,” she admitted. “I mean, I thought I did. Once Henry mentioned how McCarthy was so obviously into you, that’s all I saw whenever he happened to be in the same room. And I assumed you hated him just as much as your brother. I guess I kind of convinced myself of that, so I wouldn’t—” Wren swallowed, hesitating, eyes shifting again. “Just because that way, I didn’t have any reason to be jealous, I guess.”
The other shoe dropped.
Just that it wasn’t a shoe, but a bomb—nuclear and deadly, and the impact destroyed everything in its vicinity.
“You like him.” That’s why she hadn’t liked my revenge plan, why she didn’t want me to fake-date him, and why she’d freaked out when she found out that we’d kissed. And as an oblivious idiot, I hadn’t realized I was basically dating my best friend’s crush. “I had no idea,” I confessed as the realization settled in.
“Seriously?”
