Page 82 of Lessons in Faking
I’d fallen off that cliff a while ago.
ME, Saturday, 11:25 AM
> how well did being cocky serve you? did you win or is this going to be a defeat-lunch?
> either way I’m down
I didn’t know why I had expected an immediate response, but when it didn’t come, I didn’t like the disappointment settling in. I took my time getting dressed, deliberately keeping my phone out of reach. It wouldn’t hold out much longer with its 10percent battery anyway.
My jeans were no longer on the floor. Hanging across the heater under the window, they weren’t wet anymore either. But Dylan must not have had the time to search for my shirt, because when I found it half hidden under his bed, it was still damp. I cringed at the touch.
A few minutes later, I was wearing Dylan’s gray HBU hoodie and a pair of fuzzy socks from the back of a drawer.
I tiptoed down the corridor and staircase before I realized both of his roommates were on the soccer team, and there was no need to be quiet. Something swelled in my chest at the thought that he’d trusted me enough to leave me here by myself.
*
Three hours later, I was back in full denial mode. Square one: Dylan McCarthy Williams was despicable. Just the worst. I had never liked him, would never like him, and last night was as big a mistake as asking him to be my fake boyfriend in the first place.
He hadn’t replied to my texts, if you couldn’t tell.
I hunched over a textbook at our kitchen counter. Wren was on the other side, trying to decide what food to order. There were at least twenty menus spread across the island.
I read the exact same sentence for the fourth time, and my head slumped onto the open book with a groan.
“What?” Wren asked, brows furrowed.
“Nothing.”
My response wasn’t very convincing, because a moment later, she asked again. “What is it?”
“You’re going to laugh at me.”
A beat of silence passed as she tried to figure me out. She was usually great at that, so her lighthearted answer didn’t surprise me. “I probably will,” she agreed, and I raised my head from the textbook to glare at her. “But tell me anyway; maybe there’s wisdom behind the joke I’ll make.”
I hesitated before the word “McCarthy” slipped out. And I wasn’t surprised when her brow furrowed. I wouldn’t have understood what I’d said if I hadn’t been thinking about him (and my unanswered texts) for the past few hours either.
“What?” she confirmed that I’d spoken too quietly. Maybe it was better that way.
“McCarthy,” I breathed out, slower and with more conviction behind my words. “It’s McCarthy—God, this is embarrassing.” When my eyes slid to her again, they narrowed.
Wren’s goofy grin was rare; it revealed her white teeth, crinkled her nose, and narrowed her eyes, not in annoyance but laughter. “What?” I practically hissed, prompting an amused snort.
“Nothing.” Her hands flew up in mock surrender, then she changed her mind. “I’m just wondering if you even know his first name at this point.” The incredulous look on my face made her continue. “Well,” she began. “You’ve been dating for months. You’ve been hooking up too, I assume. Do you moan his last—”
I cut her off so quickly that I would’ve stumbled overany word that wasn’t “Wren!” Hushing and blushing, loudly, hysterically. “We havenotbeen ‘dating for months.’” I put air quotes around the words.
“What do you call hanging out every day and going on actualplanneddates, like, once a week, then?” She raised her eyebrows as if she knew she had won right then and there. But I wasn’t giving up that easily.
“Fake-dating.”
“Your orgasms are fake too, then?”
I grabbed the dish towel I had been fidgeting with and threw it at her, hurling it right into her face and knocking a few takeout menus off the counter in the process.
“Stop,” I whined. “Why is it so weird to talk about him like that? We love talking shit about men. It’s like our favorite hobby.” I pouted.
Her smile softened and her head tilted in thatI’m going to be a good friend nowway. Like when she’d pulled an all-nighter to help me study for my last final. Or when she had to tell me my ex-boyfriend was cheating on me. She’d sat me down, put an arm around me, her head on my shoulder before she did. She was looking at me the way she had back then too.
