Page 83 of Lessons in Faking
“Because you like him.”
I had only come to terms with the fact this morning—and had since done a 180 on the idea. I also wasn’t sure how I felt discussing my apparent feelings with Wren—or more accurately, how she felt discussing them with me. After last night...
I shook my head. “We don’t—” I started, then reconsidered.“If you’re not comfortable, we don’t have to talk about it. Him. Really—”
She slapped me upside the head. “Athalia Payton Pressley,” she said. “Don’t make this weird. Don’t you dare! I got over it, now you have to. And if we’re not discussing dirty details in a week, you’ve failed. So for now, let’s settle on your feelings.You like him.”
Any lingering reservations dissolved. Things might feel awkward for a while longer, but she was right, I did have to get over it.Wren was still my best friend. Last night really hadn’t changed much between us.
I glanced at my phone in resignation. “He hasn’t even texted me back, and—” My eyes widened, and Wren gave me a knowing look. “Oh my God,” I gasped. “That was pathetic. I’m pathetic, aren’t I?”
And to top it all off, as if it was an instinct I couldn’t fight off, even if I’d wanted to (which I didn’t), I jumped for my phone the second it vibrated. Hope fizzed in the pit of my stomach when I turned it over.
“LinkedIn.” I slid my phone back across the counter.
“Oh my.” She sighed, smile back on her lips as she shook her head sympathetically. “You’ve got it bad, haven’t you?” Her tone was as teasing as it was genuine, her smile as amused as it was comforting.
“I wish I had another dish towel.” But I didn’t disagree. “I don’t want to have it bad,” I concluded, looking at her as if she had the power to extract my feelings, bottle them up, and make them look pretty on a shelf.
“Been there, done that,” she joked.
There was no bitterness in her voice, but I felt guilty regardless.
“Look.” She cleared her throat, trying her best to steer clear of any awkwardness. “I may not be McCarthy’s biggest fan,” she admitted, nudging me toward the living room. I grabbed my phone from the counter, just in case. It earned me an eye roll. “And if it turns out he’s ghosting you, I will personally kick his ass.” I let myself sink into the couch cushions with a deep sigh. “But until then...” Wren trailed off as if it were hard enough to give him the benefit of the doubt.
I dropped my head onto her shoulder in defeat. “I think I hate him,” I lied.
“We can pretend you do,” Wren’s voice adopted a comforting lull. “What do you hate most about him?”
We’d spent so much time together, and yet all I could think of was one thing. “That he doesn’t know how to use his phone.” I sounded like a pouty child, and I didn’t care one bit. Neither did Wren.
“For me, it’s the ego,” she said. “But not knowing how to use his phone is a close second.”
“How close?”
“Very close.”
“Good.” My lips twisted into a smile, and I adjusted my head on her shoulder for more comfort. Right then, I was just glad we were here together, glad she stuck around, and really glad she was still my best friend.
*
“Fuck him, right?” I asked, eyes darting down to the nameMcCarthyshining brightly on my screen. “I shouldn’t answer,” I said more confidently. Immediately, that crumbled, and I sent her another look. “Right?”
The green and red call buttons were equally enticing.
“Well,” Wren began. “I’d love to hear him beg for forgiveness.” One point for green. “On the other hand, he needs to know you’re not constantly available for him.” Two points for red because it was a much more compelling argument.
But my distress only grew when the phone had been ringing long enough that it would stop any second. Short-circuiting—as I did when it came to McCarthy—I picked up.
“Look who finally remembered they had a phone,” I drawled sarcastically. Wren gave me a thumbs-up.
“Athalia.”
My stomach dropped when Dylan wasn’t on the other end. I held the phone away from my ear to read the contact name again.McCarthywas written in bold, big letters underneath the seconds of the call ticking by: 0:09, 0:10, 0:11. “Hello?”
I quickly brought it back to my ear. “Yes?” I said, unsure where the lump in my throat came from. “Who’s this?” Wren gave me a strange look as I held her gaze.
“It’s Blake—”
