Page 69 of The Pucking Grump

“As much as I’d like us to settle in for a night of . . . similar pursuits.” Blake is smirking as he bends to pick up my notebook, which was dislodged from the couch along with the pillows. “I think you’ve got to get back to writing, and . . .”

He suddenly stops talking. His face hardens as he looks down at the page.

“What?” My lyrics about my father’s betrayal can’t be that bad.

Blake says nothing.

A second later, it hits me. Blake is staring down at the first page of the book. He’s not looking at my lyrics about my father.

He’s looking at the song I wrote about him.

My heart sears with pain. I’m unbelievably embarrassed, but then, there’s another emotion tickling around in my subconscious.

Hope.

One way or another, I’m finally going to know tonight.

He stares at the page fully, absorbing every word. I try hard not to think about the emotionless expression on his face. Finally, he looks back at me.

“Thought you said you were done writing love songs.” His voice is flat, disinterested.

Why is my mouth suddenly dry? “Yeah.” I swing to my feet. “I’m done writing just love songs. This album is supposed to represent how I feel about life in general.”

His blue eyes darken, and he glances at the page. “You do know that if you release songs like this on the album, your fans are going to think you’re talking about me.”

Not the kind of reaction I was hoping for. Still, my sense of dread morphs into calm.

I’ve spent most of my life running, avoiding. Skulking in shadows, pretending to be who I’m not.

I don’t know how Blake feels. But I’ve got a chance to tell him about me, and I’m not going to pass on that because of cowardice.

I take a deep breath and gaze up at him. This is about the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, toe-to-toe with running from my wedding.

“Because I am.”

Blake blinks. “What?”

“I feel that way about you.” Suddenly, my heart is ballooning again, and I go with the flow. “I love you, Blake. And I want to write about it.”

Blake just stares. The seconds lengthen between us, until my hope is stretched thin and the tiniest hints of doubt start to poke their way across my mind.

“This . . .” He looks back at the book, before he tosses it to the couch. “This is a fake relationship, Faye. We’re having mind blowing sex, but that’s all there is to it. And if you’re starting to feel otherwise, we’re going to have to make sure we get back on the same page.”

He turns around and marches into the bedroom, banging the door behind him.

I crash onto the couch the moment the door closes. My eyes stare at the floor between my legs, barely able to see the carpet through the blur of my tears.

I did get my answer.

One that makes me feel like a giant fucking idiot who should have just stayed with Ben.

22

PULLING THE PLUG

Iwake up hoping—damn near praying—that what happened last night was just a dream.

But the universe isn’t that kind to me lately. Faye’s side of the bed is empty. Who would be fool enough to sleep next to the man who shot down their love declaration?

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