Page 52 of Fake

I want to be a better man for Mina Blake.

TWENTY

Mina

I woke up this morning excited to see Nathan. Listening to the Dietzes scream about who is failing who all night long made me realize that feeling truly seen and understood by a partner is rare. As Mrs. Dietz hollered about video games and Mr. Dietz bellowed about the lack of sex and Mrs. Dietz retorted that she had to respect someone to be attracted to them, I kept flashing back to how I feel when I’m talking to Nathan. He listens. He cares. He doesn’t want to, but he does. And that kiss…

People write poems about kisses like that. Books make millions over kisses like that. And it just happened to me in a parking lot, with a man I’m supposed to hate, even though somewhere along the way, I think we both stopped faking whatever this is and missed the message.

Then I opened the door on a bridge troll dressed in Nathan’s clothes. Dread took the place of excitement and I realized I’d spent the whole night fooling myself. This is The Prince of Darkness, the man my best friend claims has started using his powers for evil, the guy who’d rather lie to his family than fix whatever’s broken in him.

After his whole ‘starting over’ display, the only thing I know for sure is that his bad mood is contagious. What he said and did was sweet, but can I trust it was genuine? There was an audience, after all.

Which version of Nathan is real? The bridge troll with a hangover dropping red flags like a mad man? Or the Romeo trying to be ‘what I deserve?’ Would he have said or done any of that if we were alone? Or did Ms. Markowitz and her cat watching have something to do with his change in attitude? I could ask him, but I’m not sure which answer I’m hoping for. I opt for silence instead and Nathan seems fine with that decision.

Which pisses me off.

I try to talk myself out of anger while he quietly navigates us away from the rundown neighborhood surrounding my apartment. With each click of the turn signal, the price tags on the homes gain a few more zeroes and that doesn’t help my mood. I’m a good person—mostly—and my mom is a freaking angel. Why do we struggle while others have luck and abundance raining down on them?

The game is rigged.

Or I never got the rule book.

Or…something.

“Wanna explain the hangover?” I cross my arms and twist in my seat to glare at the man who has everything but still can’t be happy.

Maddeningly, an unreadable smile lifts his lips. “Not particularly.”

“How about why you were so rude this morning? Feel like explaining that?” I bite into the words and it feels so damn good, I lift my chin in righteous fury.

Anger is safer than everything else I’m feeling. I’ll hide here for a while.

“I thought we already covered the fact that I’m hungover.” His voice is calm, his face composed.

I roll my lips together before shooting back, “And didn’t you just say I deserve better?”

“You’re right. You do.” Nathan runs his hand through his hair. “I just don’t know if I have better in me.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. You spent a lifetime being better until whatever happened to make you bitter instead.”

His eyes narrow. “You don’t know me well enough to say things like that.”

“That’s bullshit too. We’ve been hanging out long enough for me to know you’re not the guy who showed up this morning. You’re just not. I see you, Nathan West. You’re the guy who carries his niece on his back. Who drops everything to help a troubled student. You’re the guy whose family knows will drop everything to save the world. That’s you. Not this guy. This guy is an asshole.”

I give my attention back to the road before I say something I regret. The sky is blue and the ocean peeks out between the houses, glittering in the morning sun. Palms bend in a gentle breeze. Given the atmosphere in the car, I’d expect arctic winds and rumbling thunder, but the world doesn’t care about petty dramas like ours.

Nathan clears his throat, then risks a quick glance my way. “Kissing you bothered me.”

His voice is low, almost tortured. I tear my gaze off the idyllic landscape and focus on the storm-ravaged man beside me. The muscle in his jaw clenches and he looks ashamed.

Here I was, daydreaming about million-dollar kisses and he was what? Grossed out?

“Okay. Wow. I’m…” I fling my hand around, looking for something to say. “I’m sorry it was so awful for you.”

Dear God. Looking for a lightning bolt here. Yours, Mina Blake.

There’s a dreadful moment of silence where I consider telling him to turn around and take me home. How can I get through another day of charming Nathan when this is the reality?

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