Page 24 of Fake It 'til You Make It

‘Sasha does,’ Andrew says, gesturing to her with a lean of his head.

‘You are actually dating someone who lives in Blake House?’ I’m incredulous. This is too much of a coincidence but then, we love this apartment block. This wasourdream. If we lived here, it meant we’d accomplished our goals.

Except he –we– haven’t. ‘Did you actually seek out someone who lives here?’

‘Not in so many— No! We were both leaving Tia’s one night after awful Tinder dates and?—’

‘Tia’s?Ourfavorite restaurant?’

My voice is raised. I sound hysterical, even to my own ears.

‘Abbey, I know you’re still upset about the break-up. It’s understandable.’

Understandable?Oh my God, he thinks I still want to be with him? Do I? No! I can’t stand him. Right now and always.

‘Sasha and I are a recent thing, like we said at dinner. Don’t take out your feelings on her.’

‘My feelings? Don’tyouhave feelings? Jesus, Andrew, we were together for four years and youcheatedon me just three weeks ago.’

‘Actually, more like four, when I told you,’ he corrects.

I shake my head in utter disbelief. He thinks this is fine. He thinks what he did was nothing. That he can go toourrestaurant and pick up a woman who lives inouraspirational apartment block and bring her to dinner withmybrother and sister, then come to stay over with her inmyhome.

What I want to say is:You have some audacity!

What I actually say is: ‘You… you…’

‘Should I go up?’ Sasha says meekly. Despite myself, I actually feel sorry for her being caught up in this.

‘No, I’m coming,’ Andrew says. Then he holds up his palms to me.Hold up…‘Why areyouhere?’

Oh God, whyamI here? Why did I blow my life savings on rent in this stupid apartment block – was it actually for me? I really hope so. I really hope I wasn’t trying to prove something to an unworthy ex.

‘Well, I?—’

‘Babe, you’re back.’

Huh?I feel a heavy arm come to rest on my shoulder and I recognize the cologne of the man it belongs to. Big. Burly. Obnoxious, but in an entirely different way to the sleazebag standing in front of me.

I turn to the rest of his body and sure enough, I see Michael Thomas. Mike from apartment 8B.

I meet his eyes, which are almost dancing with humor, right before he presses his lips to my temple. I’m no longer babbling. For the second time tonight, I’m speechless.

Michael lifts the lid on the box I’m still clutching like my life depends on it. ‘Is this for me?’ He tears a wedge off the end of my comfort calzone and puts it in his mouth.

Through a disgusting amount of half masticated chocolate pudding, he asks, ‘Who’s this?’ Nodding in Andrew’s direction.

‘My ex,’ I say, suddenly finding my words.

Clearer now, with less food in his mouth, Mike asks, ‘The jackass who cheated on you?’

He overheard us, which is embarrassing, yet I smile because Andrew really is a jackass and it sounds even better in what I’m now determining is Mike’s west-coast accent.

In fact, his hooded jumper with board shorts and flip-flops and the way his hair is messed up, as if he’s just stepped out of the sea holding a surfboard, all suggests to me that he’s from the west coast.

I like it. I prefer his relaxed look to the suit he was wearing on Tuesday. Though he did look head-turningly handsome, I’ve seen plenty of men in suits. The men at work all wore suits. Nate always wears suits. My dad always wears suits.Andrewis wearing a suit.

Besides the point. Whyisthis guy helping me out? We can’t stand each other.

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