Page 104 of The Fake Dating War

Before he can finish, I see where he is going. “Are you… putting this on pause?”

He reaches down and squeezes my hand. “If you want?”

“Yes,” is out of my mouth before I can stop it. “Can we?”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

“Reema?”

“Yeah?”

“Before we do… Can I confirm something?” He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “It’s selfish.”

I shift to bring my legs up on the bed, so I’m sitting on my knees. My eyes feel bright. “Yes, please. Be aggressively selfish. Even this out for me.”

He waits a long moment, and then asks, “Are you okay?”

“That’s not a selfish question,” I cry out.

“Isn’t it? I’m pressuring you to reassure me.”

“In what way?”

He lets out a kind of growl. “I can’t shake the thought of you skipping fucking meals and not having a place to sleep. So I need to ask. I need to ease this miserable pain inside me. Are you okay?”

I lob a weak punch at his arm, because I don’t know what else to do. The alternative is to wrap myself around him, butthatfeels more pressuring to me. “I should clarify, I’m almost out of debt, and the living room I am sleeping in is owned by Ms.Beatrice, a wonderful elderly woman. She and I play crosswords most nights, and it’s humbling because she almost always wins. Don’t worry, I stepped up and figured out the consequences of my own actions. Two years of scraping by and I’m close to being back on my feet.” I pull his hands onto my lap. “I’m going to afford my own apartment soon. After the bonus—” I suck in a breath.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Why that look?”

“I—well—” I lift my shoulder. “You need the bonus, too.”

Jake doesn’t call me dramatic, even though, very dramatically, I’ve sagged down on the bed. “Ugh! I hate this! Why can’t we both get it?”

Something I never thought I would ever wish for, but now it’s all I want.

He deserves to buy the house back for his mother, especially after his family went through the death of his dad, regardless of how complicated that relationship was. But also, I need the money to reshape my life into what I dream of it being. To have a place I can be proud of after Ms.Beatrice moves to Florida to live with her grandchildren.

I feel the mattress bounce back up. Jake has left, but I don’t see what he’s doing until he clears his throat.

I blink repeatedly. Mostly because I can’t believe what I’m seeing.

“What are you doing? Why have you gone on your knees?”

“You’re the one fully lying on the mattress,” he scolds.

It’s true. I’m being wormy with despair and outrage. I raise myself up and scoot forward. Despite kneeling on the ground, I’m not drastically looking down at him. I could reach and run my hand through his hair or trace my fingers along his defined jaw. “You’re too tall.”

“Sorry?”

“You’re not. But seriously, what are you doing?”

“I wanted to be as stagey as you when I say this.”

Stagey? I’ve got this bubbling need to laugh at his description.

He clears his throat again. “The bonus is yours. Don’t think about me.”

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