Page 125 of The Fake Dating War

“But you did.”

He flinches.

“No.” I sigh, stopping to stand in front of him. “You withheld. I can’t say you lied.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m so sorry.” He stops himself from reaching for me again, visibly lurching a raised hand back. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. You can’t imagine how much it kills me to have hurt you. I’m so sorry, Reema.”

My palm closes into a fist. I bring it up to his chest, but Jake doesn’t duck or try to stop me. He pushes his chest into my hand, as if willing me to do whatever I want.

As soon as contact is made, my fingers spread out against his shirt. “How could this ever work?” I whisper. “You’re Jake Coleman and I’m Reema Patel.”

He drops his chin. “We don’t like to lose.”

“We don’t.”

“So let’s not lose at this,” he whispers.

“It could explode.”

“Let it. I’d rather die than go through this fucking week without you again.”

I sniffle, starting to cry. “You definitely don’t look hot right now.”

Slowly he brings his hand up and covers mine as if both afraid it’s not real that I’m touching him, and needing to give me enough time to pull away. His other hand gently brushes away my tears.”You’re saying this mess I’ve become doesn’t do it for you?”

“There’s been a reduction in attraction.”

His hand caresses a line down to my neck. “Tell that to your heart. I feel your pulse racing.”

“I’m suffering… from Jake-ism. Call the doctor.”

“Call me Sir.”

“God.”

“Or that.”

“You are the worst.”

“I’ll take it. I’ll take anything as long as I’m yours.”

I pull back from him. “You love me?” This time my question is suffused with wonder.

“I love you. Desperately. All of you.”

The last time he said it, I let the words bounce off hard shields, but those have since lowered. There’s room for them to sink in. For them to firework and fill the deep crevasses of my uncertainty with ever-expanding hope and joy.

I take a shaky breath. “Okay. You love me… and I love you.”

You would think it would be hard to give him the same words back, that I would hoard them within myself for later or use them to hedge my bets, or maybe that they should live in some cornered part of me that I can section and cut away if need be, but I can’t do any of that. With him, I’m not forcing or manufacturing any words but giving them freely.

Jake jerks underneath my touch. “What did you say?”

His eyes have widened, and he’s gone very still.

“I love you,” I repeat. “And that shocks me. I’ve worked hard to be independent, and good, and I’ve gotten so far on my own.”

“I’m so fucking proud of you. You’re brilliant?—”

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