Page 124 of The Fake Dating War

My eyebrows pinch down. “But your house? I thought you’d use it for the house.”

“My uncle gave us a loan.”

“Loan!?” Am I screeching? It sounds as if I’m screeching. “You’ll be in his debt, not to mention the interest rate.”

Whereas that money he’s dropped on my counter is not contingent on anything. It can be deposited in an account straight away. There will be no one hounding him for repayment by phone, email, letters, or in person. No chokehold of a schedule of withdrawals. It’s?—

“Don’t do that.”

I’m not sure I heard him. “Don’t do what?”

“Reema, I’m not another worry on your shoulders.” He lifts his arms and then drops them. “I won’t be slotted into that spot in your life. There’s no way I’m going to be a burden on you, worrying you about my finances. You think I need you to take care of me like that? To be your responsibility?”

My lips part. “Okay. You don’t want to be slotted into my life—like that. You obviously have doubts and they are valid. I have some as well.”

“You have doubts?”

“About me. The point is that I’m—a lot. Have been that way. I over-worry and I over-do. There’s obviously been changes made, and now I need practicing in this new phase in my life. I’ve not lived alone in so long or dated?—”

His jaw clenches. “You want to date?”

“No, but there might be a need for more data points. Like proof. To see how I do with romance again, since it’s been so long.”

“I love you.”

I must have misheard. He can’t. A white noise builds in my head, until I shake it away. “What do you mean?”

“I’mbeggingfor the privilege of spoiling you.”

“You can’t mean that,” I argue desperately.

“And whatever you don’t want, you’re not getting. Hate flowers? I hate flowers, too. Tell me everything you don’t want, I’ll make it go away. And then—tell me everything you love, and I’ll shower you with it.”

“That’s—that’s ridiculous.” I’m gawking at him.

“Give me a chance.” He shifts to move forward, but then he pulls himself back. Almost forcibly. “One chance. I won’t let you down.”

I go and pick up the bonus check. My hands are shaking. “How can you not want this? This is what it’s all been about, hasn’t it? Coming to the wedding. Being the fake-boyfriend. P-pretending you cared. Landing the whale.” Distressed, I hold the check in the air higher. “Thisis what you need.”

“I need you.”

I bring my other hand up to my chest, pressing it there tightly. I’ve broken the no-moving rule. There’s no numbness left, not that it stood any chance against him. “You want me to believe you… love me?”

“Fuck.” He shut his eyes briefly. “If only you could see inside me.Yes,it started with the bonus. Fuck, I wish it didn’t, but it did. But then you happened. I got to be around you—the back and forth—caring for you—touching you—being allowed to call you mine. The pretending I was fucking pretending. That it was all a game even though you’ve stolen it–”

“S-stolen what?”

“Me.Everythingof me.” Jake is trying to compose himself, but failing poorly at it. His hands are shaking now, too. “Call me the worst. Call me Coleman. Tell me to lose every bonus of every year, and I’ll do it. Just don’t throw us away.Please.”

In my marriage, it got to a point where every sentence out of my mouth was the wrong one. I couldn’t say the right things or do the right ones or love properly. Even when I was inflating my ex like he had a straw poking out of him that needed affirmation blown into it every single day, I was doing it wrong.

Jake knows that. He knows there is baggage. That I’m not a hundred percent sure I won’t let myself down again like that.

And yet, here he is, asking for the privilege of loving me. Is this going backwards when it feels so different? I’m cradled, even when we’re not holding each other.

I stumble closer, my throat tightening. “I’ve been burned before. Badly. Even by myself.”

“I won’t lie to you,” he promises.

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