Page 77 of The Fake Dating War

It takes him a moment to sort out what I’ve said. “You… don’t feel like this is the real you?”

I can only nod my head in agreement.

His hand lifts to my hair. Carefully, he gathers the bulk of my waves in his fist.

I blink rapidly. “What—what are you doing?”

“Trying to get it to go back into your old hairstyle, but I don’t think it will.”

“The bun-loop?”

“Sure.”

“No, that possibility is gone.”

He lets go of my hair. I’m now weirdly more upset about that loss. There was acertaintug against my scalp when he held me like that I enjoyed?—

“Do you miss it?” I wonder, referring to the bun-loop.

He shrugs. “It’s what I was used to. If you keep this, I’ll get used to this, too.”

“You’re telling me you have no preference?”

“My preference is when you laugh.”

I suck in an audible breath. There’s another tug, but this one comes from around my heart-area accompanied by this soft longing I want to wrap myself with.

“Or when you are mean to me,” he hurriedly adds.

I force a snort. Anything to keep myself from falling over his words. “I always knew you were a masochist.”

“Spank me, mommy,” he deadpans.

I clutch a hand to my chest as laughter bubbles inside me. I can’t believe he said that. Now we’re smiling at each other, and my anxiety has receded like a tide chased away. He’s made me better. This bathroom is warm and safe, and nothing feels wrong here.

“Patel?”

“Yeah?”

“I should say—” He clears his throat. “No one sees anyone else as correctly as we think. So it shouldn’t matter what anyone else wants you to be. That’s a reflection of their own beliefs and perspective. It matters more whoyoufeel you are. And who you want to be.”

Oh.

How does he make it sound so simple and obvious at the same time? That all I should worry about is not who I’m supposed to be, but who I want to be.

“I—I have a feeling you might be right.”

His green eyes gleam. “Say that again.”

“Not a chance.” Wanting to keep my hands occupied, I go to the sink and wash them. “But I will say this. You’re a good boyfriend. Very convincing. Rescuing me, comforting me, and handling my crying before anyone else can see.” After wiping my hands dry, I throw the tissue paper in the bin. “It was perfect. What anybody would want. Like you knew what was going to happen and handled it without hesitation.”

It’s like I want to saythank youfor everything, but it’s coming out wrong, like I’m rating him or something.

“You think I knew you’d cry?” There’s a sudden stiffness to him. “I’d never predict that.”

“Why not? What do you mean?”

His jaw clenches. “Because I don’t like your tears.”

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