Page 84 of The Fake Dating War

“I meant for the whole thing. You spent the last half-hour on a bus full of sweaty people drinking. That’s probably not what you imagined would happen today.”

“No, it isn’t. But I’m not upset.”

“So you aren’t going to lecture me about seatbelt safety?”

“I’m saving that for later, Patel.”

“So other than that, today’s been?—”

“Not terrible.”

I rap my knuckles against his chest. “Could there be a wild side in there? If so, wemustalert the media.”

“If you do that, I’ll blame you. The recklessness must be contagious.”

“And yet, you don’t sound like you hate it.”

“I don’t,” he admits. “It’s—different. Not that my family isn’t reckless. My brothers would fit right in with everyone here.”

“Not you, of course.”

“Well, I’m a bit rigid.”

“Hm. Can’t say I’ve noticed.”

He laughs.

If I could bottle the sound, I would.

“Though, this week you’ve made me think,” he says.

I almost say,How painful,but I don’t. I’m too curious. He seems to be struggling with this confession, as if it could be that new to him.

He clears his throat. “I plan. For almost everything. I need to research and understand what to expect, because it makes me feel in control. Because I’d rather know what the worst thing is going to be, then to not see it coming.”

Did he see any of this coming? Impossible considering the late invite and how I didn’t give him any real information about what to expect as my fake-boyfriend. No, he had no idea what my loud, pressuring family would be like.

“And I made you walk into a room full of strangers and act out a lie,” I murmur.

“I’m surviving. More than that. Enjoying myself even. Maybe you’re a big bad influence. You’ve influenced me too much.”

Except he doesn’t say that like a bad thing, but with a thread of fondness. His mouth is curving, and despite lifting me down this trail, which doesn’t seem to end, there’s a relaxed warmth to him. Almost… as if everything is alright as long as we’re facing this together with both of us on the same side.

But would he feel the same way if he learned the full truth about me? The state of who I really am back home, and all the mistakes I’ve made for the last few years. I hated the person I was two years ago, but he’d be even more disgusted by her. How can a person so in control of his life ever understand the out-of-control and really stupid things I’ve done?

All of a sudden, I’m not feeling right. Looking around, I see the mud has mostly dried around us. I tug at his shoulder. “I can walk the rest of the way. Please. Let me go.”

As soon as my feet hit the ground, I march ahead of him. The back of my neck burns as if I feel his stare on me.

Around the bend, we arrive at the most idyllic clearing I’ve ever seen.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” says Coleman, coming to stand beside me.

“Worth getting on the bus?”

“If asked later, I’ll deny this, but yeah.”

The thick trunks of different trees have anchored themselves deep into the ground, so every few steps, you have to lift your foot to go over a root that’s broken through the surface. Over them, moss grows, a soft carpet of surreal green so bright, stirring, and padded that any toe-stubs don’t register. Beyond that are the outer tentacles of a babbling brook filling the air with soul-soothing white noise, the wind helping to carry a fresh, clean scent across the whole clearing. Above us, leaves of different shapes and textures form a prehistoric canopy of cover, branches so intertwined it appears as if they are embracing in a way you could never tease apart.

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