Page 63 of Fake Game

I blink up to see Francis opening the back door of the BMW.

“I texted him,” Jackson explains as he holds my hand and helps me into the car.

The door closes before I’m able to get another word out, leaving me staring out the tinted window in confusion. The car dips when he gets in on the other side, and it jiggles me out of my stupor.

“What the hell was that?”

“Seriously? You’re asking me that?” He crosses his arms.

“You’re the one who—wait, oh my Gods, I totally forgot to pay!” I scramble around to grab my phone from my handbag, just to realize I never grabbed it from the salon. My brain feels like someone smashed a dozen eggs and is trying to fry them all at once. “Shit. I left my—”

“Purse?”

Jackson holds the fuzzy white purse out to me, the handle dangling off the end of his pointer finger.

“Thanks.” I pluck it from him, uncertainty clouding over me as I look for my phone.

“And I already handled the payment. Did you not hear a word I said in there?”

I pause in my rummaging, my mind taking a second to recalibrate.

Right. Right, he did say that.

“Wait, why did you do that? I told you I was going to pay.”

“Because if we spent another second in there, I was going to drown myself with nail polish remover.”

“Dramatic.”

“Says you.”

“At least when I do it, it’s on brand.”

“This is never going to work.” He runs a hand down his face.

“What isn’t?”

“Us. Dating.”

“Not true.” I straighten my spine. “Everyone in the salon believed us. Grace believed us.”

“None of those people actually know us.” He slumps against his seat. “My family will see right through it.”

“’Cause I’m not good enough, right?” I can’t stop the venom from leaving my lips.

“No. Because you always argue with me. What couple argues this much?”

“They say it’s healthy for couples to argue.”

“Who?”

“The internet people.”

Jackson groans.

“Besides, this is barely even arguing.” I cross my arms and slouch back against my seat.

“I’m so fucked.”

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