Page 50 of The Match Faker

“I didn’t really understand what was going on, but you said you needed help.” He flushes, pressing his lips together so tightly they lose all their color. “I didn’t realize what happened until you agreed to help me. At the engagement party? Zara mentioned something about the matchmaker, and you’d said something about it right before. And I realized,oh fuck, I think she was supposed to meet a guy named Nick. I think she thinks that’s me.”

“But you thought you’d keep up the lie for what? So you could get in my pants?”

“I put a stop to that,” he says.

“We got caught by my sister.”

“I stopped right before.” He shakes his head. “I came over that night to tell you the truth, but I also really need to save my bar. I can’t let some developer turn it into condos. Ed is like a father to me and he’s not doing well. Rocco is my best friend, Bernie, too. She’s got a kid. And if I can get the capital,” he says, “then I can keep the place going for Ed. For his legacy.”

“Fuck you, Nick,” I whisper. “You lied for you. Don’t try to turn this into some campaign about gentrification or labor. You needed me to pretend to your family.” I point to the floor where they sit below us. “Your family who fuckinglovesyou. The way your mother looks at you?”

A sob threatens to escape me, so I snap my mouth shut and choke it back. Mindy thinks each of her children is a blessingthat she is undeserving of; my mother looked at Jade and me like we were nuisances.

“You made me lie to them so you could get money from your rich daddy.”

“You made me lie, too,” he shoots back, anger clipping his words. “None of this would have happened if you hadn’t wanted to lie to your rich boyfriend and his rich parents so that you could save face.”

My stomach twists painfully at the accusation in his tone. “That’s different.”

“How the fuck is it different?”

Slamming my hands on the mattress on either side of me, I glare. “Because they are assholes.”

“Then why’d you date him, Jasmine?”

I look away. I don’t owe him explanations.

“You think I’m some loser bartender who doesn’t take life seriously.”

“I never said that.” But he’s not inaccurate.

“You didn’t have to.” He leans back in the desk chair like the boys in my high school used to do, balancing there for a moment before coming back down. “I might be a loser and I might not take things seriously, but I see things. Like how you care so fucking much about what other people think of you that you’ll break your back to bend over for them.”

“Fuck you.” I won’t cry. I will not.

My words roll off him like butterflies in the wind—he’s unaffected.

“And yeah, I lied. I’m sorry. I should have told you the moment I realized that this was a misunderstanding. I’ll take you home. Right now. It doesn’t mean much now, but I planned to tell you, after this. I knew you’d be mad.” He jerks his chin, a nod to the state of me. “Like you are now. And I didn’t tell you because yeah. I am a selfish asshole.”

“Piece of shit,” I add.

“That, too.” He smiles, except none of this is funny. “I didn’t tell you because I needed your help. And because…” He stops. His chest rising on deep breaths, he licks his lips, his tongue leaving a sheen of moisture in its wake. His cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are bright.

If I didn’t know any better, I might think that Nick is also trying not to cry.

“I didn’t tell you because I liked you.” His voice cracks and he clears his throat. “Like you. And I’m selfish.” He shrugs. “I knew if I did, I’d never see you again. I’m sorry.”

I scoff. “Do you actually think this bullshit about feelings will get you out of this?”

“I’m not trying to get out of anything. I’m just telling you the truth.”

“How am I supposed to believe thatthisis the truth?” I ask flatly.

“You can’t, I guess, but it is.”

“You humiliated me.” My voice breaks as tears finally fall.

He sighs, nods. “I don’t know if it helps,” he says. “But I’m really ashamed of myself.”

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