Page 17 of The Best You've Ever Had

I take a golden-brown waffle off the iron, carefully transferring it to the plate beside me. I can feel her eyes on me, watching for any signs of weakness, waiting, gauging my reaction to this twisted debacle I’ve dragged us into.

“Have anything specific in mind to make it look legit?” I ask.

“No, no, no, Mr. Perfect Boyfriend. This whole fiasco is your doing, which automatically means you have to figure it out.” Slapping her knees she comes to a stand, walks over, and snatches the waffle off the plate. As she takes a bite, she tilts herhead and chews it slowly, determining if it’s edible. Much to my surprise, she closes her eyes and lets out the most sexual moan I’ve ever heard aside from porn. I remind my dick to stay down, but it seems to be an impossible task.

“Can you tone it down with the porn sounds?”

With her mouth full, she replies, “Stop being gross. How on earth did you learn to cook like this?”

“It’s literally waffles. It’s not rocket science.”

“Yeah, tell that to my dozens of failed attempts.” She points the waffle at me. “So go ahead, tell me what your plan is for this whole fake dating debacle?”

“I don’t have a plan. Try your best to act like you don’t loathe me, and I’ll do the same.” It’s a lie. I don’t hate her at all. In fact, arguing with her has somehow become the highlight of my week.

She narrows her eyes. “Maybe you’ve forgotten, but I’m not exactly a ‘wing it’ kind of girl. At the very least, I need a ten-point plan with objectives and a full timeline.”

“We don’t have to go overboard with it. The only objective for now is to convince them it’s real and we’re together. In regards to the timeline, we’ll say we’re doing long distance and can break up after…you know.” I trail off, and she nods, knowing exactly what I mean without needing it spelled out. After Mick passes.

“And when we break up? What’s the exit strategy?” she asks.

“We’ll say the long distance was too much. Keep it simple, mutual, and end on good terms. No drama.”

“Good terms? No drama? We’re talking aboutus, Ben. They’ll be shocked if thereisn’tbad terms and drama.”

“You’re right. Drama’s kind of our thing.”

“Exactly. I’ll say I dumped you, and you’re heartbroken.”

“Heartbroken? Let’s not get carried away. I’ll say I’m mildly disappointed, maybe.”

She gives me a pointed look. “I’m the one doing you a favor here. You’ll be devastated, and I’ll walk away unscathed. Finaloffer. Besides, it works in your favor. Some sweet small-town girl will probably line up to nurse your broken heart.”

I don’t say it, but that’s the last thing I want. The dating pool here is too small, and the people too predictable. Every woman I’ve been out with recently just tells me what I want to hear. But that’s not what I’m after. I want someone who has her own opinion. Someone who’ll push back and will challenge me where it matters.

“Fine. Guess it’s settled then.” I lean back against the counter, trying to shake off the strange feeling this whole plan is giving me. “Let’s see how this plays out.”

After finalizing our fake dating plan, she moves around the kitchen with effortless energy, like the conversation never even fazed her. She brews cup after cup of coffee, wipes up splatters of waffle mix, feeds my cat, and teases me relentlessly about my bedhead. All the while, she raves about the lemon blueberry waffles as if I’ve served her a Michelin-star meal.

It’s the first time we’ve come this close to getting along. And definitely the longest we have gone without getting into an argument. Typically I’m water and she’s oil—two liquids that have never been able to peacefully coexist or blend. But either it’s because we’ve both grown up, or the sense of familiarity that feels comfortable. Being around her is no longer intolerable. It’s actually nice. Really damn nice.

While she is still a fiery little thing, I now appreciate the depth and intensity she brings to every situation. She’s like a spicy food that I’ve recently acquired the taste for.

And even though I can tell she still loves pressing my buttons, it’s clear she feels the shift too. Especially by midday, after hours of conversation as she perches on the arm of my couch, with no sign of leaving.

Suddenly, this frenemies pretend-dating situation feels a whole lot riskier now that I don’t loathe my fake girlfriend.

I actually kind of like her.

Chapter Seven

Layla

This morning,I ran to Ben’s house because I felt suffocated under the unrealistic happiness of my mother’s new relationship. I actually do like Paul. Even if he does keep a bird-watching log by the front window and unironically wears a sweater vest. But in the back of my mind, I had always pictured it being just my mom and I for the rest of our lives—single riders who have sworn off men and are perfectly content being alone.

As I stepped onto the pavement, the bone-chilling breeze stung my skin, and I realized I had no destination in mind. Then with music blasting in my ears, drowning out the chaos of my thoughts, I set off. Before I knew it, I was standing at his front door and then eating waffles in his kitchen while trying not to eye fuck him.

Worried that I’ve overstayed my uninvited welcome, I hop off the counter right as his phone rings. I motion to the front door, indicating that I’m going to head out, as he answers the call.

---