Page 54 of Pretending I'm Yours

And yes, a part of me wants to spill my guts right now and hopefully start building a completely honest relationship with her as soon as possible, but she has the inspection today and the closing Friday morning. She needs to focus on making life-changing business moves, not wrestling with the fact that the man she’s falling for has been lying to her since day one.

Sheisfalling for me. I feel it in the way she touches a gentle hand to my back as we descend the stairs into the subway station, in the way she smiles as I tap my credit card once for her to head through the turnstile before tapping it again for myself, in the way she once again loops her arm through mine as we start toward the Brooklyn bound train.

And I’m falling for her.

Hell, I’ve already fallen. I’m at her feet, where I’ll stay until she agrees to forgive me for lying to her for even an hour, let alone an entire week.

She’ll forgive me, I have to believe that. The thought of anything else is intolerable. I don’t understand how I everbelieved I was happy before Maya came into my life, but now I’m keenly aware that she’s necessary to the survival of the last pure, hopeful slice of my soul.

She saved me in the nick of time, and I’m determined to return the favor.

Which reminds me…

“I talked to my friend at that private equity firm I told you about,” I say as we wander down the platform. It’s crowded but not packed, and we move with ease down to an open space near an ad for the latest Broadway revival. “He gave me some tips for making sure the apartment is going to cash flow at the level you need to stay in the black after repairs. Once we get the report from the inspector, I can help you come up with some estimates and crunch the numbers if you’d like.”

I did no such thing, obviously—I run cash flow analysis in my sleep—but she doesn’t have to know that.

Not yet.

“Perfect, thank you,” Maya says. “I have my own spreadsheet and a few preliminary quotes from the contractors I spoke to on the phone, but it’s always good to run things through a few different lenses.” She bounces lightly on her toes, blowing air out through pursed lips. “Gah, I’m so excited. And nervous. And excited. I don’t know whether to do a happy dance or throw up.”

“Then let’s get something in your stomach.” I raise my voice to be heard over the roar of the approaching train rushing into the station. “It’s acceptable to eat on the train as long as your sandwich doesn’t stink.”

“Good thing ours smell delicious,” she shouts, beaming up at me like the ray of sunshine she is.

She’s certainly brought a light into my life that wasn’t there before.

Feeling like the luckiest man in the tri-state area, I lead the way onto the train and down to two open seats near the end ofthe car. Maya settles in beside me and we set about demolishing our sandwiches.

“Oh man,” she says around her first bite. “This is so good! How is it so good? It’s just a bagel.”

“I told you I was taking you to the best deli in the city. Never doubt me, woman. At least not when it comes to food.”

She laughs, and I can’t help taking a moment to stare. She’s always beautiful, but when she laughs…

God, she just rips my heart right out of my chest.

“My husband used to look atmelike that,” a thin voice wobbles from across the car.

I look up to see an elderly woman in a giant black coat with her gray hair pulled into a messy bun atop her head casting a warm smile our way.

She lifts a spotted hand from her cane’s handle, motioning first to me, then Maya. “How long have you two lovebirds been married?”

Maya sucks in a surprised breath and starts to cough.

“We’re not married,” I say, laying a hand on her back as I bend to get a better look at her face. “You okay?”

She coughs again, before pressing a hand to her chest with a nod. “Yes. Sorry, I’m fine. Just bit off more than I could chew.” She brushes a crumb from the side of her mouth before smiling at the woman. “And no, we’re not married.”

“Good,” the woman continues, summoning a startled huff from Maya and an arched brow from me. “Live in sin for as long as possible. It’s more fun that way. Keeps things steamy.”

“Oh yeah?” Maya asks, mischief in her tone as she adds, “We’ll keep that in mind, then. I like things steamy.”

“Don’t we all, dear,” the woman says, leaning forward to add in a conspiratorial tone that’s clearly meant for Maya’s ears only. “Especially with a foxy one like that. My Mick was a catch at twenty-four, no one would say anything different. But by thirty-five he had a belly and a collection of green sweater vests, I didn’t have the heart to tell him that they made him look like a chubby leprechaun.” Her sharp gaze slides my way. “But your man seems to be holding up just fine.”

Maya grins as she nods her agreement, clearly enjoying this. “I know, right?” She nudges me with her elbow. “That’s what I always tell him—that he’s remarkably well-preserved.”

“Remarkably well-preserved?” I echo dryly, playing along as the women laugh. “What am I, marmalade?”

---