Page 33 of Fauxmance in the City

“Do you want to know why?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “It’s because of you.”

“Stop it.” I shake my head and close my eyes, trying to shut him out.

“Do you think I’ve been playing the long game for four fucking years so I can tick you off some list? I thought eventually you’d see I was serious, that I wasn’t playing games with you. That all I think about is you. It kills me that you think of me as a joke, but it’s my fault too. I played up the whole playboy thing because I was afraid if you knew the truth, you’d shut me out. And I can’t be shut out of your life, Catie. Please. If you knew the truth. If you knew I—”

His voice catches, and my stomach churns.

“Don’t, Sam,” I manage, my hands cupping my ears. “Just say you want to sleep with me. Say that and then don’t say anything else.”

“Of course I want to sleep with you!” He throws his hands up. “I’m in love with you!”

Oh. My. God.

Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.

I shake my head and back up, banging against the side of the bed. My defenses are flying into place, my mind whirling, trying to sort through this new tactic he’s using. Sam’s never used the L word in combat.

“You’re lying.” My heart hammers in my chest, the floor dropping out from under me. I’m waiting for the panic attack to return, but it doesn’t.

This is too familiar. Like we’ve been here before. He’s never said I love you, but he confessed his feelings for me once. He was drunk, and the next day when I confronted him about it, I witnessed something that broke me and destroyed any trust we’d built.

“Take it back,” I say, not willing to put myself out there again only for him to betray me down the line.

“I can’t.” He crosses his arms over his naked chest, his eyes penetrating mine fiercely. “I love that your favorite color is rose pink, but you say it’s Tiffany blue. I love that you favor salty over sweet, but you’ll never pass up a red velvet cupcake. I love when you went through the phase where you put truffle powder on all your food until it made you sick. I love that your favorite movie is Bridget Jones’s Diary, but you tell everyone it’s Goodfellas because you think it’s cooler. I love that you never give money to the homeless because you don’t want them to buy drugs or alcohol. Instead, you hand out Subway or Starbucks gift cards, which you usually have ready in your wallet.”

Sam sucks in a deep breath. “I hate what Christophe did to you. I hate that he broke you and you’re terrified to let someone in. It breaks me every time you have a panic attack and I can’t stop them. I hate that you don’t see me. I’m a good guy, Catie. A fucking awesome guy. But I think you know that. You latch on to what happened with Beth, but that was a blip in my past. She moved on years ago. Why haven’t you? Because you’re scared. You act strong and independent, but you’re being held hostage by your past. It’s time to let it go and move on. Is being alone really better than taking a leap toward love?”

Before I can answer—not that I have one—Sam yanks his track pants and shoes out of his suitcase and shoves past me. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. I thought if you trusted me you’d let me in. But it doesn’t matter how many times I show up for you, you’re too trapped in your heartbreak to let anyone in. If you can’t believe that I’m not gonna run after four years of staying by your side with nothing in return except a few cherished moments, then you’re never going to find happiness.” He pulls his pants and top on, then stuffs his feet in his shoes. “I’m not Christophe. I’d never hurt you like that. I’d destroy anyone that did.”

His observations pummel me. I always thought I was in charge of my heart and emotions, but Sam’s right. I haven’t been controlling them for all these years. They’ve been controlling me.

“I’ll play along with your little hoax for the rest of the special—for Patrick’s sake—but after that, we’re done.” He marches to the door.

“Wait,” I squeak. My heart chokes my throat, clogging my airways. “Sam, wait.”

My bare feet pad softly over the rug. I reach him and slide my arms around his waist from behind, my cheek resting on his back. I tuck my fingers under his top and lay them flat against his stomach, his muscles spasming under my hand.

“Stay,” I whisper. I tug on the top hem of his joggers, but his palm slaps my hand flat, stopping me from going further.

“I know what you’re doing,” he says, his voice trembling.

“Sexual warfare,” I breathe into his neck. “Can’t we play that game instead of fighting?”

He steps forward, and my hands snap free of his pants.

“No more games.” He opens the door, and an icy breeze from the hallway hits my cheeks. He pauses, and for a moment, I think he’s going to turn around and wrap me in his arms. Instead, he shakes his head. “I know you’re scared of being loved, but you don’t have to worry. I’m done loving you.”

nine

The sun has barely hiccupped over the horizon, but I’m wide awake and hungover from a night of restless sleep, reliving the roller coaster I rode with Sam last night. I kept waiting for him to return and tell me it was all a misunderstanding but he never did. My mind raced thinking about where he spent the night.

I push my face into my pillow and scream.

Sam has done some crappy things over the years, but last night he committed the greatest sin. He used I love you as a weapon.

I strangle the pillow and toss it across the room. Sam’s a selfish prick for throwing all that shit at me when I’m about to lose my job. Today is the big day, and I’m a walking zombie, my emotions in tatters. How am I meant to be Miss Perfect when everything in my life is in ruins?

Voices on the street below draw me to the tall windows at the front of the bedroom by the sitting area. Sam stands on the stoop of the townhouse while Natalie sits on the bottom step.

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