Page 6 of Hard to Pretend

I blinked. There was no way that was true. “You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not!” he insisted. “I promise, I’m not lying. I was without a phone for way too long, and my SIM card was destroyed. I lost so many numbers.”

Something about the look on his face made me trust him. I typed in my number, hit save, and gave him back his phone.

He pressed a few buttons and a moment later, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I pulled it out and found a text message from him, just saying it was Seb.

The air between us crackled with an energy that was both charged and awkward at the same time. I looked at him; he looked at me. I didn’t know what the next steps were. How did you end a conversation with someone you’d hooked up with and then pretended was your boyfriend months later?

Seb put me out of my misery.

“Guess I should get going. Gotta get to work. I’m already running late.”

I nodded. “Thanks. Again, I mean. For in there. Not throwing me under the bus.”

I was smooth. I was as smooth as a cactus.

“Don’t worry about it. Got a free coffee out of it.” There was another tense beat before he lifted his coffee in a mock cheers. “It was really great to see you again, Chris.”

“You too.”

I watched as he walked away before I went back inside to where Mason was waiting for me, eyeing me suspiciously.

Had he been watching through the window? Should I have kissed Seb before he left, really sold the whole boyfriend act?

I spent the rest of our conversation second guessing that whole interaction.

I really was an idiot.

3

Thatwasweird,right?

Yeah, that was definitely weird.

I kept thinking about it all day: a guy I hooked up with months ago coming out of the woodwork and asking me to be his pretend boyfriend. It was only a few minutes of my life, but it was awkward as hell. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Which was kind of ridiculous, given the fact that I hadn’t thought about Christopher Singh and our one night stand since a few weeks after it happened.

And now, the memories kept surfacing.

Two days later, I was still thinking about that run in at the coffee shop. I was still thinking about that night after Goliath. I’d woken up with massive morning wood after dreaming about it. I’d gotten off with his name on my lips every morning since I ran into him.

It all came to one logical conclusion.

I should call him.

Okay, text him. I should text him.

I pulled out my phone and found his contact number. I typed out a text, deleted it, wrote it again, repeated that process three times, and then I closed the message screen. I was overthinking this. And if I was overthinking it, maybe that was a sign that I shouldn’t text him.

I wasn’t this neurotic person, and I wasn’t going to let some guy I’d slept with once turn me into that.

I called Matt.

“I’m not going to be late this week,” Matt said as he answered the phone.

“Bullshit,” I retorted, “but also not why I’m calling.”

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