Page 35 of Faking It

“Already did,” she replies. “Such a pity it’s just a guest starring role, but who knows, it could do wonders.”

“Yeah, let’s keep that positive vibe going, please.”

I kick off my heels, then sit on the edge of the bed while rubbing my sore feet. A twelve-hour shift doubling as a cocktail waitress slash bartender is not for the weak.

As I massage my ankle, my eyes land on a black folder resting on my chair. A folder I’ve never seen before. It must be Logan’s, of course. Curious, I rise from the bed and walk over to it as Tori asks, “Have you given any thought to the advice James—I mean, Carter gave you?”

For the fifth time, I wish I hadn’t told her about the incident, especially since it didn’t affect my job. Linda, my supervisor was gracious to give me the rest of the night off when I told her I had a pounding headache.

“I’m not going to the cops. I already told you why.”

“Sweetie, your reason was as vague as your explanation behind not using Carter’s first name. A little mystery is cute, but you’re downright being shady.”

I pause with the folder in my hand, frowning at the phone screen. Was it my imagination, or did I hear a strain in my friend’s tone just now? “Shady?”

Tori huffs. “Okay, shady is a little extreme. You’re… sneaky. Yes, that’s it. You hide things when you can trust me.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you.” I move back to the bed with the folder. “Some things are better left in the past.”

“Agreed.” She sighs again. “If you change your mind, though, I’ll be right here.”

“I know.”

Running my fingers along the side of the folder, I find the zipper and pull it open.

Then my jaw goes slack.

“Tori,” I breathe, my heart clashing violently against my chest. “Let me call you back.”

“Okay. Let me know what you think of that script!” she says before hanging up.

The cellphone slips from my fingers as I gawk at the document on my lap. How could Logan do this to me?

***

The pounding on my front door makes me glance at the clock. It’s after midnight. Three hours after I saw that heartbreaking information in Logan’s folder. I put the book down that I’ve been reading—at least, trying to read while I wait for him to show up. It took three hours, but I know he’d come after I sent him that photo. I rise from the couch, taking my time getting to the door.

“What the fuck is this?” Logan thunders, red-faced, his eyes almost bulging when I open the door. His finger stabs at his feet. I look down with a smirk, though all I want to do is slam the door in his face.

“Your clothes, Logan. Those are your clothes,” I point out patiently, as if I’m talking to a five-year-old.

“No shit, Sherlock. What are they doing out here?”

“You’re not welcome in my home anymore.”

Logan draws back with a choked gasp. “Why the fuck not?”

“Do you need help gathering your shit? I have some garbage bags I can give you.”

“Don’t fuck with me.” Logan bangs his fist against the door, and I flinch. “Why is my stuff out here in the hallway?”

The door across the hall opens a smidgen, and I see my elderly neighbor’s eyes peeking through the crack. I try to be private, but this one time, the entire floor will hear my business. I’m not letting Logan back in.

“Where do I start?” I press my finger to my chin, fake contemplating. “You refuse to commit to me, never address me as your girlfriend in public. I’ve never gotten your support, financially or otherwise. To top it off, the one thing you promised me, the one time I’d been waiting for you to come through, you fucking failed me.”

Logan frowns. “Huh?”

“I found your folder.” With my arms folded on my chest, I glare at him.

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