Page 16 of How To Fake A Fiancé

“Kami,” I hear Mia across the room. “Come take shots with us.”

Thank god, a perfect excuse to get out of this conversation.

I paste on a fake smile as I start to walk away from him. “Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but my friends need me. Have a nice life.”

I don’t wait for a reply; I rush over to the large group of people, and down the first shot I see on the table next to them. Tequila. Thank god.

Ian

Kami. Her name is Kami.

The name suits her. Cute, sassy, and incredibly sexy. I still mentally kick myself for forgetting to ask that small yet important question.

I knew it’d be a given the bar would be packed. I don’t know much about Jonathan’s girl, apart from meeting her one time at my bar, but I’m happy for them regardless.

And thenshewalked in.

What are the fucking odds that who I thought was the one that got away would walk into my bar and, on top of that, know some of my closest friends?

I thought, at first, I was imagining things. That my eyes were playing tricks on me. But there she was. As though life had given me a moment. As though life was telling me I met her for a reason. I may be reaching, but one thing is for sure, I’m not going to let this chance go to waste.

When most of the partygoers leave around midnight, all who’re left is me, Jonathan, Kiera, Mia, and…Kami.

I see her clearing off the decorations from the walls and walk over to her.

I open my mouth to speak when she pushes a ball of streamers, empty paper plates, and cups into my hands.

“Here. This is trash.” She quickly walks away as though her very fine ass was on fire.

It’s cute how she thinks she can avoid me.

I turn to the nearest trash can, dump the material inside, and walk back to her.

I pretend to busy myself at another table beside her, looking over in her direction every now and then. She doesn’t make eye contact, but I know she’s aware of me. Her body is stiff, she seems frazzled, and is glancing everywhere else but at me.

“Hey,” I greet her casually.

“Hi.” She’s short with her reply. Unemotional. Definitely avoidant.

“I think tonight went well, don’t you think?”

Only silence from her.

“You know what? Forget about dinner. Why don’t we get coffee sometime? I know this great—”

“You haven’t had many hookups, have you?” she says, interrupting me.

“I have. I just want to pick up where we left off last night.”

She places her hands on her hips. “Last night was a blip in the past.”

“It’s interesting how you say that because I recall fucking each other’s brains out all night long and then you sneaking out without saying goodbye.”

She groans in annoyance. “I’ve said it once tonight, and I will say it again. We fucked. That’s it. Are you pissed about not getting a proper goodbye or something?”

She’s missing my point on purpose. Exactly why? I’m not sure.

“Give me this small chance, and if you still don’t like me by the end of it, just say so and you’ll never hear from me again.” At least then I’ll know her judgment of me won’t come from a place of deflection.

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