Page 17 of Landon & Shay: Part One

“Okay.” I reached into my pocket, pulled out my cell phone, and turned on the flashlight, lighting up the small space. “Read me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You sure you want me to do this? Reading people is kind of my gift, and you might not like what I have to say.”

“I never like what you have to say, so this time shouldn’t be any different. Go for it.”

She rolled her shoulders back and stretched out her arms as if she was about to deadlift me. “Okay. You’re fake, Landon.”

That was it? That was the big reveal? “What the hell do you mean I’m fake?”

“I mean exactly that. You. Are. Fake. F-A-K-E. Fake. There is nothing real about you. You’re a walking lie.”

I laughed. No joke, I actually laughed out loud, which didn’t happen often for me. It was a deep-rooted, belly laugh.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I questioned. “Everything about me is real. I’m the realist damn person you’ll come across in our town.”

“No,” she disagreed with a shake of her head. “You are the fakest. You’re even faker than the new boobs Carly Patrick got for her eighteenth birthday.”

“What?!” I breathed out, stunned by her words. “I’m not fake, Shay.”

“It’s not a big deal, Landon.” She shrugged her shoulders and went to picking at her nails. “People seem to love your fakeness.”

“I’m not fake,” I argued again, my blood boiling at this point. “Plus, I’ve seen Carly’s boobs up close and personal. Those are straight in-your-face, nips-don’t-flick fake. There is no way in this world I’m more fake than those silicone watermelons. I’m a lot of shitty things, but fake isn’t one of them.”

“Okay then, can you answer a question for me?”

“Anything.”

“How many people know you’re sad?”

“The hell kind of question is that?” I barked.

“A very straightforward one,” she replied. She seemed so cool, calm, and collected—one of the many things I despised about her. It was as if her life was always so solid. I wished for that kind of stable structure, and seeing that she had it annoyed the living hell out of me.

“How long have you been sad, Landon?”

I glanced at my watch. “About a solid three minutes now, because being trapped inside this closet with you is complete hell.”

“Aren’t you the one who wanted to come in here with me?”

“Bad call. A lapse in judgment. I forgot how annoying you are.”

She smiled. She freaking smiled at me, pleased by my annoyance. “Are you going to answer me about your sadness?”

“Are you going to suck my dick?” I replied.

“Do you always do that?” she asked, tilting her head to the left as she studied my expressions. She was doing that thing she did—reading me. Taking note of my movements and the tightness of my jaw, taking in every inch of me.

Don’t let her read your pages, Landon.She couldn’t have even handled my prologue.

All my walls were up, and I wasn’t going to let her knock them down.

“Do what?” I questioned.

“Use sarcasm to shield your hurting.”

“There’s nothing hurting here. Look at this life. I have money, badass parties, and girls throwing themselves at me—why would I have anything to hurt about?”

“Maybe because money, girls, and parties don’t make a person happy. I see how miserable you are in your eyes.”

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