Page 41 of Fore-Ever Yours

I hesitate. What do I even say?

Hey, I know I was the one who said no real feelings, and we have these rules between us, but I have real feelings. My “nightmare” is that I’ll mess up this fake relationship by wanting a real one.

…wanting a real relationship. The last sentence plays in my mind again. Is that what I really want?

I shake my head and start typing.

Me

It’s okay, just silly stuff. Thanks though.

Matthew

You sure?

Me

Yeah, I’m sure.

Matthew

Okay, well, if you need anything…I’m here.

Me

Thanks, Matthew.

Matthew

Goodnight, Beth.

Me

Goodnight.

I find myself smiling at our exchange. Maybe it’s cheesy. Maybe it’s just sleep deprivation. Maybe it’s delirium. Or delirium caused by sleep deprivation. But it’s comforting, him checking in on me.

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath to steady myself. But even then, I can’t shake off his words—his offer of being there for me. It’s a small gesture, but it means something to me, and it scares me that it does.

And as much as I try to deny it, it’s clear that there’s some part of me that wants more than this fake dating scheme and work relationship.

I just wish I knew what Matthew wanted.

I must have finally dozed off because when my alarm goes off, daylight is already filtering through the curtains. Groaning, I roll out of bed and make my way to the bathroom to start getting ready.

Another tournament, another exhausting day of pretending. But maybe the pretending is not the exhausting part. Maybe it’s the not knowing where the line between reality and our charade stands.

It’s not hard to pretend to care for Matthew. It’s not hard to look at him with adoration and love.

The hard part is pretending it’s all for show. Pretending that the feelings haven’t become real in the process.

As I apply my makeup, it’s impossible to ignore my reflection in the mirror. My eyes reveal the restless nights I’ve had. I sigh, dabbing on some concealer to hide the dark circles. I’ve always been good at putting up a strong front, at putting on a mask. But right now, my mask feels as thin as tissue paper, fragile and easily torn.

Despite my inner turmoil, today is not the day to feel the feelings, at least not real ones. So I put my mask on, as thin as it might be, and walk downstairs.

I find Matthew in the kitchen, sipping coffee and scrolling through his phone.

“Morning,” he says, glancing up as I enter.

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