Page 3 of The Fake Date Agreement

It happens so fast.

One moment, I’m at the top of the stairs. The next, I’m sitting on my throbbing ass at the bottom. Along the way, something happened to the hotdogs I was holding because they’re no longer in my hands.

How I didn’t break my neck will forever be a mystery to me. To my surprise, I’ve only broken the strap on my sandal. From somewhere behind me, Marc is calling my name, but there’s no way in hell I’m looking back at him.

Looking forward isn’t much better.

I might have missed what happened, but no one else did.

My face is blown up on the screen, making the kohl around my eyes look like a child went at it with a blunt crayon. Marc was wrong. The brown doesnotbring out the green in my hazel eyes. It highlights the fact that I don’t have a clue how to apply makeup correctly.

As I sit on my aching ass, the sound of laughter grows louder, echoing as it spreads like a pack of hyenas cackling.

Some moments will stick with me until I’m gray-haired and old. My face, blown up on the big screen in a packed arena with ketchup smeared down the front of my dress will go down as a core memory.

I shove myself to my feet, stumbling out of the arena as the first hot tear hits my cheek.

Chapter 2

Tobie

“Hey! You can’t go—”

A roar from the arena cuts through the yell behind me.

Head down, one broken sandal in hand, I hobble down the dark hallway, brushing tears from my cheeks.

When I glance behind me, a man in a dark blue security jacket and a balding head of brown hair is sprinting away from me.

I’m not sure what’s happening , but I hope to hell it’s something dramatic so everyone can forget all about my public humiliation.

I could have rushed out of the arena instead of down here, but there was no way I was leaving with panda-like eyes. There had been a line snaking down the hallway outside the ladies’ bathroom, and it would have taken forever to get to the front.

The farther I hobble, the darker it gets. I pause, asking myself if I should be going down this way. Shaking my head, I continue.

I’ll only be five minutes.

Plenty of time to get out the last of these tears, wash my face, and I’m out of here. I should be able to make it home before I need to burst into tears again.

A restroom comes into view, and when I push open the door, I breathe a sigh of relief to find it’s empty. A light flickers on lazily. Perfect. The light flicks off. Shit. I wave my arms around in case motion sensors trigger it, but the only thing I wind up doing is looking like a bat in my black coat.

Since I don’t need light to cry, I head into the nearest stall, slam the door shut, lock it, and put the toilet seat down. Grabbing a wad of tissues and dropping my head into my hands, I give in to more tears.

I should have asked Marc what the hell he was doing.

No. I should have flung the hotdog at him. One at him and one at her might have made me feel a little better.

“Who the hell am I kidding? No, it wouldn’t.”

How long had he been cheating on me? Had he always been taking her to hockey games while I was singing his praises that he wasn’t the type of boyfriend who dragged me to sports events, knowing I hated them?

Did he sleep with her?

Their kiss had been so intimate. I don’t want to believe he would sleep with another woman, but he’s shown so little interest in sex over the last year.

Because he was getting it from someone else, Tobie. That’s why.

I want to rush back to him, to shake the answers out of him, but I don’t shake answers out of anyone. I make myself a cup of herbal tea, climb into bed, and furiously journal my frustrations in the diary my dad got me for Christmas.

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