Page 202 of The Fake Date Agreement

She blinks.

“That’s what I wanted to say.” I back up a step. “And, I know we weren’t there when you needed us, but Caleb was in the hospital, and?—”

I grunt, staggering back a step when Tobie flings herself at me.

Her fists grip the front of my shirt, and her eyes are wide. “What did you say?”

“Your ex is a prick who?—”

She shakes her head. “The part with Caleb and the hospital.”

I cover her hands with mine. “Caleb was at the arena with his brother. We went to get him, Javier and me, so we could meet you at the hotel, but then someone hit him with a car. We took him to the hospital, and we…”

Now the part that I don’t want to say.

“You what?” she whispers, face white, getting whiter with each passing word.

“We didn’t think about you waiting until it was hours too late. Javier went to the hotel, and someone at the check-in desk said Marc proposed, and you said yes.”

She’s breathing hard as she stares up at me.

I clear my throat and keep going. “Then we couldn’t find you. Your phone was off, and I hoped you weren’t blocking us, even though Jay and Caleb said you probably were. And I tried to find Marc to kill him. Yes, I know it’s not a good idea, but I?—”

“Is he still in the hospital? Is he okay?” Her fingers tighten around my shirt, and I wince when she tweaks a nipple. Her grip loosens slightly. I don’t care. I’m not into nipple action, and that fucking hurt, but if she wants to do it again, I won’t complain. Her hands on me is her hands on me.

“Who?”

“Caleb.”

I shake my head. “No. Back in his dorm. He?—”

She releases me and dashes off.

I’m calling after her when she stops, sprints back to me, and grips my shirt again, pulling me down. “Javier? Is he?—”

“He’s okay,” I tell her, hoping this means what I think it means.

Her grip loosens slightly. “And your paper. How’d you do?”

She wouldn’t be asking if she hated me, right?

“Aced it.”

She hugs me, long and deep. “I knew you would. I’m so proud of you.”

Her hair smells like jasmine and I drag a deep breath into my lungs, holding it in.

As I give her a gentle squeeze, I tell myself this is all good. A hug means she’s not marrying that prick, doesn’t it? I have to know for sure. Is this a sympathy hug or something more? “Uh, Tobie?”

“Yeah?” Her warm breath brushes my neck, and I instinctively tighten my hold on her.

“Does this mean you forgive us for the thing with the party?”

“No.”

I flinch, and I fight not to grab onto her and keep her in my arms when she pulls away to meet my gaze. “I have a feeling I know who was responsible for you not being at the party. Marc had a picture on his phone. He said Javier was cheating, and you probably all were.”

“That fucking little shit,” I snarl. “I need to fucking end him.”

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