Page 203 of The Fake Date Agreement

“Reid?” Her soft voice returns me to my senses.

“Sorry.” I think about everything that’s happened, and it’s pretty easy to connect the dots. “Daniela, his ex, showed up one night, knocking on his door. He marched her out of our dorm and told her to forget his number. She’s been?—”

“I believe you,” she says.

I blink. “You do?”

“Javier told me about her already, and I don’t know why I didn’t figure it out myself.” She nods. “He set it all up. That’s whyhe didn’t show me that picture on his phone until just before he proposed.”

“And you said no?” I hold my breath.

She frames my face. “I need to check on Caleb, or I’d stay and talk longer, but I love you. I could never marry Marc because I love you. And Javier and Caleb. Which, I know it sounds crazy, and somehow my dad understands that?—”

“You told your dad about us?” I ask softly.

“I love him, and I love you. How could I not?”

“And he doesn’t want to castrate us?”

“No. He’s happy for me.” She clears her throat, blushing. “Obviously, I didn’t tell him about the sex.”

I grin at her. “Yeah, I was kinda hoping that would be between us.”

“I have to check on Caleb.”

If Caleb and Javier didn’t need to see her as much as I do, I’d say fuck them and drag her into my arms again. But she’s ours. Not just mine. Ours. And we’ve all been hurting and missing her as badly as each other. They need to see her too.

She gives me a quick kiss, and I press my keycard into her hand.

“Thanks!” she calls out, waving at me as she sprints away toward Reynolds Hall.

She yells at people tomove,and they scatter because it looks to them like it does to me—she’s ready to go through them if they don’t get out of her way.

And I stand there. A slow smile stretches across my lips because I know what this is.

We have our girl back.

“Yes!” I punch my fist into the sky.

People glance at me. I ignore them.

Who the fuck cares what they think? We have our girl back.

Chapter 49

Caleb

The bangingat my door starts two seconds after my ass hits my mattress.

It’s soft. Every part of me is sore, bruised, and aching, so anyone wanting me to move from somewhere soft is asking to die.

I glare at the door and the person I want to murder on the other side of it. “Goaway!”

They bang harder.

It’s supposed to be spring break. All students everywhere should be drowning themselves in tequila on a beach in Florida—not bothering me.

Bang. Bang.

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