Page 100 of The Fake Date Agreement

“No, you don’t.” I look at her. “Did my mother send you?”

Her nose wrinkles. “No. Why?”

I keep walking. “You need to leave.”

“But Javi…”

“Don’t call me that,” I snap.

We’re outside in front of my dorm building two minutes later. It’s only when the door slams shut after me that I realize I’m in my bare feet and boxers.

Fucking half naked.

It’s cold, but my rage is keeping me plenty warm.

“What do you want?” I demand.

“I just wanted to see you.” She bridges the distance between us.

I take a step back, wanting nothing to do with this situation or her. “No, you wanted somethingfromme. Just like always. What is it? Attention because your new fiancé isn’t giving you enough of his? For me to tell you I miss you so you can feel good about turning your back on me when I most needed you? What?”

She’s not wearing her new engagement ring. Why? Was this just a late-night booty call, and she’d get back in her car tomorrow morning and drive back to her soon-to-be doctor fiancé?

I hadn’t needed anyone more than Daniela after I arrived in Lamont three years ago. I’d dropped out of Harvard and left pre-med, determined not to waste my life on something that didn’t make me happy.

When it’s your time to go, money means shit because all you have when you’re on your deathbed are the memories of the life you lived.

I didn’t want to be on my deathbed filled with regret the way my grandpa was.

He left me more money than I will ever spend, but I’d pay twice over to have him back. I couldn’t even call to speak to my little sister without my mom getting hold of the phone and making me feel guilty for giving up pre-med.

But I had Daniela.

I had the woman who loved me as much as I loved her, would be my wife, and stick by my side.

Except I didn’t have her.

I never had her.

Because what she wanted wasn’t me. It was the idea of me. The person I would be one day. And that wasn’t a doctor, so she replaced me.

Her lip trembles. “Javier, please don’t be mad at me.”

I take a step back. “You’ve tried that before, Daniela. It didn’t work before, and it won’t work now. Go back to Boston. Don’t come back here. Stop calling and texting me. Move on with your life. I have.”

I turn to leave.

“So you’ve met someone, then?” Her voice is brittle.

I keep walking.

“I heard they call you Casanova, but you’re no Casanova. Are you fucking someone else?”

I stop.

No, because, for once, it’s not just about sex. It’s about so much more than that.

Something new.

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