Page 64 of Say Yes to the Hot Mess

Hanan:Funny you should ask, actually

Hanan:I’m sort of on a date? Kind of?

Hanan:With the guy I didn’t really like

I exhale loudly, running one hand through my hair. My pulse is tripping along more quickly now, but I still can’t be sure this is Maya. Everything fits so far, but I need more details.

Me:What kind of date? Why are you with him if you don’t like him?

I squeeze my eyes shut as I wait for her response, letting myself collapse on the couch. I loosen the top button of my shirt, but it doesn’t do anything for my writhing nerves or my racing pulse.

I jackknife upright into sitting position when my phone pings again, another notification coming through—and then another, and then another. My breath once again catches in my throat as I begin to read.

Hanan:Okay I know it’s stupid and the kind of thing you read about in romance novels, but I’m basically his fake girlfriend for the weekend

My heart somehow is able to beat even faster as I keep scanning the messages.

Hanan:His mom wants him to get married and have babies, so I went with him to this wedding to get her to chill.

Hanan:Which she did not, by the way. That woman has NO chill whatsoever.

Holy crap. Holycrap.It’s her. Hanan is Maya and Maya is Hanan and my brain is simultaneously melting and exploding.

And I shouldn’t ask—I know I shouldn’t. Because if I ask, she’ll answer. But I have to know.

Me:And the guy? Is he still driving you nuts?

As so often happens with Hanan—withMaya, becauseholy crap they’re the same person—she begins typing, then stops, then starts again. And I swear I have never looked at those three little dots with more impatience than I do at this very second.

Finally, though, her answer pops up.

Hanan:Kind of, except…in a different way.

I sit back, removing my glasses and rubbing my hand over my face as I read her response once, twice, three times. In a different way? What the heck does that mean? I want to demand she tell me more, but I know that I absolutely cannot change the way I talk to her despite knowing who she is now. So, as much as it pains me, I keep my response simple.

Me:Care to elaborate?

I wait for an answer. And I wait, and I wait—but one never comes.

And some twenty minutes later, it becomes obvious why when the doorknob clicks and in comes Maya, dressed in a swimsuit and cutoff shorts, her hair wet, her skin sun-touched and pink.

And the second I see her—the verysecond—I’m hit with a torrent of emotion so powerful that I actually have to grip the couch armrest to stop myself from going to her, from pulling her close and kissing her senseless. It’s warmth and admiration, tenderness and desire, all tangled together. Apparently my feelings for Maya and my feelings for Hanan, when merged together, become more potent than I would have expected, threatening to drown me—threatening to drown my common sense, too, which dictates that kissing my fake date probably isn’t wise.

For now, anyway.

“Hi,” Maya says breathlessly, dropping the towel she’s got draped over one arm.

“Hi,” I parrot, too dumbstruck to say anything else. Because how do I handle this? Should I say something?

“When did you get back?” she says, reaching back and twisting her hair up off her neck. There isn’t a single part of her body that doesn’t look incredible right now, so I try to do the respectful thing and not stare.

“Uh, about thirty minutes ago,” I say, focusing on a spot just above her shoulder. “You went down to the beach?”

She nods. “It’s warmer than yesterday, and the sun was perfect.” She presses delicate fingers to her pink cheeks. “I think I might have burned a bit, actually,” she adds. “Am I red?”

I shrug. “A little pink, maybe. But not too bad.”

Something of my swirling emotions must come through in my voice, because she cocks her head to the side and looks more closely at me.

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