Page 102 of Faker
Natalie: Don’t choke, bro. Take a risk. Tell this girl you’re into her.
Tate: I’m turning my phone off now.
Natalie: Don’t you dare.
Natalie: So? How goes things with Emmie?
Tate: I can’t handle this. It’s worse than I thought. She is... fucking hell, I don’t even know.
Natalie: What do you mean?
Tate: I took your advice. I bought her a drink. We’re playing a bar game. She’s fucking hilarious. Witty. Smart. Gorgeous. Fuck, I’m screwed.
Natalie: I told you. You’re a lovesick puppy. Put yourself out of your misery. Tell her how you feel.
Tate: Seriously? She’ll think I’m a psycho if I admit I’ve been nuts about her.
Tate: I mean... I made up that work project just so I could spend time with her. She can’t stand me. She thinks I can’t stand her.
Natalie: And whose fault is that?
The next messages are from the weekend he took care of me in the hospital.
Natalie: Cookout at Eli’s tonight at 6!
Natalie: Hey, are you coming or not? Everyone’s asking where you are.
Tate: Sorry, no. Emmie’s in the hospital. I’m going to stay with her so she’s not alone.
Natalie: What?? Is she okay??? Are you okay?
Tate: I’m fine. She fell at the worksite and got a minor concussion, but it looks like she’s got appendicitis too. Doctors have everything under control, though. She’s pretty scared so I want to stay with her.
Natalie: Sure, of course. Wow. Poor girl. Let me know if you need anything.
Tate: I’m fine now, but I’m sure I’ll need a chat later. Spending all this time with her... you were right. I’m a lost cause. I’m head over heels for her... I’ve been for a while. How the hell am I going to tell her?
My chest aches with a new sensation. It’s numbness mixed with adrenaline and a bit of awe. There’s no way. He couldn’t possibly.
I hear the clink of a metal spoon and shoot up. I spin around and see Tate stirring a cup of tea while leaning against the kitchen counter. He’s gazing at me expectantly.
“I made you some tea.” He says it so calmly, like I haven’t just been reading all of his private texts about me over the past year.
“You were head over heels for me? This whole time?” I catch my breath. I must have stopped breathing.
He’s giving me the same wide-eyed stare I’m giving him. He nods. Neither of us blinks.
“No. I need to hear you say it.”
“I’m crazy about you, Emmie. I have been for quite some time.” He says it solemnly, like he’s confessing to a crime.
Dizziness hits me, and I cradle the sides of my head with my hands. “Oh my God” is all I can say while swaying back and forth.
Tate sets the mug on the counter and rushes over to me, steadying me in his arms like he did after I fell when I wobbled in pain. He lowers me carefully onto the couch and sits at one end. I rest my head on his lap, my legs stretched out.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I sound like a wonder-stricken child who just learned that the universe is infinite. It’s too much to process, and my head feels heavy, weighed down with inconceivable facts that can’t possibly be true.
He strokes my hair with such gentle care I could cry. “I was afraid you’d think I was a loser. I’m a grown man and I couldn’t muster the courage to tell you how I felt for so long. I made up a work project just so I could spend time with you. How uncool is that?”
