Page 96 of Faker
“And tell you what? Sorry I was such an immature prick to you because I was freaked out that you look exactly like my high school ex-girlfriend?”
“Yes. It’s what a fucking decent person would have done.” I dig my nails into the palms of my hands. “But you’re not a decentperson. You’re with me one minute, and the next I find out you’re still screwing your ex.”
Every nerve in my body is firing on all cylinders. Whatever happiness I felt minutes, hours, days ago, whatever excitement I had for the future between us has vaporized like a puff of smoke in a windstorm. The only thing left is the pain pulsing from the base of my throat to my chest.
What little composure I have left I channel into my words. “You’re not the person I thought you were. We’re done. I never want to speak to you again.”
I dig through my purse and hand Tate the Nuts & Bolts relationship disclosure form, scrawled with my handwriting. My weekend surprise is now moot.
When Tate’s eyes fall to the form, I make a beeline for the women’s bathroom nearby, ignoring his pleas to wait. I lean over the nearest sink and splash water on my face. When I look up at the mirror, I nearly jump. Red blotches dot my cheeks, and the skin around my clavicle is flushed. Managing not to sob has helped me avoid swollen eyes and tear streaks. Even so, I still look like the stock photo for “train wreck.”
I need to figure out a way to get out of here, but I refuse to leave with Tate. Natalie or Brendan seem nice enough to give me a ride back to my car if I asked, but the awkwardness would be excruciating. It’s too late in the evening to call Kaitlin. I reach for my phone and call the only other person I can think of.
•••
TATE IS CROUCHEDon the floor just outside the door when I walk out of the restroom, head in his hands, pants and shirt rumpled. He looks almost as wrecked as I do.
I don’t acknowledge him as I jog through the door and toJamie’s car parked in the front. I race to the passenger side, hoping he doesn’t follow.
“Hey, you.” Jamie’s cheery face greets me, but it switches to concern when he gets a closer look at me. “Are you okay?”
“Peachy,” I mutter. He idles for a second. “Can we go now, please? I need to get out of here.”
He pulls ahead just as I catch Tate’s reflection in my side view mirror. He looks around frantically, then zeros in on the car.
I give Jamie directions to Tate’s house. “Thank you again for picking me up. I’m sorry it’s so late.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, dialing back the initial pep of his greeting. “That was Tate, wasn’t it? Who ran after you just before we pulled away?”
I let out a frustrated sigh. I really don’t want to get into it with Jamie, but I suppose I owe him an abbreviated explanation since he was nice enough to give me a ride on a moment’s notice. I left Tate out of our conversation when I called him, but the cat’s out of the bag now.
“It was. Things are complicated between us at the moment.”
“I can tell.”
“We’ve been trying to be friendlier to each other recently, I guess you’d say. It didn’t work out.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Me too.” I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying.
“His loss. You look really pretty tonight.”
“You’re such a liar.”
“Am not. You look amazing.”
“I look like hell.” I yank down the overhead mirror and see that my blotchy skin isn’t obvious in the darkness.
“If that’s what hell looks like, I’ll take seconds.” He taps his thumb against the top of the steering wheel while we’re stoppedat a red light, then smirks at me. I can’t help but laugh at his ridiculous line.
Jamie parks on the street in front of Tate’s duplex, behind my car. I thank him again before stepping out. He climbs out of the driver’s seat and walks around to my side.
“It was nice seeing you, even if it wasn’t under the greatest circumstances. Sorry you had a bad night.” He shoves his hands in his pockets.
“I’m the one who should be sorry. I interrupted your Saturday night.” I dig in my purse for my keys. “Here, let me give you gas money.”
“Not a chance.” He takes a step toward me. When he places his hand over mine, I immediately stop rummaging through my purse. “But maybe you can interrupt my night tomorrow and let me take you out for dinner? As friends, of course.”
