Page 17 of Fake Dates and Home Plates
“Do you think you could talk to Chase?” she asks me.
Lily knows Chase is an old hookup turned casual acquaintance. I think it over. He was the whole reason I went to find Dakota in the first place. “I’m not sure. He’s the one who hinted I should go find my boyfriend last night.”
Doesn’t mean he’ll tell me anything else.
Exhaustion starts to set into my bones, and I take it as my sign I need some sleep.
“Yeah,” I sigh, rubbing at my eyes. “I need to call my parents first. Not gonna tell them everything, but if I don’t check in, they’ll show up here with a search party and a week’s worth of casseroles.”
Lily chuckles. “I like your mom’s casseroles.”
I know she does. They’ve traded recipes before.
“I could use a rage run,” I say under my breath.
Lily raises an eyebrow. “Before or after the nap?”
“After,” I say, already dragging myself toward my room. “Definitely after.”
When I wake up a few hours later, I feel a little more human than I did this morning.
The phone call with my parents was extremely helpful. They may have read the campus gossip this morning, but they still listened patiently while I gave them the full rundown.
Minus the whole fake dating.
Some things aren’t meant to be shared with the people who birthed you.
I stretch lightly before grabbing my phone to check the missed notifications.
Several missed calls and texts from Dakota, all of which have gone unanswered, along with comments and even private messages about the picture I posted and whose shoes I was wearing.
There’s one message that stands out against the rest, though.
Theo sent me a short DM with his phone number, saying his new girlfriend should have it.
I notice the absence of the wordfakebut don’t fixate on it. Instead, I send him a text letting him know it’s me.
Immediately, it shows him typing something before a new text comes through.
Be free at seven tomorrow, Getaway Girl.
I roll my eyes at the demand and send him a thumbs-up emoji.
Guess we’re starting this off strong.
Chapter Eight
Theo
I spot her the second she walks out of her apartment building. Enjoying the brief moment before she sees me, I take the time to look her over.
Dressed in black pants and a pink tank top that accentuates her abdomen, she looks beautiful, a flannel wrapped around her waist. Her hair’s pinned behind one ear, the waves tumbling over her shoulder and getting caught in the strap of the bag she’s struggling to drape across her body.
When she sees me leaning against the passenger door of my Jeep, her lips twitch like she’s tryingnotto smile.
I make a show of straightening and pulling the door open for her with a deep, theatrical bow. “My lady.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Is this the full Prince Charming package?”
