Page 99 of Fake As Puck
“You get tense when you overthink. I can feel it.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Just tell me what’s wrong.”
I stare at the ceiling, trying to figure out how to ask what I need to ask without sounding like a complete disaster.
“Do you want to stay?” I blurt out. “Shit. I know you said you didn’t. It’s just… we won’t see each other for another month, and I want make sure we’re on the same page.”
She goes still in my arms. “That was subtle.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know you are. That’s what makes it terrifying.”
“Why is it terrifying?”
She pulls back to look at me, and there’s something in her expression I can’t read.
“Because if I stay, it’s like being paid to have sex, and I’m pretty sure that’s illegal in most states.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut.
Because she’s right. She’s absolutely right, and I hadn’t even thought about it that way.
She’s still being paid. And I just slept with her.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“I didn’t—” I start, then stop, because I don’t know how to finish that sentence.
“I know you didn’t mean it that way,” she says quickly. “I’m just pointing out that if I stay, it’s costing me money. I don’t know, West, this is complicated.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. Complicated is one word for it.
What she just said was out of left field. I’ve never known Liv to act that way. I guess it really was a façade this whole time. Now I’m starting to overthink again.
“I mean, what are we even doing here, West? Are we dating? Are we still fake dating? Are we friends with benefits? I honestly have no idea anymore.”
My eyes widen as I stare at the TV. “Neither do I.”
“Great. So we’re both confused.”
I nod. “Spectacularly confused.”
She settles back against me, but the easy comfort from before is gone now. There’s tension in her shoulders, distance in the way she’s holding herself. I feel distant too.
“I should probably go back to LA,” she says finally. “I shouldn’t leave Tessa hanging. I watch the kids a lot, and she depends on me. Plus you have your life here with your teammates, and you should enjoy this beautiful Seattle summer. I’ll be back before you know it.”
“The wedding’s in Napa,” I say. “So you don’t have to come back to Seattle if you don’t want to. I could just meet you there.”
“Oh,” she says. And maybe she’ll know why I’m putting emphasis on her staying longer.
The silence that follows feels soul-crushing.
Because I can practically hear her thinking. Calculating. Realizing that if she doesn’t have to come back here, she might not again.
Why would she? What’s here for her besides me? Hell, I’ve been trying to convince her that she’s good enough for me, but am I good enough for her?
