Page 92 of The Fake Dating Plan

“Huh?”

“You and Chad are nothing more than friends. And I’m willing to bet nothing happened between the two of you nine years ago.”

I crossed my arms. “Where’s this coming from? Heron? Now you believe him when I’ve been saying the same thing for nine years?” I shook my head. It was the same thing again and again. “He didn’t need to say it. But what he said changed everything for me. He said…” He would rather believe his business rival than I. That hurt more than him not believing me. I stared him directly in the face. “I begged. Cried. Called you day and night. I practically crawled on my knees and I would have eaten sand if it meant you would hear me out. And you didn’t. You didn’t even want to see me. You blocked me. Shut me out of your life. But because some man, giving you the same explanation that I gave you nine years ago, you believe him.

Let’s set aside the fact that the same person you’re willing to believe is the same person who’s been harassing me for the crime of refusing him and not taking his money. The same person you hate, you believe. But not me.”

“That’s not how—”

“I’ve heard enough. Can you please let me go? I have a party to attend.”

“Em.”

“Ax.”

He hesitated for a moment longer and I thought I would have to push him aside, but he finally stepped aside and gave me away. When I was a few steps ahead, I thought I heard him say, “Sorry.” But his voice was so low, I am not sure if he said anything at all.

I tried the code to the apartment again, and it would not open. It was the third time now, and I was sure the code hadn’t changed. He never changed his apartment codes. They were all the same, his birthday.

My vision was blurry and my hands were a little uncoordinated, but my brain was still functioning properly. My hand waved on the first button and just when I was about to press it, the door opened, and since I had been leaning on it for support; I fell face flat onto the floor.

“Fucking hell. What are you doing here? Are you lost?” Even though all I could see from my vantage point on the tiled floor were his slippers, I could tell from the sound of his voice he was amused. I wanted to say something coherent, but all I could utter was a groan.

“What turned you into a drunken blob of mess?”

“Love. Fuck, I lost her. It’s her I lost.”

“Okay.” He took hold of both of my hands and dragged me inside like I was a sack of clothes.

“I can walk,” I said, trying to stand. He let go of me and, after a few failed attempts, I hobbled into his living room and threw myself onto the couch.

Tiago disappeared, and moments later came back with a glass of water. He handed it to me. “Do you want to explain yourself?”

I took the glass and drank all the contents. The water was like silk down my parched throat. “I might have fucked up.”

“Don’t think I’ve ever heard you admit you were wrong on… anything.”

I placed the empty glass on the table beside me. “Fucking muscle face. She ran into his arms, and I pushed her there. What does she see in him?”

“I’m going to assume we’re talking about Emilia?”

“And the way those two danced with each other. Is it over? What should I do?”

“Can you please start making sense? Who is muscle-face?”

“Chad Heron.”

“Oh yeah. Now that you said it, I can see it. Although, I can’t see how Chad had time to get out of the gym and snatch Emilia.”

“He did.”

“Really? He’s sorta not her type. Wait, a minute. Didn’t you say your relationship with her was fake? What’s all this?”

“It started as fake until it wasn’t.” Until that fateful day, she fell into my arms and I took her to bed. That’s when it became real. But who knows, it might have been earlier than that.

“Huh.” He looked like he was deep in thought. “I thought you said

“What do you think I should do?”

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