Page 120 of Gin and Lava

“See? There’s that Viking Princess, keeping me honest.” He grins at me for the first time since we climbed into this bed, but then his face falls and he gets serious. “Look, I’m all bent out of shape because it sucks to be the guy everyone thinks you’re making a mistake with.”

My stomach knots.

This isn’t real. There are norealmistakes between us.

“And don’t get me wrong,” Mason continues, “I’m not Prince Charming. I’m not afraid to own who I am. But you’ve built this whole other person that everyone thinks you are—andthat girlwould never date me.”

That girl? I try to swallow, but my mouth is dry. Maybe I’ve only ever known that girl. Maybe she’s all I have.

“You thought it would be fun for me to pretend to be your fiancé.” Mason keeps his voice low. “And if you haven’t noticed, I have a really hard time sayingnoto you, Naomi—so, of course, I said yes.”

“I’m glad you said yes,” I whisper.

“Except, I don’t live up to whateverthat girl—that persona you’ve created—is supposed to want. Not that I need to, I know we’re not actually together. I’m not trying to be a douche bag who’s reading more into this arrangement and trick you into something. It just sucks to get told over and over again that you’re the piece of shit in the relationship. Okay? That’s what’s got my asshole, eggplant-emoji panties in a bunch.”

I stare at Mason.

“So, yes,” he says, “maybe Idoactually give more fucks than you think I do.”

The smell of salt-water wafts through the sunporch, coating us in a heavy brine. I’ve had Mason all wrong. I’ve been misreading him this whole time. He’s not some loud-mouth jerk who doesn’t care about what other’s think. That’s his armor. He wears it in the same way I put on fancy dresses and curl my hair. We’re both presenting something we think will protect us. I’m trying to be the fairytale princess in a magazine—perfect and enviable, the woman no one would call trailer trash, and he’s built this persona as the crass douchebag no one messes with. Both of us are wearing masks thinking we can hide who we really are and not get hurt.

“And the real you does exist, Naomi,” Mason asserts. “She’s brave, and creative, and terrifyingly hot when she takes control in the bedroom. And any guy who doesn’t worship at your feet for being that woman is absolute shit in my book. I don’t want you to be treated like crap by your friends. And crazy as it sounds, I also don’t want to be treated like crap because they think you’re someone else.”

I cup Mason’s cheek and turn him to look at me. My chest feels so tight. He’s right. He’s the one I’ve let be a punching bag. I’ve been too selfish, too mixed up in my own head to realize it. He’s doing me a favor, and I’ve let him be stepped on again and again.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, a slight tremble to my voice.

I’m just like the mean girls I grew up hating. I’ve spent so much time trying to become the person they’d envy, that I’ve become one of them. I’m another bitch reinforcing Mason’s view of the world and causing him to bottle up his sensitive side by pretending he’s the world’s biggest asshole. He says he doesn’t care, but I think he’s really just trying to make fun of himself before others make fun of him first.

And I’m a coward.

I’ve let him do all the heavy lifting when it comes to our arrangement. He’s been the one explaining us to my friends, filling in the awkward silences, making up reasons for the perfect girl to fall for him.

I haven’t defended him.

Not once.

If I want people to respect Mason, I have to make them.

“I really am sorry,” I echo, hoping that doesn’t sound as weak as it does in my head. It’s so easy to say sorry and never change anything. “Thank you for putting up with all that bullshit,” I correct. “Andmybullshit, too. You deserve better, too, Mason. You’ve been doing me a huge favor, but I haven’t had your back. I haven’t lived up to that gracious Viking Princess nickname you’ve given me—especially in front of my friends.” I brush his cheek softly. “That all changes right now. Okay? You’remyfake fiancé, dammit, and I’ll stand by my fake man!”

A smile feathers across the side of Mason’s cheek, a look I’m starting to learn means he’s proud of me. It’s the kind of look that bounces around in an empty part of my chest, because I’ve been pining for a look like that for years: from my mother, from Sam, from anyone really.

“Are you going to stand outside my bedroom with a boombox over your head and blastIn Your Eyesat me, hoping for my forgiveness like Lloyd Dobler?” Mason asks, that smile spreading in the moonlight.

“Like who?”

“Lloyd Dobler.”

“Do I know that person?”

“What?” Mason grabs my hand that’s against his face. “Are you telling me you haven’t seenSay Anything?” His eyes wound like I’ve stabbed him.

“Is that a TV show?”

“No!” Mason pulls me against him and squeezes me like it’s punishment. “It’s onlythe most romantic80s movie of all time. I can’t believe I’m referencing a romance movie to a girl!”

“That’s super sexist,” I chide.

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