Page 7 of A Little Jaded
A pathetic laugh escapes me as I stare up at the ceiling. “Why did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Why did you lie to him?”
Him.
I can’t even say my boyfriend’s name without feeling nauseated. What does that say about me?
With a sigh, Everett says, “If we’re gonna be fake dating?—”
My choked laugh interrupts him. “We’re not faking anything.”
“You’re the one who approached me, remember?”
“No, I approached Reeves out of stupid curiosity. I turnedyoudown,” I clarify. “Why did you tell him we’ve known each other for three months? Do you have any idea how pissed he is now?”
“I was trying to help!”
“How?” I snap. “By making it look like I was sneaking around behind his back?” My laugh is maniacal at best as I shove my hair away from my face and start toward the exit.
He blocks my path. “I was trying to build a foundation for our fake relationship.”
“There is no fake relationship!”
I swear I can taste his exasperation as he scrubs his hand over his face. “Take the sunglasses off, Raine.”
“Once was enough, thanks.”
“You need me,” he pushes.
“I don’t need anyone.”
“Your black eye says otherwise.”
I shake my head and step toward the exit again before he grabs my arm, stopping my retreat. But it isn’t rough. It’s surprisingly gentle. I haven’t been touched gently in a long time. It’s weird and strange and kind of makes me want to cry as I stare at his long fingers engulfing my wrist.
“Do you really live with him?” he murmurs.
“What?”
“He said, ‘I’ll see you at home,’” Everett reminds me. “Do you really live with him?”
My eyelids close, and I give him a single nod.
“Fuck, Raine,” he rasps. It’s quiet. Defeated, almost. “What am I supposed to do now?”
“You aren’t supposed to do anything.”
“Guess I can’t help myself.” He lets me go and runs his hand over his dark, straight hair. “Tell me what I can do.”
Isn’t that the million-dollar question? I wish I had the answer. One to erase my relationship with Drake altogether so I wouldn’t have to deal with the inevitable fallout. And trust me, I tried. To end the relationship without a fallout. And look where it got me. A black eye. A tracking app. And a threat the size of Texas if I ever try to leave Drake again.
Wetting my bottom lip, I fold my arms and rock back on my heels. “You can forget you ever met me.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Yeah, well, you seem like a pretty”—I scan him up and down, my focus landing for a beat too long on his bare chest, and I step back to put space between us—“savvyguy. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”