Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 57139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
The moment wasn’t right. To say it now would be a weapon, not a confession. I wanted to tell her I loved her, that I’d kiss her tears away, kill the guy who made her waste them in the first place. But I couldn’t. She wouldn’t believe me. That was the curse of being in love with your best friend—you knew exactly how they’d react.
And right now, I was the villain. I was the guy who made her cry.
I searched her face. “Do you really like him?”
She blinked. “What?”
God, it hurt to force the words out. “Aaron. Do you really like him?”
Rage flushed her cheeks. She stepped closer, so close I staggered back.
“That’s what you’re asking? Right now? Right the hell now?” Her voice shook. “You’re asking if I like Aaron? How is he even—” She threw her hands up. “You know what. Yes. I’m in love with him. We’re getting married. I’ve already run our faces through AI and made creepy children. I expect a proposal at dawn, maybe with a cow. You suck, Ezra. You know that? You suck.”
“Harper—”
“You want to know why you suck? Because you don’t have the balls to do anything except stand there staring at me. You won’t even ask me the question!”
Terror squeezed my throat. “…The question.”
She nodded, tears cutting down her cheeks. “Do you want me to vent? Do you want a hug? Or do you want me to fix it? The question, Ezra.”
I hesitated. My voice barely worked. “Do you want a hug?”
“No.”
“Do you want to vent?”
She shook her head.
My chest caved. “Do you want me to fix it?”
She nodded, lips trembling.
“And if I don’t know how?”
Her smile was broken, soft and sharp all at once. “It’s not that you don’t know how. You fix every puzzle, Ezra. You’re not stupid. You’re just afraid you can’t handle the answer.”
The door slammed in my face.
Deserved.
I’d asked about Aaron and used him like an emotional shield, I hadn’t confessed shit, and I hadn’t apologized.
I stared at the closed door and hung my head. Not how I planned on my whole get her to truly see the real me, fall for me, classroom plan was supposed to check out or happen.
My phone pinged.
The notification came from little devil horns—Grandma Blue to be exact.
Blue Devil
Saw her upload, not happy, I know it was a classroom, son, but kissing isn’t supposed to involved show and tell. You ass.
I texted back right away.
Me
I didn’t plan for it to explode that way and I’m not an idiot, I brought my rock collection to show and tell!
Blue Devil
It’s a true wonder you’re single, the world isn’t fair is it?
I almost flipped off my phone.
Me
I’m going to go to sleep, she has another date with Aaron and hopefully one with me then she can wrap this farce shit up and things can go back to normal.
Blue Devil
Oh you sweet, sweet, idiot. Things will never go back to normal, you know everything about her now, everything, and you’ve crossed a very blurry line, dear Ezra, there is no forgetting a kiss like that. I have eyes.
And I was going to gouge my own out.
Me
Yeah.
Blue Devil
Sweet dreams, little bastard.
Me
Love you, too.
Blue Devil
I named one beta fish Aaron the other Ezra, I’ll let you know which one exudes is manliness and wins, it’s not looking good for Ezra though, it’s just not.
Me
THEN STOP ROOTING FOR AARON!
Blue Devil
Are we still talking about the betas?
Me
Night, fish killer.
I didn’t sleep all night, instead, I counted the hours until the morning, and decided the only way to beg for forgiveness and a chance to talk was to text—-text my fake ex.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
HARPER
Hi Harper, just checking in. I’m the ex who memorized your Starbucks order and also the way you wrinkle your nose when you lie. You know you do, and yes your drink is complicated—just like us.
—Ezra
Iwas going to murder Ezra.
He was supposed to be giving me space—letting me simmer, maybe even plot his untimely demise—not blowing up my phone like every psychotic ex on the planet. And worse? He wasn’t sending groveling apologies or “please forgive me” texts. No. He was sending stupid, swoony, fake-ex messages that had me grinning like an idiot in the middle of rush-hour traffic.
Why was he doing this? Why now? Was it even real, or was he just playing with fire—the kind of fire I’d happily light at his ankles and then fan into a full inferno until he was nothing but ash?
I huffed, tossed my phone onto my lap face down, and crossed my arms. I wasn’t supposed to be looking anyway. I was on a date. A nice date. A romantic date.
And wow. Even in my own head, I sounded about as thrilled as someone at the dentist drooling all over the place.
Aaron had picked a cozy little Italian place with string lights and mismatched wine glasses that somehow made it look intentional. He was all sunshine again, talking about a surgery he’d just assisted in like it was no big deal. Meanwhile, I was nodding, smiling, and very casually gripping the butter knife in my hand like it was the only thing tethering me to reality.