Fake Out (Fake Boyfriend 1)

My head bangs on the door repeatedly as I close my eyes. He’s not going to open the door.

“He’s not home,” an elderly voice says.

My eyes fly open and meet the neighbor Maddox talks about. She stands in the doorway of her own apartment.

“He’s not?” I’ve been talking to a door? Great. Just great. “Do you know where he is?”

“No. There was a lot of slammin’ doors and grumblin’, and I came out to see what was going on. He muttered an apology and ran outta here.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Jacobs.”

“He’ll forgive you, honey. Fights happen to the best of couples. I fought with my husband up until the day he died.”

“Umm … okay.”

“Let him come to you.”

With a nod, I get to my feet. Back out on the street, with no idea where to go, I head home and do the only thing I can do.

Hope.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

MADDOX

The last place I thought I’d find myself was back in Clover Vale, PA. My bank account suffered a major blow, forking over three hundred bucks for the Uber to get me here.

I didn’t get in until late, so the parentals haven’t had the chance to grill me about why I’m home for the weekend.

Five years ago, I ran from my problems, and now I’m back to where I began, running again. I wonder if in five years I’ll have to take a girl to Damon’s wedding and pretend to be straight.

Damon’s wedding … Nope, I’d never survive seeing him marry some other dude.

My brain likes to confuse me. It made me yell at Damon for going behind my back to look at apartments, but now it’s the thing telling me that Damon didn’t actually rent a place for us; he was just looking. It told me to run home to PA and switch off my phone, and now I’m lying here wondering what the fuck I’m doing.

I try to get the image of Damon’s face out of my head—the face he pulled right after I said I loved Stacy in a way that implied I didn’t love him. It’s not at all what I meant. Stacy is like family to me, and that’s why I let her interfere. Yet, when Damon did it, I couldn’t see past my issues with Chastity that I never dealt with.

Damon’s nothing like Chastity, and I broke his heart anyway.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I’m running away from the best thing that ever happened to me because of a fucking teenage relationship I was too chicken shit to put an end to. Why was I reluctant to break her heart, yet last night, I had no problem telling Damon I didn’t want a relationship with him.

Which is bullshit, because I do. I want him more than I’ve wanted anyone or anything.

So, why is it so hard for me to let go and allow it to happen?

Because you’re scared of being trapped again.

I thought Damon would never do that to me, but then those listings …

So what? Just because he was looking at listings doesn’t mean he was forcing me to move in with him. He wasn’t holding a gun to my head or giving me an ultimatum. He was literally looking for somewhere we could live together, because he wants a life with me.

That monster.

Fuck, I’m an idiot.

I’m about ready to give up on sleep, when Mom startles me, and I realize I must’ve fallen asleep after all. There’s drool on my pillow, and it takes a minute for me to realize I’m at home and not in New York.

“All right. You’ve had enough sleep now,” Mom says.

“Sleep? It feels like I haven’t slept at all.”

“Time to milk the cows.”

I throw my pillow over my face. “We don’t have cows. We don’t live on a farm.”

“With the way you talk about how country we are, I get confused sometimes.”

“Mom,” I whine.

“Oooh, he brings out the teenager in him.” The bed dips as Mom sits on the end.

“Out with it. What boy or girl has you running back here?”

I lean up on my elbows, and the pillow falls away from my face. “Dad told you?”

“That you’re not gay? Yeah. Also told me that my future son-in-law was a no-go.”

“You like Damon better than you like me. Admit it.”

“Well, he used his manners. Spill it. What did you do to piss him off?” she asks.

I groan. “I don’t want to talk about it. And how do you know it was him?”

“You have a visitor downstairs. I don’t think you’re going to get out of talking about it.”

Damon’s here?

I scramble out of bed, still in the clothes I was in last night. My feet bang loudly against the stairs. Damon stands from my parents’ couch, his hands go to his pockets, and his head hangs low.

I hate that I’m the one making him second-guess himself—something I promised I’d never do. I told him I wouldn’t be like Eric, and then I go and shut him out.