Say It's Not Fake

Something had died inside of me in the last thirty minutes. Something I didn’t think I’d ever get back.

When Whitney came back into the room, she was dressed to the nines. She was a makeup artist. I sincerely doubted she wore a little black dress and stripper shoes to work. She wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that she was going out—without me.

Even though I was angry and hurt, I couldn’t deny that she was gorgeous. Her skin glowed, and her hair was piled at the back of her neck, a few strands falling loose around her shoulders. Her long legs looked amazing, and I forced myself not to think how they had been wrapped around my waist not long ago.

The dress put her magnificent breasts on full display. The strapless number accentuated her neck, and I felt my groin tighten in response. This was a woman made for sex, and she knew it.

She was a complete stranger.

I realized at that moment that I didn’t know this Whitney Galloway. And I was pretty damn sure I didn’t want to. Because this Whitney Galloway didn’t seem to care that she had just stomped all over my heart—and my pride.

She grabbed a beaded purse from the dresser and turned to leave, then as if remembering I was still there, she finally looked my way.

Our eyes met briefly—the first time they had since I had my dick inside her. Something flashed there. Maybe it was regret. Maybe it was an apology. I didn’t really care at that point. She could go to hell for all I cared.

Perhaps if I kept telling myself that, I’d actually believe it.

“So, you can find a place to stay, right? I just don’t want you to be bored since I won’t be around.” She grimaced as if in pain. Served her right.

“Right, because you’ll be working,” I said pointedly, giving her revealing outfit a slow once over. It was very passive-aggressive, but it was the best I could do.

For the first time, she looked almost contrite. Embarrassed even. “Kyle, I—” She stopped herself, her expression hardening. “I didn’t ask you to come. Am I supposed to put my life on hold because my sister’s buddy decided to make an impromptu visit?”

“You knew I was coming!” I threw back at her. “And is that all I am to you? Your sister’s friend?” I didn’t want to sound like my heart was breaking, but it was. And I had never been one to hide things.

She threw her head back and laughed. A shrill sound that wasn’t remotely sincere. “Now Web, don’t go thinking sex means anything. It never does. And definitely not in LA.” She never called me by my nickname. I was always Kyle to her. That was the final nail in our miserable coffin.

She walked over to where I stood in the middle of her bedroom, went up on her tiptoes, and kissed my cheek. Lips that had been melded to mine. Lips that I had worshipped for so long.

She patted my arm like I was a cute dog or something. “If you need help finding a hotel, text me. Otherwise, let’s try to meet up before you head back to Southport.”

I didn’t say anything, and she turned and left without waiting to see if I would.

I heard the door click shut, and then I was alone.

I picked up my duffel bag and unzipped it, pulling out the small stuffed dog I had brought with me. I held it in my hand for a few minutes, wondering if I should leave it. I had brought it for her because it looked like her dog Bongo that died during her senior year of high school. She had loved that dog, and I remember her crying for months over him. I had found a company online that would make stuffed toy replicas of your pets. And I sent in a picture of Bongo I had taken at the Galloway house when I was fifteen.

I thought she’d love it. I thought she’d look at it and realize how much she meant to me. How much I knew her.

So much for that.

I tossed the dog onto the bed, not caring if she kept it or not.

It didn’t matter anyway.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and left Whitney’s apartment, heading straight for the airport.

Los Angeles was definitely not the place for me.

And Whitney Galloway wasn’t the woman I thought she was.

Chapter 1

Present Day

Kyle

“Come on, Katie Bug, lie still for Daddy.”

Trying to wrangle a wriggly one and a half-year-old toddler into a pair of pants was more difficult than trying to catch a greased pig. Katie giggled and kicked at me with her little feet. Most days, getting my daughter dressed was akin to engaging in an Olympic sport. I had to use all of my hand-eye coordination and quick reflexes to get the job done.