He looked at me like I was crazy. “You are not calling an Uber. We live across the hall from each other.” He leaned his forearms on the table and looked up at me. “And a boyfriend would take his girlfriend home.”
“Couples don’t have to do everything together.” I sounded upset, and I wasn’t sure why. I breathed, hoping to pull off a breezy tone. “Stay here and have fun with your friends, and I’ll see you later.”
I needed space. Tonight, we’d had a lot of emotions on display, and I was struggling to remember why I had agreed to this fake-dating thing. Pretending to be Slate’s girlfriend, the showdown with Josh, kissing Slate, and then seeing him and his friends obviously talking about me—probably about how he shouldn’t be doing all this with me—had me wanting to run out of there.
Slate stood. “I’m driving you home.”
Olivia surprised me when she stood too, jumping into our conversation. “I’m actually feeling tired too. I can give Isla a ride home, and then you can give Wilder a ride home when you guys are ready.”
I smiled at Olivia. “That’s a great idea.”
Slate searched my face, but I kept the smile there, showing him I was fine, that I wasn’t a mess inside trying to figure out how to navigate my current life.
“Fine,” he said. He looked around the room. “I’ll call you later.”
Nodding, I turned and started walking toward the door, hoping Olivia was following me.
When we got in Wilder’s truck, she said, “Are you okay?”
Was I okay?
Yes.
No.
I didn’t know.
“To be honest? I don’t know.” I looked out the window. “I just want to go to bed.”
She started the truck and began backing out. “Okay.” Her voice was quiet and understanding, and I was grateful she wasn’t asking more questions.
What was wrong with me? I’d been having a great time. Probably too good of a time. I’d been living in some fake fantasy land and been slapped in the face with the reminder that not only was this all fake, but my fake boyfriend was a man-slut, now and forever.
And I wasn’t upset because I was harboring deep feelings for him. I mean, yes, I was attracted to him and fully enjoyed the physical part of our fake relationship, but it was more than that. I was upset that Slate was okay living his life like a gigolo.
Okay, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration. Women weren’t paying to be with him, but with how fast he went from girl to girl, it definitely wasn’t an aspirational forever lifestyle.
The truth was, I was mad at him. Which was dumb because I wasn’t his keeper, but still. He deserved so much more than what he had resigned himself to. Although, he didn’t exactly view his choices as a bad thing.
I sighed internally. Ugh. I didn’t want to think about this anymore. I’d known about his lifestyle choices from the beginning. Slate was Slate, and nothing I could do was going to change that.
Once we arrived at our apartment building, Olivia and I said good night, and I thanked her for driving me home, telling her we’d talk later. I was extremely grateful she understood my need to get away.
I showered and got ready for bed, wanting to fall into a nice deep sleep, possibly even sleep away half of Sunday.
My head had barely hit my pillow when my phone screen lit up the dark room. I lay there determined not to look at it. A few seconds passed, and the room went dark again.
Oh, who was I kidding? I totally needed to know what the notification was.
Reaching over, I grabbed my phone off the charger on my nightstand. The screen lit up when I touched it, showing I had a text from Slate.
Slate:Are you mad at me?
Yes.
Me:No.
Slate:Then what’s wrong?
