“No!” I turned my head away. “It’s just been a long week.”
Noah’s eyes softened. “Is it the comments again?”
Over the past few weeks, I had been inundated with comments from random people on Instagram. Mostly fans of Noah’s, but a few other stragglers too. Many people were positive and encouraging of our relationship, but some got…intense. Not in a good way.
My DMs were flooded with ignorant comments and immature insults about my appearance and intelligence. I’d come to the conclusion that ignorance, paired with access to anonymity on social media, was lethal.
More importantly, I didn’t understand thewhybehind the hate. If you wanted to hate me for my chipped fingernail polish or my inability to parallel park, sure, but supposedly hooking up with a guy was not a viable reason.
So yeah. The whole scenario sucked. Definitely wasn’t on my Bingo card when we agreed to fake date.
“Yes,” I said. “But it doesn’t matter. I don’t care what people think.”
Noah’s finger traced the rim of his glass, moving down to catch the condensation before it hit the top of the bar. “It’s not always about not caring what other people think. It’s about caring what the right people think. You don’t have to make any changes based on the right people’s opinions, but they can put things into perspective.”
“What do you think?”
His finger froze on the glass, and he pushed it an inch away. “I think if people on the Internet got the chance to know the real you, they’d never leave a mean comment again. People don’t want to acknowledge their jealousy in a healthy manner, so they take it out on the object of it through insults, then convince themselves that person is the problem. But you’re not the problem. You’re what they aspire to be, and they hate it.”
There was a familiar sting in the back of my eyes. “Because they think I’m dating you.”
“No,” he said. “Because you’re a successful, independent woman. One who’s effortlessly beautiful. If only they knew that fake dating is a perk for me, not you.”
A laugh escaped me, a little wet and bubbly. “I wish everyone on the Internet was as nice as you’re being to me right now.”
“I can be nice to you as often as it takes to make you forget they’re not.”
My breath hitched, and for a moment, the rest of the world blurred into the background. I leaned my head against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of him against my cheek as he murmured, “But I have to insult you once more, though.”
“Huh?”
He laughed and pointed behind me, to where Nathan was handing Ariadne a drink. “You are horrible at taking bets.”
A smile crept onto my face, and I hid it in his shoulder, my laughter muffled against him. “Yeah,” I said softly, the words more for him than anyone else. “I really am.”
17
NOAH
Once, when we were kids, Mom took Daphne and me to a local coffee shop for her birthday. All she wanted to celebrate was us, a hot latte, and a slice of cake. The coffee shop we went to was a little rough around the edges, but they always had a fire brewing in the corner.
Daphne and I sat on a rug on the floor, splitting a cup of hot chocolate. Mom reread her favorite romance book as her kids played endless games of tic-tac-toe. After an hour, a barista brought a slice of red velvet cake with a lit candle as everyone in the coffee shop sang Happy Birthday.
“Coffee and cake can solve anything,” the barista, an old woman with gray hair, said.
I had taken those words to heart.
Mom had a bad day? Coffee and cake.
Daphne experienced her first heartbreak? Coffee and cake.
That simple piece of advice changed the way I approached my problems for years.
Now, as I stood outside my neighborhood coffee shop, scrolling through Instagram, I wished solving my current problems were that simple.
There were a lot of frequent commenters on Macey’s Instagram. One account in particular,Fishly541, left rude comments daily. Even though I was normally very good at ignoring the rude comments on my own photos, for some reason, I struggled to do the same with Macey’s photos.
Your not even that good a writer.
