"Then I regret not asking earlier," Fabian teased, winking at me. "If it was your first time, I would've made it even more special."
My traitorous body flustered at the euphemism, making my cheeks hot. I was thankful for the darkness outside so he couldn't see them. Why was I even thinking about his comment that way?
"Not necessary," I mumbled.
"If you say so," Fabian replied airily.
We didn't speak much for the rest of the ride home, which sucked because it meant I was left to my thoughts. I must've been exhausted and overstimulated by the day—what other reason did my brain have to be mired in a concoction of such strange ideas? As if Fabian'svirgincomment wasn't bad enough, I couldn't stop remembering what he said to me in his private office. He'd insisted I wasn't ugly, but that was a lie. It didn't make a difference if the words came from Fabian, or Alice, or Donna, or anyone else. The proof was in the pudding.
The limo pulled up to the curb in front of my house. It wasn't anything special, just a dime a dozen townhouse that looked identical to the other copy-and-pasted homes down the street. I felt a little self-conscious that Fabian was seeing it. He probably lived in a McMansion in a private neighbourhood.
"Well, thanks for the ride, I said, reaching for the door.
He stood. "Please, allow me."
Before I could stop him, he left the limo and came to the other side to open my door. Why he went to all that effort, I had no idea. I thought of all the Fabian fan girls and fan boys that would cream their pants if they were in my situation. Instead I only felt a little embarrassed.
"You don't have to do that," I mumbled.
"I wanted to."
I raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
Fabian tilted his head. "Why didn't you refuse this opportunity when I gave you the chance?"
I blinked. Well, that came out of nowhere. Did he mean when he gave me the ultimatum in the elevator?
"I don't know," I admitted.
Fabian smiled. "Then I don't know why I wanted to open your door, either."
I let out a one note laugh. "You are so weird."
To make the situation weirder, Fabian escorted me to my front door. As he followed me, I grew increasingly confused. This was totally unnecessary. Why didn't he just get back in his limo and go home to his mega mansion, where he could scroll through his phone, luxuriating in the comments of his millions of fans?
Why was he so stuck onmeof all people?
At the front door, I didn't pull out my key. I turned around and faced him.
"You're a liar," I said. Fabian's expression shifted, but I didn't let him interrupt me. "I'm not mad, I just want you to know that I don't like being lied to. So tomorrow, cut the crap, okay?"
I expected him to get mad—who wouldn't be after being called a liar point-blank to their face? But after the initial surprise melted off Fabian's face, his gaze softened.
"Stan, who hurt you?" he asked.
The question came out of left field. It may as well been a slap in the face.
"What?"
"I said, who—"
I sputtered, "I know what you said. I… I don't know what you're talking about." I nodded to the limo, which was idling by the curb. "You should get going. Your driver’s waiting."
Without turning around, Fabian held up a hand high enough for Daniel to see. The limo's engine suddenly turned off.
"Don't try to change the subject, please," Fabian said mildly. "I'll have you know that I never lie. When I speak my mind, I mean what I say. And when I look at you, Stan, I see you for who you are."
I bristled. "You mean on the inside, right? That's what people always say."
