Page 59 of The Bluffing Game

“I don’t really know what this is about, but⁠—”

“But what?”

“I hope you’ll tell me soon, or I’m going to hang up. I’m currently standing outside, and I want to go back inside because I have a feeling your sister and my sister have eaten all the chili cheese fries and probably all the onion rings, and Rosie’s probably eaten my burger as well, and I’m still hungry.”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize you were still at the restaurant with the girls.” I laugh, suddenly feeling lighter. “Why did you answer the phone?”

“Because you called me and I thought it might be something important, but if it’s not, can I go back to my food?”

“You can come over if you want.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“To get some food. I could make something for you,” I say casually, and there’s silence on the line. “I’m just joking, of course. I’m not going to make something for you. I was just trying to have my wicked way with you, like the big bad wolf that I am.” I run my fingers down my chest and let out a low, teasing growl.

“Yeah, okay, Dalton. If there’s nothing else, I’m going to go.”

“There’s nothing else,” I say softly, and she hangs up the phone.

I groan into my hands as I sit up and then get out of bed.

That entire conversation was bullshit. I sounded like a thirteen-year-old guy calling his first crush and not knowing what to say.

I don’t know what it is about Sage. Maybe it is because she is so prickly and so confident, and yet I can see her soft interior. Maybe it is the way that sometimes, I stare into her eyes, and I can see the longing and the wonder and the hope, and I want to know what is in her brain, what she is hoping for, what she is seeking.

Occasionally, I even think she is the sort of woman who can understand me, where I came from, the things I have done, how much I hate the man that I was, and how I am trying to atone for my sins. Yet there is a part of me deep down inside that doesn’t think that there will ever be a woman who can accept and understand that I am a deeply flawed man with a complicated past. Not that I deserve that.

“Get a grip, man,” I lecture myself as I enter the bathroom, grab my toothbrush, and brush my teeth.

My mind races back to the app, to Sage looking for dates, to Sage chatting with other men, to her opening up. I bet she’d answer their questions. I bet if I were a man on the app, I could really get to know her.

“Don’t do it, man,” I mutter to myself. But as I finish washing my face, I’m mentally creating a fake profile.

I grab my phone.

“This is not a good idea, Dalton.”

I want to stop myself, but I can’t. My fingers rapidly type in the name for the dating app and download it. Before I know it, I’m signing up with a fake name and creating a fake profile.

Username: Lovemakesiteasy

Name: Bradley

Career: Equity Banker

Net Worth: Ten Figures

Searching For: Love and Marriage

I find an old photo from college and run it through an AI app. I give myself blond hair, blue eyes, and a deep tan and upload it. I pause before I hit the button to confirm my membership. I am signing up as a fake billionaire, as a handsome man who is looking for true love and marriage.

I feel like I am crossing a line, but I can’t help myself. I want access to Sage that I can’t get as myself. I am doing it so that I can see who Sage is, if the person she is inside is the person she shows me. I don’t know if I will even message her, but there is something in me longing to get to know her on a deeper level, and I know that can’t happen in person, not with the way that we began. Maybe it’s just in my head. Maybe it is just for fun; maybe it is just to alleviate my boredom when I am home at night, but as I complete the transaction, type in her username, and see her beautiful photo pop up on the screen, I feel a dull ache in my heart.

Part of me wishes I could be me and message her to see if she’d go on a date, but I know she wouldn’t, so this is the second-best thing. I can be the man she wants—at least, I can pretend to be—and then I will find a way to truly get to know her. I don’t know why I feel this way. I don’t want to second-guess my reasons, but it doesn’t matter. She likely won’t even respond, and then it won’t matter. But if she does, then the conversations could be endless, and all I want, just once in my life, is to feel a connection with someone who doesn’t know who I am, who doesn’t judge me, who gets to know me for the person I am inside, and I want that person to be Sage.

Chapter 17

SAGE