Page 41 of Fun Together (Make Romance #1)

It’s true, the summer is almost over. It always seems to end both too soon, and not soon enough.

I look over at Faye and her eyes are closed. I reach over and graze the back of my index finger against her arm and keep my voice low and soft. “Faye, baby, you ready to go?”

She peeks her eyes open and for a moment we just look at each other.

We’re finally alone and I can’t read her at all.

Not sure if she just heard that “baby” endearment slip out.

I’m doing that a lot tonight, saying things to her I’ve been wanting to say for a while, but managing to choose the worst time to do it.

She sits up and nods. “Let me go use the restroom and grab my purse.”

We head inside and Andrew looks up at our entrance.

“Sadly, looks like the party is over,” I say. I feel myself trying to be casual and it sounds so stupid to my own ears. Like the three of us aren’t all very aware that this party is beyond over.

Faye smiles carefully at Andrew. “It was good to see you,” she says.

He smiles carefully back at her. I want to scream this is so awkward. “Good to see you, too.”

“I’ll be right back,” she says before heading down the hallway.

“I drove us here,” I explain. “I’ll just run her home and come back.” I grab a glass from the cabinet. I feel like my fight or flight has been engaged, I’m so nervous. This is my best friend, and I’m terrified to be in the same room with him. “You want some water?”

“Sure.”

I take another glass down and fill them both up, biding my time before I take a seat on a stool across from him.

He takes a sip of his water. “So, what’s up with you and Faye?”

I pause, glass halfway up to my mouth. “What do you mean?”

“You guys are different around each other. More familiar. It’s almost like you’re . . . together or something.” He shakes his head as if it’s so hard to believe, it can’t possibly be true.

This need to tell him the truth is going to claw its way out of me. I’m scrambling, thinking of the best way to broach this subject, knowing Faye will hate me if I tell him about us. Knowing that I can’t keep this a secret from my best friend anymore. “We’re not . . . together exactly.”

“What do you mean by exactly ?”

“It’s . . . I don’t know”

“Are you sleeping with her?”

I don’t say anything which I guess is answer enough for him.

He bounds off his seat and the stool screeches across the floor. “What the fuck?”

“It’s not what you think,” I say.

“I think you’re sleeping with my ex-girlfriend behind my back.”

“I’m not just sleeping with her. I . . . care about her.” I stand up, pacing now. “It’s complicated.”

“Yeah, I guess it is. What are you thinking? What is she thinking? How long has this been going on?”

“I feel awful keeping it from you and I’m sorry.” I take a steadying breath. “I’m sorry it’s hurting you to hear about it, but I’m not sorry it happened.”

“Was that your plan all along? You fucked up so bad in New York you decided to come home and take my life? Live in my apartment—check. Date my girlfriend—check.”

That hits me right in the chest, because what he’s saying isn’t exactly not true. “Come on, you know that’s not what I did.”

He slides his glass around on the countertop. Back and forth, back and forth. “I knew you always wanted her. I could see it back in school, the way you talked to her and looked at her.”

I had a crush on her, sure, but at the time it felt more like curiosity.

I wondered about her like you do when someone is interesting in a way you can’t put your finger on.

Maybe he saw my own feelings before I did, but that doesn’t mean I was waiting in the wings to swoop in and steal her while he was away.

“Andrew, please.” This is going so off the rails, I don’t know what to say to make him understand. “It wasn’t something I planned.”

“Are you in love with her?” he asks incredulously.

I don’t answer immediately, knowing how crazy it probably appears to him.

“Oh my god,” he says. “You are.”

“I didn’t mean to be.” I try to gather my thoughts. “It started with me helping her with some things. Job stuff, around her apartment . . . and it just became more.”

“I can’t believe this.” He laughs, but not a funny way.

He laughs in way that is almost terrifying, like when someone reaches a breaking point and they are on the verge of full hysteria.

“You can’t be with her,” he says, and now it sounds like he’s almost sorry for me, which makes me feel even worse.

“She’s going to find out you’re not serious about her and then she’ll be alone again. She won’t have you. She won’t have me.”

And then I feel another emotion wash over me so quickly, I feel like I’ve been doused with hot water. I’m suddenly angry, too, at the unfairness of our situation. He and Faye are not together anymore. Faye and I can be together if we all just work through this. I need us to work through this.

“And were you serious about her?” I ask.

He’s taken aback by my question. “I asked her to marry me. Of course I was serious about her.”

My stomach drops. So, he did finally ask her to marry him, then.

“Why did you wait so fucking long to ask her? You bought that ring before graduation.” I remember him showing it to me and asking me what I thought about it.

I didn’t know much about rings, but I knew that they seemed happy together.

It was the moment I came to the realization that I needed to leave, and start my own life.

He looks at me, bewildered, and sits back down on his stool. “I don’t know . . . I wanted to be sure.”

“Sure about what?”

“About her. You know how she is.”

“I know she’s amazing and it didn’t take me six years to figure that out. It took me six seconds. I’m glad I wasn’t here to watch you drag your feet with her.”

I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth when he crumples over and buries his head in his hands.

“I wasn’t dragging my feet. I wanted to—I was trying to be who she wanted.

I loved her. I don’t want to see her get hurt.

” His voice breaks a little, and I feel like a monster. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

I’m tired—so tired. I deflate onto a stool. “I won’t hurt her. I am serious about her.”

“And how does she feel about you?”

I can’t answer his question. Because that’s the same question I’ve been asking myself, too.

He looks at me for a few seconds before shaking his head. “I hope she’ll let you love her.” He gets up and places his empty glass in the sink.

When he leaves, he doesn’t storm out in an angry rush, but walks stoically over to the door, closing it with a soft click behind him.