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“It’s nothing.” The phone is quickly dropped into her purse, and suddenly, everything is way more interesting than me. She’s great at avoiding topics that make her uncomfortable, but I still see right through her.

I’d love to give her a hard time and dig for more details, but even in five-inch heels, she’s taking the lead. She hails a cab, and of course, two speed her way. Dressed to kill in a pale pink dress and black heels will do it. She climbs in the back just as I reach the taxi.

She gives the driver directions and then sits back, clutching her purse.

“If you don’t want to talk about some guy you’re seeing, that’s fine, but can we talk about Rad?” I ask.

Rad always says my eyes are beautiful, but Marlow’s are striking and piercing when she doesn’t want to discuss a certain topic. Like now.

When she doesn’t say anything, I say, “I’ve heard a little about this, but I guess I’m wondering when the charade ends?”

Shrugging, she asks, “What’s the hurry? We’re not hurting anyone.”

Except me, though technically, I don’t have a right to that claim. They aren’t hurting me at all. But the thought of them even pretending is starting to bug me more and more. Among others, this is one of the reasons I can’t share my happiness with my friends. And why isn’t she in a hurry to end it?

Marlow always gets the guy. Now I’m dating the only one I’ve ever dreamed of, and for him to even pretend to date her feels like a slap in the face of our relationship.

Maybe I’m being irrational. They haven’t done anything, and they don’t plan to, other than put on a little show for her dad. What’s the harm in that?

Maybe there is none. . .

“Just curious. It’s a little odd to scheme your dad out of an apartment.”

Offense tightens her lips. “We’re not scheming, Tealey. He wants to give me the apartment.”

“Under the guise of being with Rad.” I hate how angry I sound. It even catches her off guard.

“Why are you so upset, Tealey? Why do you even care?” Something dawns in her eyes before I can think of how to answer that. “Are you jealous?”

And there it is . . . laid out in the simplest form.

I am jealous of their fake relationship. It makes no sense other than I want him all to myself. Leaning forward, I ask the driver, “Do you mind turning up the air-conditioning?”

“Oh, my God,” she says, sitting back and angling her knees toward me. “You’re jealous. Why? Why would you be . . . Ah. Only you’re allowed to have a crush on Rad.”

“You have a crush on Rad?”

She stares at me, her expression kicked into neutral.

When she sighs, she faces forward again.

The silence is killing me, so I start tugging at a loose thread on my shirt’s hem.

Seconds feel torturously long and turn into minutes.

I glance out the window, knowing we’ll be approaching Rad’s building soon.

Desperate to get answers and then smooth things over before I have to leave, I ask, “Marlow?”

Her sigh is heavier this time, filled with disappointment, like her eyes when she looks at me. “I don’t have a crush on Rad. I never did, and I don’t now.” The car pulls to the curb.

Her tone is steeped in anger, and she looks away from me again.

Having her mad at me hurts, and I’m not sure I can fix this before costing her a fortune in cab fare. “I’m sorry.” Lifting her chin minutely, she continues to stare ahead. “I think it’s best if I just leave?—”

“Yes,” she adds.

I open the door and wade through the quicksand of emotions as I get out of the vehicle. I can’t leave it like this. Turning back, I lower my head. “Marlow, I’m?—”

“It doesn’t bother me that you think I have a crush on Rad. He’s the type I usually date—attractive, great body, even better career, and financially well off.”

Though I’m tempted to roll my eyes, I don’t because it will only add fuel to the fire.

This time, I keep my mouth shut. She continues, “So it’s not a great leap to assume we’d make a great couple.

We’re a match on many levels. But what hurts is you think I’d act on it, knowing how you feel about him.

” She grabs the handle of the door and slams it shut.

The cab pulls away, leaving me standing with my jaw on the sidewalk and a spike through my heart.

Marlow is not my enemy, like Kayla. She’s the opposite, my best friend. Of course, she’d never hurt me. I just wish that while they get to go public with their arrangement, I wasn’t stuck hiding the real thing.

Just a few more weeks , I remind myself as I head for the apartment. Why’d I let jealousy get in the way of my friendship? I stop and pull out my phone. Texting Marlow, I type: I’m sorry. I know you’d never hurt me.

The three dots wave across the screen, not coming soon enough.

When they disappear, a message replaces them: I appreciate that because I wouldn’t, but I worry that you’re going to be hurt when he starts dating someone seriously.

Maybe it’s time for you to start dating again.

I know this great guy, an art collector, who could take your mind off Rad. I’ll shoot him a text.

Panicking, I start typing: No.

Me: I’m good.

Me: I don’t need to be set up.

Me: I’m good.

Crap! I already typed that .

Marlow: Too late. He said yes to being your date to the wedding.

Beyond a million reasons I can think of why I don’t need my friends setting me up, everything from I don’t need a man to complete me to dealing with enough life changes at the moment, only one matters most.

Rad.