Page 100 of That Fake Feeling

Ihold up my hands, still white with sunscreen. “I’verun out of skin.”

“Rinseit off in the water.”

“Terriblewaste.”Iwring my hands in an effort to rub it in as hard asIcan, while we walk along with the ocean lapping at our feet.

Butamid all these dreamy possibilities of a fairytale life, there is one practical part of realityIcan’t ignore—one with a ticking clock.

“AndI’llhave to get busy looking for somewhere to live soon.Intime for when school starts.”Someof the cream finally starts to disappear.

“Why?Youcould just stay with me,” he says, like suggesting someone live with you is a completely casual and normal thing to do.

Atremor of panic hits my stomach. “What?”

Istop and face him.Myinner voice is now shouting too loudly for me to ignore.It’sway too soon to live with him.HowcouldIpossibly be ready for that?

“Oh,Imean, you could still stay on the guest floor,” he says. “Likehaving your own place within my place.”Helooks concerned that he’s pushed me too far. “Wedon’t have to be likeactuallyliving together, if that worries you.”

There’sa tremble in my hands.Iconcentrate extra hard on wringing the remainder of the slippery lotion into them to try to bring them back under control.

“Idon’t know, it all seems a bit—”

Myheart stops or jolts—possibly both—then races as my blood runs red hot.

“What’swrong?”Connorputs his hand on my upper arm. “I’msorry,Ididn’t mean to rush things.Areyou okay?You’vegone white.”

Ilook down at the sand glistening through the shallow water. “Mom’sring.Itslid off my finger because of all the sunscreen.”

Ihold up my bare right hand.

Heknows exactly how much it means to me.

“Shit.”Connorcrouches to look for it. “Thereit is!”

Yes, there it is, the white pearl stands out against the wet brown sand. “Oh, thankGod.”

Justas his fingers break the surface, another wave laps over our feet, clouding the water.

“Fuck.”Connorstares down. “Wheredid it go?”

It’sgone.

Theone thing ofMom’sthatIkeep with me twenty-four hours a day, the thingIcan look at wheneverIwant, and touch wheneverIneed comfort, has vanished into theAtlanticOcean.

Myinsides buckle with grief.Panicrises from my chest and knots in my throat.I’msuch an idiot.Notjust an idiot for dropping it, but an idiot who dropped it because she was going for a romantic walk with a guy.

Myeyes sting, my gut twists, andI’velost the power of speech.HowhaveIallowed things to go this far?Thisis the priceIpay for allowing myself some pleasure.It’smy punishment.Iknow better.IknowIhave to stay focused.IfI’djust worked and studied, this wouldn’t have happened.I’dbe sitting somewhere quietly withMom’sring still firmly on my finger.

IfIwas treating this like a job, likeIknewIshould, we would not be walking ankle-deep in the ocean on our way to a romantic beachfront breakfast.We’dbe doing something staged and controlled and something that doesn’t involve me losing the most precious itemIown.

Asthe water retreats again,Connorpoints about three feet in front of him. “There!”

Hestretches forward to scoop it up, but at the same moment another wave comes in and drags it farther out of his reach.Ashe lunges for one last chance to catch it, he topples forward and lands face-first in the water.

“Shit,Connor.”Ibend down to check on him as he pushes himself up onto his knees. “Areyou all right?”

Here-emerges with the front of his hair plastered to his forehead, water dripping off the end of his nose, kneeling in the sea with a proud smile across his face.

Heholds the ring aloft like it’s anOlympicgold medal. “Gotit!”