Page 78 of The Fake WIfe Playbook

I would have said yes yesterday. But today? I’m not so sure.

We’ve been together for over a month, and I thought she would’ve said, “I love you” by now.

I turn away and head straight for the bar downstairs. I need to distance myself before I do something I can’t take back.

The hotel bar is packed with familiar faces—stagehands and a few of her bandmates. No doubt they are unwinding after the show.

I slide onto a stool near the corner, ignoring the stares, and order something strong. No words, just a look at the bartender, who gets the message fast.

“Rough night?” Her guitarist—Nate, I think—slides into the seat next to me, half-grinning.

I let out a short, humorless laugh and took a long pull from the glass. “You could say that.”

He glances around. “Kate?”

I arch a brow at him. How the hell did he know?

He holds up his hands, like he’s easy to amuse. “Man, you’re not exactly subtle. Half of us heard the shouting from upstairs.”

Fuck. Just what I didn’t want—an audience.

I down the rest of my drink in two swallows, but it doesn’t take the edge off. It’s not even close.

“She’s pissed,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face.

Nate shrugs, like he’s seen this before. “She’s stubborn. But she’s not cruel.”

I scoff. “You don’t know what she said, it seemed a bit cruel to me.”

“Don’t need to,” he says, sipping his beer. “She’s got a mouth on her, but she doesn’t shut people out unless they matter.”

That makes me pause. What? I matter? Did I jump to the wrong conclusion? She’s always been pushing me away—until she didn’t.

What changed? I need a road map for her because I’m getting whiplash trying to figure out her moods.

Nate dropped a bomb, and before I could ask him to decipher that, he tossed back his beer and left.

She doesn’t shut people out unless they matter. So, I sit there for aminute longer, staring at my empty glass, before I push off the stool and head back upstairs.

My chest is heavier with all the emotions I have bottled up. I don’t want to scrutinize them right now, and my ego’s still fucking bruised—but none of it matters compared to the need I have to make things right with Kate.

I knock softly and wait. No answer. I’m not surprised, so I knock again.

“Kate. Let me in.”

I’m greeted by silence. I’m not surprised. She can be stubborn, so I lean my forehead against the door and lower my voice. “I shouldn’t have done that back there. I crossed a line. I know it.”

Still nothing—but I hear movement inside.

I keep going, “You’re right. I wasn’t protecting you—I was claiming you. And that wasn’t fair.”

The door clicks. Slowly, it opens. Kate stands there, eyes red, arms crossed, her jaw set, her lips pursed—but she lets me in.

I step inside, leaving the door open behind me in case I need to make a fast exit.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice low. “I shouldn’t have stepped in like that. You had every right to be pissed.”

She watches me carefully, her arms slowly lowering.