When Love Is Unexpected: A Sweet Fake Relationship Friends To Lovers Romance

4. Chapter 4

When she closes her eyes, I take a moment to look at her. Her eyelashes are long and dark against her pale skin. The freckles dusting her face are begging me for a kiss. Her lips are full, pink, and smiling.

My heart is thundering inside my chest. I never imagined a lie would turn into an invitation to a kiss.

I wrap my hands around her arms. She”s warm and soft under my touch.

”Laila,” I say.

”What?” she asks, puckering her lips and keeping her eyes closed.

”Open your eyes, Laila.”

She opens her eyes and looks at me appraisingly. When she lifts her hands and rests them on my abs, the gesture feels a lot more intimate than it should.

”Robert Samuel Jameson,” she says, still looking up at me, ”why are you so afraid to finish what you started?”

It takes all the willpower I have in me to keep from kissing her.

”I”m not going to kiss you,” I say.

”Why not?” she asks.

”Because we”re friends,” I say. ”Good friends.”

She nods and gives me a weak smile.

”Laila, I would rather be your friend for the next sixty years than kiss you once and risk losing your friendship forever.”

”That”s the sweetest thing you”ve ever said to me,” she says.

I reach for her and wrap my arms around her.

”You”re right,” she continues, resting her head on my chest and taking a deep breath. ”Our friendship is one of the most important things in my life.”

”So, you agree that sharing a kiss is crossing the line?” I ask.

”I think we”re both mature adults,” she says. ”We know what we”re about to do is a lie. Pretend.”

”If I kiss you,” I say honestly, ”I won”t be pretending.”

She tilts her head back and looks at me.

”I better go,” she says.

”Yeah, I need to get some sleep,” I say.

”Did you still want to go for a run in the morning?”

”Absolutely,” I say.

We meet at our usual spot. It”s a little past seven when Laila shows up wearing black running tights and a blue half-marathon T-shirt she got a couple of years ago when we ran the race together. Her hair is tied in a ponytail. When the sunlight hits her face, I can see all the colors in her eyes. There are golds, browns, blues, and turquoise, all working together like a chorus to create the beautiful green that is her unique eye color.

For the next thirty minutes, we discuss strategy and go over more family names. My large extended family will be there for Emma”s wedding.

”Where are we staying?” asks Laila.

”My parents still live in the house where I grew up,” I say. ”They turned my bedroom into a guest room, so you can stay there?”

”What about you?” Laila asks.

”I”ll stay in one of the other rooms.”

”Won”t they be expecting us to stay in the same room?” she asks.

”I doubt they would ask about our sleeping arrangements,” I say. ”But if they do, we”ll just say, I don”t know. We”ll lie and say you”re still a virgin or something.

When I”m met with silence, I look over at her.

”What?” I ask.

”Nothing,” she says. ”Have you ever brought home someone you”re dating and not sleeping with? Will they believe you?”

Now, I”m the one who”s silent.

”I”m not a saint, Laila. I”m almost thirty years old, and I”ve been in committed relationships. Just not recently”.

Since I met you to be exact, I think, but don”t share.

”You said your relationships in Greece were serious,” Laila says. ”So, would you have shared your room with them?”

”Well, aren”t you inquisitive?” I ask.

”Another way to say I”m being nosey,” she corrects me.

”Ok,” I say. ”Tell me this. When was the last time you slept with Eric? Months ago, weeks ago, or was it the night before you broke up with him?”

She stops dead in her tracks and crosses her arms before glaring at me.

”Exactly,” I say. ”We don”t talk about our sex lives.”

”You”re being insulting,” she says. ”You don”t—.”

”Speak of the devil,” I say when I look up and spot Eric jogging this way.

Laila glances over her shoulder and then looks back at me.

”Let me deal with this,” she says before walking away to meet Eric, putting some distance between us.

I try not to stare in their direction. I can hear them talking, but I can”t make out what they”re saying.

She reaches for his arm, but he jerks it away. His hand movements are animated, and his facial expression is angry.

I can”t see her face, but her body language remains calm.

He”s pointing at me now but still addressing her. Reading lips is not my forte, but I”m sure he just made a derogatory remark aimed at me. I want to walk over to them, but I have to respect Laila”s wishes.

Watching them without being able to intervene is putting every single nerve in my body on edge.

As the minutes tick by, I wonder if I should walk away and let them hash it out in private or wait, if only to ensure things don”t escalate.

A couple of minutes later, their conversation ends, and he takes off jogging in the opposite direction.

”Are you ok?” I ask as soon as Laila walks back.

”Yes, I”m fine,” she says. ”I hurt him, and he”s angry.”

”From the looks of it,” I say, ”he”s angry at me too.”

”He”s under the impression that I broke up with him because you”re back.”

”He thinks there”s something going on between us,” I say.

She nods, looking sad and vulnerable. I reach for her arm and pull her in for a hug.

”I”m sorry I”m so sweaty,” I say.

”It”s okay,” she says with a weak smile. ”You still smell good.”

We stand together in a sweaty embrace for a few seconds before we start running again.

When I get home, I check my cell and see that I have several missed calls. One was from Mom, and the other three were from my sister, Emma.

”Hi, Mom,” I say as soon as she picks up.

”Hi, Son. Will you be here on Saturday, as planned?”

”Yes, don”t worry, we”ll be there.”

”I know you mentioned a month ago that you might be bringing your girlfriend. Sounds like she”s for sure coming.”

”Yes,” I say. ”Laila is coming with me.”

”Laila?” she asks, ”Is this the same Laila you know in Cold Spring?”

”Yes,” I say. ”Why?”

”Well, I knew you two were friends, but you never mentioned you”re in a relationship with her.”

”It”s new,” I say.

”You”ve been in Greece, and she”s been here. How did you manage that?”

Oh boy.

”Um, we realized we missed each other when we were apart,” I say. ”So, we started a long-distance relationship.”

Please, please work,I pray silently.

”Oh, that”s so romantic,” Mom says. ”I can”t wait to meet her.”

”You”re going to love her,” I say. ”She”s incredible. She”s beautiful, smart, and funny. Her green eyes look into my soul every time she looks at me.”

”Wow,” Mom says. ”I don”t think I”ve ever heard you express yourself this way about anyone before, not even Patricia.”

Patricia, my high school sweetheart, the woman who broke my heart and the reason I left San Diego.

When I hang up the phone, I consider that I left my hometown seven years ago because a woman rejected me and again a year ago because I knew I could never have the woman I wanted. It”s a pattern with me. If they don”t love me, I leave. I run away like a coward.

But I never returned to San Diego the way I”ve returned to Cold Spring. If I”m being completely honest with myself, I couldn”t stay away. I missed Laila like I miss breathing. I had to see her again, so here I am, ready to embark on a path lined with deception. I don”t know how to even begin, and worse yet, I don”t have a clue as to how it will end.

When I call Emma, she gives me a list of things I need to do and puts me on a schedule to make sure everything gets done in time for her big day.

We make arrangements to have me fitted for a tuxedo at a local tailor and send my measurements to the tailor in San Diego, who graciously agreed to make my tux at what would be considered the eleventh hour.

”You”re a size fourteen in shoes, right?”

”Fourteen and a half,” I say.

”The men are all getting together on Monday to go golfing,” she says, ”You have to go.”

”I”ll be there,” I say, knowing better than to remind her I hate golf.

”The wedding rehearsal is a week from tomorrow,” she continues. ”Do not miss it!”

”Okay,” I say, knowing I should keep my input at a minimum.

”The bachelor party is Thursday,” she says. ”And the rehearsal dinner is Friday. Let me see if I”m forgetting anything.”

”I think you”ve covered everything,” I say.

”You”ll need to give a toast,” she says. ”Please keep it simple and classy. Make it funny, but do not embarrass me.”

”Yes, ma”am,” I say.

I let out a chuckle because I realize I”m being micromanaged by my little sister.

When we”re done going over the wedding plans, she switches gears and wants to talk about Laila.

”How did it happen?” she asks.

”I don”t know,” I say. ”It just did.”

”When did it happen?”

”The moment I laid eyes on her, she took my breath away.”

”I thought you two were just friends,” she says.

”We were just friends,” I say. ”Were being the operative word.”

”Why didn”t you say anything?” she asks. ”I think it”s strange that you never mentioned how you felt or that you two are together.”

”Maybe I wanted to keep my private life private.”

”Okay, well, we can”t wait to meet her. She better be nice.”

”She”s amazing,” I say.

”One more thing before you go,” she says.

Her tone tells me it”s something important. ”What is it?” I ask.

”Patricia,” she says, and my blood runs cold. ”She”s one of the organizers for your high school reunion. She called several weeks ago and asked if you were planning to attend. I told her you were living abroad and that I didn”t know if you”d come back for a reunion.”

”Thanks,” I say. ”I am planning to attend.”

After we end the call, I go into the bathroom to shower. I pull my sweaty T-shirt over my head and focus on the small tattoo on my chest. It”s a single word written in Arabic. A foreign word that serves as a reminder of what I so desperately want but can never have.

After Loren married Aaron and moved to Boston, I rented this house from her. I lived here for almost a year before moving to Athens. Laila and I spent so much time in this house that it”s hard not to connect everything in here with a memory of our friendship.

She”d come over a few times a week, and I”d help her study. The other days, I”d be at her house. I”d test her on all things medicine, from anatomy to molecular and cellular biology. The woman is brilliant.

During our last video chat, I apologized for missing her graduation and not being here to celebrate with her. I could tell she was disappointed, but she didn”t hold it against me.

The night before I left for Athens, Laila came over to make me what she called a ”bon voyage” dinner. She made a pot roast with mashed potatoes and green beans with bacon. After dinner, we washed the dishes together, had coffee, and shared a slice of strawberry cheesecake.

When it was time for her to leave, she got emotional.

”I”m going to miss you,” she said. ”Who”s going to help me get through my last year of medical school?

”I”m sorry,” is all I could say.

”Why are you leaving?” she asked. ”Because I don”t think you”re being honest with me.”

When she started crying, I wiped a tear from her cheek.

”Don”t cry,” I said. ”Please don”t cry.”

”You”re breaking my heart,” she said.

Her gaze was so penetrating I thought she was looking right into my soul, searching for an answer to her question, ”Why are you leaving?”

Her disagreements with Eric had worsened in the past six months. Half of them were because he wanted more time with her, and the other half were because the free time she did have she spent with me. She wanted Eric, the boyfriend, and she wanted Sam, the friend, but she only had time for one. That put me at a disadvantage. I was essentially the third wheel. Things, as they stood, were no longer sustainable. Sooner or later, Eric was going to give her an ultimatum. I could almost hear him saying, ”It”s either him or me.” I didn”t want to be at the losing end of that tug-of-war. Something had to give, so I chose to leave.

Of course, I couldn”t tell her any of this, so I lied.

”I”m not one who stays in one place for too long,” I said. ”It”s time for me to explore a new country and meet new people.”

”Why did you buy the studio then?” she asked.

”Loren needed a buyer,” I said. ”Cold Spring is attracting more tourists every year, and I see it as an investment.”

”I don”t believe you,” she said.

”What else could it be?” I asked, never imagining she”d hit the nail on the head.

”I think you”re leaving because you think you”re coming between me and Eric.”

”And you don”t think I am?”

”Sam, you”re my best friend,” she said.

”Eric should be your best friend,” I said.

”There”s a difference between having a boyfriend and having a man who”s just a friend,” she clarified.

”Just a friend,” I echoed.

”You know what I mean,” she said. ”You”re the only male friend I”ve had in a long time.”

”Why is that?” I asked.

She looked away like she was searching for an answer.

”Well,” she began, ”I”ve tried being friends with men, but it never ends well. Even those who were real friends and genuinely liked me as a person ended their friendship with me the moment their significant others felt threatened. That includes my gay friend, Connor. His boyfriend made him choose. Connor chose him, and I got dumped. That was in tenth grade. I was devastated.”

”I don”t think you realize the effect you have on people,” I said.

”What do you mean?” she asked.

”I can see why women would feel threatened by you. And why most men would want to be more than friends.”

”Which proves my point,” she said. ”You”re different.”

”I”m really not,” I said. ”I think falling in love with you would be the easiest thing in the world for any man, including me.”

She didn”t say anything, but her eyes filled with tears.

She looked vulnerable. I wanted to make her feel better, but I didn”t know how. I wanted to kiss away the hurt and disappointment. When another tear streamed down her face, I kissed her cheek. The tear on my lips did nothing to extinguish the emotion welling up inside me—time stood still. I could almost hear our hearts beating rhythmically together. My face was so close to hers that I could feel her warm breath on my cheek. One slight tilt to the side and our lips would”ve met. When she touched my arm, I expected her to push me away. Instead, she moved her hand up my arm to my shoulder until it reached the back of my neck. When she pulled me closer, I reached up and gently pulled her hand away and brought it to my lips.

”It”s getting late,” I said.

”I don”t want to leave,” she said. ”It hurts to know you won”t be here tomorrow.”

”I”ll call you as soon as I can,” I said.

What time is your flight?”

”Eleven,” I said. ”I”m leaving at seven.”

”Please let me drive you,” she said, sniffling.

”We talked about this,” I said. ”Zoe is driving me to the airport.”

She crossed her arms and glared at me.

”I thought it would be easier for both of us if you didn”t go,” I said.

At that moment, so many emotions crossed her face that I didn”t know what to say, but like the total imbecile that I am, I said, ”Let me walk you to the door,” effectively wounding her feelings and her pride with one short, dismissive statement.

When we both stepped outside, she lunged at me and hugged me tight. I hugged her back. Neither of us wanted to break the connection and say goodbye. When our bodies finally separated a few inches, she kept one arm wrapped around my neck and a hand flat on my chest.

”I can feel your heartbeat,” she said.

I kissed her on the forehead one last time and said goodnight. Watching her walk away was one of the hardest things I”ve ever had to do. I wanted to run after her, wrap my arms around her, and kiss her, but I let her go, and she let me go.