25 #2
The shower helps clear my head, but when I come back and find Liv curled up on the couch watching some cooking show, my brain goes right back to static.
She’s wearing my shirt. When did she put on my t-shirt? Her legs are tucked under her, and she looks so perfectly at home in my living room that something in my chest does a weird flip.
“Room for one more?” I ask.
“Always.”
I drop down next to her and pull her into my arms without thinking about it. She settles against me, and in this moment, everything feels perfect.
Simple.
Right.
Then my brain starts working again, and everything gets complicated.
Because what just happened? That wasn’t part of the arrangement. That wasn’t fake girlfriend duties. That was real, and messy, and I have no idea what it means for us.
Are we dating now? Really dating? Or are we still in some weird limbo where she’s being paid to be here and I’m too pathetic to acknowledge that this might all be an elaborate performance?
The next wedding isn’t for a month. A whole month. Do I let her go back to LA for four weeks and pretend like this was just a fun weekend? Do I ask her to stay and risk looking desperate?
What if she wants to leave? What if she’s already planning her escape route?
What if I’m reading this all wrong?
“You’re thinking too loud,” Liv says, not looking away from the TV.
“Am I?”
“You get tense when you overthink. I can feel it.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Just tell me what’s wrong.”
I stare at the ceiling, trying to figure out how to ask what I need to ask without sounding like a complete disaster.
“Do you want to stay?” I blurt out. “Shit. I know you said you didn’t. It’s just… we won’t see each other for another month, and I want make sure we’re on the same page.”
She goes still in my arms. “That was subtle.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know you are. That’s what makes it terrifying.”
“Why is it terrifying?”
She pulls back to look at me, and there’s something in her expression I can’t read.
“Because if I stay, it’s like being paid to have sex, and I’m pretty sure that’s illegal in most states.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut.
Because she’s right. She’s absolutely right, and I hadn’t even thought about it that way.
She’s still being paid. And I just slept with her.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“I didn’t—” I start, then stop, because I don’t know how to finish that sentence.
“I know you didn’t mean it that way,” she says quickly. “I’m just pointing out that if I stay, it’s costing me money. I don’t know, West, this is complicated.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. Complicated is one word for it.
What she just said was out of left field. I’ve never known Liv to act that way. I guess it really was a facade this whole time. Now I’m starting to overthink again.
“I mean, what are we even doing here, West? Are we dating? Are we still fake dating? Are we friends with benefits? I honestly have no idea anymore.”
My eyes widen as I stare at the TV. “Neither do I.”
“Great. So we’re both confused.”
I nod. “Spectacularly confused.”
She settles back against me, but the easy comfort from before is gone now. There’s tension in her shoulders, distance in the way she’s holding herself. I feel distant too.
“I should probably go back to LA,” she says finally. “I shouldn’t leave Tessa hanging. I watch the kids a lot, and she depends on me. Plus you have your life here with your teammates, and you should enjoy this beautiful Seattle summer. I’ll be back before you know it.”
“The wedding’s in Napa,” I say. “So you don’t have to come back to Seattle if you don’t want to. I could just meet you there.”
“Oh,” she says. And maybe she’ll know why I’m putting emphasis on her staying longer.
The silence that follows feels soul-crushing.
Because I can practically hear her thinking. Calculating. Realizing that if she doesn’t have to come back here, she might not again.
Why would she? What’s here for her besides me? Hell, I’ve been trying to convince her that she’s good enough for me, but am I good enough for her?
“I didn’t think about that,” she says quietly.
“Yeah. So. You know. Options.”
I stare at the TV screen, watching the chef explain the importance of properly seasoning pasta water, and I realize that this moment with her in my arms, wearing my shirt, comfortable and warm and real might not happen again.
Not like this.
Not without the complication of money and travel and real life coming from every angle.
So I pull her tighter and kiss the top of her head and try to memorize the way she feels against me.
Just in case.
I want to tell her what I’m thinking. Want to say that I’m terrified she’s going to leave and realize that whatever this is between us isn’t worth the complication. Want to ask her to stay not because I’m paying her, but because I can’t imagine going back to living in this house without her in it.
Instead, I say, “Just tired. It’s been a long weekend.”
“It has.”
“It was a good weekend, though.”
“Yeah. Really good.”
But there’s something careful in her voice now. Something that wasn’t there an hour ago.
Something that tells me she’s already planning her exit strategy.
“Liv?”
“Mmm?”
“When you go back to LA, are you... are we still...?”
“Still what?”
“I don’t know. In touch? Friends? Something?”
She’s quiet for so long I start to panic.
“Of course we’ll stay in touch,” she says finally. “We’re going to see each other in a month.”
“Right. The wedding. And after that?”
“I don’t know, West. I guess we’ll figure it out as we go.”
“Yeah. As we go.” My heart races. Is this what a red flag is? Are there red flags in my vision right now? Holy shit, there is.
The episode ends, and another one starts, and we sit here watching it in silence.
But it’s not comfortable silence anymore. It’s the kind of silence that’s full of things we’re not saying. Questions we’re not asking. Feelings we’re not admitting.
And I realize that somewhere between the night of our kiss and right now, we’ve gone from thick tension to being strangers again.
Because she’s right. This is complicated.
And maybe complicated isn’t something we know how to handle.
Maybe we were better at pretend than we are at real.
I try to focus on the TV.
Try to enjoy this night with her in my arms.
Try not to think about how empty my house is going to feel once she’s gone.
Try not to wonder if I just made the biggest mistake by asking her to be my fake girlfriend when all I’ve ever wanted is the opposite.