Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LIAM
T he bonfire roars, flames leaping even higher than my head.
Marshmallows are already being passed around, skewered on long sticks. Groovy indie-fusion music plays in the background, some playlist that evokes summertime vibes.
As I approach the beach party, feeling the cool sand between my toes with my loafers in hand, my eyes scan the crowd for her.
A dozen people gather around the bonfire near lifeguard tower 56 at Dockweiler Beach, but Chloe is nowhere in sight.
“You lost?” a husky voice asks. I turn to see a stocky guy beside the fire, his gaze curious.
I probably look too formal in my button-down shirt when everyone else is in bathing suits and t-shirts.
“No, I’m looking for Chloe.”
“Ah,” he nods in understanding. “Ashley’s over there.”
I almost laugh—I ask for Chloe, and he points me to Ashley. He gestures to the other side of the bonfire, closer to the ocean.
“Her?” I ask, pointing to a blonde clinging to some guy.
He nods, and I thank him.
I make my way towards Ashley, Chloe’s best friend. This is important, and I know it. I need to make a good impression.
As I approach Ashley, she pulls away from her guy and eyes me with suspicion.
“Hey Ashley, I’m Liam,” I call out. “I’m looking for Chloe.”
“You’re the boyfriend?” she asks skeptically.
“That’d be me,” I confirm, extending my hand.
She purses her lips and rebuffs my gesture. “I don’t think so,” she says, her tone icy. “Follow me.” She brushes past me, nearly knocking me off balance.
Her companion raises his eyebrows, clearly as stunned as I am. “Good luck, man,” he says, backing away.
Reluctantly, I follow Ashley away from the fire and the other partygoers. This is not a good sign. Chloe mentioned that Ashley wasn’t a fan of our relationship, but I didn’t expect this.
Ashley stops when we’re out of earshot. The dim light from the fire barely illuminates her, and I hear the surf crashing in the darkness.
Here we go.
“Ashley—I know you’re worried about Chloe, but I have the best intentions,” I promise.
Ashley folds her arms and stares me down. “Okay, what are your intentions?”
“Well, I love spending time with her. I want to keep dating her,” I answer honestly.
“Do you want to date her for real, or are you planning to keep paying her to fake date you?” Ashley confronts me.
She knows about our arrangement. My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Chloe told her our secret. I’m too stunned to decide if I should be angry or upset.
“Um—” I stammer, struggling to formulate a response. My silence seems to be answer enough for her.
“Let me clue you into something,” she starts, her tone steely. “Chloe has been fucked with in relationships and has faced a lot of loss. You might not think you’re screwing with her head, but you are, and it’s not going to end well for her.”
I get it. She’s protecting her friend, but it rubs me the wrong way. “I don’t think you’re giving Chloe enough credit. You’re making her out to be some fragile victim, and she’s not,” I counter. “She knows what she’s doing.”
“Does she?” Ashley doesn’t miss a beat. “Because she called me a complete mess, ready to break things off a few days ago.”
What? My head starts spinning.
“When?”
“Right before she got on a boat with you.” Ashley raises her eyebrows, as if expecting me to confess to brainwashing Chloe into coming with me.
The day after we first had sex , I realize. She had enough doubts to plan to end it? This shakes me, making me question my judgment in this situation with Chloe.
Is she still conflicted about our arrangement? I worry, the uncertainly gnawing at me.
Ashley studies me, clearly seeing the doubt creep in. She decides to go in for the kill. “Did you know Chloe’s parents got married four days after their first date?” she challenges.
“Um, no,” I admit.
“Chloe is a total romantic and believes in that kind of love. She needs something real.”
“It’s not all fake,” I argue, feeling defensive.
“That’s not good enough.” Ashley shoots back, her eyes boring into mine. “Because if you’re not sure, you need to figure it out—fast. Chloe deserves someone who’s all in, not someone half-committed to a charade.”
My lips part, ready to speak, but nothing comes out. I don’t have a rebuttal. Somewhere deep down, I know she’s right, but I shut out that voice.
I shake my head, trying to cast aside reasons to question our arrangement.
“I need to talk to her,” I declare. “Where is she?” I glance back toward the bonfire, scanning the crowd, hoping she’s arrived.
But Chloe is nowhere to be seen.
“Just do the right thing,” Ashley pleads, clearly urging me to end it.
I exhale, irritated by her persistence. I don’t want to break it off. I want more blissful days with Chloe. But I don’t want to hurt her either.
I check my phone impatiently, but there are no messages from her. “She’s late. Did she text you?” I ask Ashley.
“No, she said she’d be here by nine,” Ashley frowns at her phone, the digital clock already reading half past. “I’ll see where she’s at.” She taps on her phone screen.
I expect her to call Chloe, but instead, Ashley pulls up an app with a map.
“You can see her location?” I ask, realizing Chloe must have shared her phone location with Ashley.
“Yeah, in case we’re abducted by some creepy guy,” she explains, giving me a pointed look.
I narrow my eyes, surprised that she could think so poorly of me. So much for reassuring Ashley , I think. I recall telling Chloe I could ease Ashley’s mind about our relationship, but her mind seems made up.
Ashley zooms into the map, frowning. “That’s weird,” she mutters. “She’s still at home.”
I mirror Ashley’s frown, confused. Possibilities race through my mind as Ashley puts the phone to her ear, calling Chloe.
I watch with anticipation, but it goes to voicemail after one ring. Ashley’s face sours. “What the hell?” She pulls up her text messages and starts typing out a message to Chloe.
I pull out my own phone, checking again. Still nothing. A sense of unease grows in my gut. Something’s wrong.
“Oh, she’s writing something,” Ashley says, staring down at her phone. I can see the bubbles appear, and every second waiting feels like torture.
Then a message pops up:
Sorry, Ash. I’m not feeling well. I’ll call you tomorrow.
“So weird, it’s not like her,” Ashley says as she types something back.
Chloe had a completely shit day . I wonder if she told Ashley about the ransomware. I was surprised she was still planning to attend the bonfire tonight. I understand her deciding to cancel, but I can’t understand why it’s so last minute. And why I didn’t get a message at all.
As if on cue, my phone vibrates. I open the message:
Liam, I’m so sorry for not texting sooner. I wanted to go tonight, but I’m just not feeling good. Please understand.
“She texted me too,” I tell Ashley.
“Maybe this is her way of giving you a hint,” she suggests as she walks past me toward the bonfire. Her level of disdain is almost comical.
I spin toward her. “I’m not a bad guy, Ashley.”
She turns to face me, still walking backward in the sand. “Prove it,” she challenges firmly, then turns back around, continuing her march away.
I’m left standing on the dark beach, wondering if Ashley’s right. Am I an asshole for making this arrangement with Chloe—for fucking with her head? Is Chloe giving me a hint by bailing tonight?
But every look between us, every touch, every feeling tells me this is right. She’s messed with my head just as much as I may have messed with hers. I never expected real feelings.
It’s not all fake, that’s for damn sure. There’s no way I’m the bad guy here.
And I’ll prove it.