Page 116 of The Great Dating Fake Off
Alessia steps forward. “Okay, okay. Maybe we should call it a night, Z. You’re not going to get anywhere when emotions are high, and I don’t want you to say something you’ll regret.”
“What’s there for me to regret?” His gaze hardens. “I’m not the one who caused this. I’m not the problem here.”
“Enzo, stop,” Alessia insists.
Ro blinks away from him. Benji catches her with an arm over her shoulders. “C’mon sis. Let’s go.” He casts a deeply disappointed if not murderous look Enzo’s way. “She’s not the problem, either. Why don’t you direct some of that anger toward the right people, starting with that dad of yours who insulted her in front of everyone?”
And he guides her toward the exit without a backward glance, never removing his arm from her shoulders. I don’t have the heart to go chase after them and interrupt their desperately needed bonding, even though Benji was my ride.
Alessia stares evenly at her twin.
“What, now you’re mad at me, too?” Enzo shakes his head. “Outstanding. I’m out of here.”
He grumbles his goodbye as he strides away from our lane.
Sebastian pats his pockets as if looking for his keys. “Where is he going? I drove him here.”
Alessia sighs. “I’ll take him home. To my place, specifically, so he won’t go back into his wallowing mode. The man just started answering our texts again.”
Sebastian nods. “All right. Drive safely. Text me if you need anything.”
I’m still gaping at her back when she reaches the exit. All my excitement and energy from earlier has escaped, leaving me feeling like a deflated balloon. “They’re never getting married, are they?”
Sebastian’s pause is lengthy. “I don’t know. But at least they’re talking.” He hands me my stuffed duck. “That has to count for something, right?”
I nod, grasping the plush yellow creature. “It counts.”
For how much, I’m not sure.
“I guess bowling is over,” he says. “How about I drive you home?”
…
Sebastian and I get into his car. I curl up on the passenger’s seat and feed him directions to my place. Neither of us reaches for the radio, so we lapse into silence.
After the chaos we just left, silence feels a little odd, but not entirely unwelcome.
At the first red light, he stretches his neck side to side, jaw clenched.
I dust my fingers down his neck. “You’re tense.”
His profile is stern as he stares straight ahead. “I’m sorry about what I said in the photo booth.”
I swallow what feels like acid. That was the most meaningful promise anyone has ever given me, and he’s apologizing for it? He’s gone from “always” to “never mind” in under an hour flat?
I guess Enzo and Ro’s fight sparked something in him, too.
Regret.
I retract my hand. I can’t pretend I’m not crushed, even if it’d be a thousand times easier if we didn’t want each other as much as we do. Hearing him take those words back cuts straight to the core of me.
And yet, my voice comes out hollow. “It’s fine. We got carried away back there.”
“No.” His jaw clenches like he’s biting down, but he takes my hand across the center console. “I’m sorry because I meant it. Every word. But I shouldn’t have told you.”
Relief and satisfaction and confusion form a confusing cocktail in my blood. “Why not?”
“Because it puts pressure on the situation, and even though it’s true, I”—he shakes his head—“forget it, okay?”
