Page 47 of The Art of Almost Losing It
“Isn’t that the whole fucking point?” he roars. “Of you blackmailing me? Because you want people to think I’m your boyfriend?”
“Yeah, but in a nice way. People gossip in my parents’ building.”
He stares at me, those green eyes intense. “You live with your parents.” It’s said accusingly.
“Oh, eff you. At least my parents love me.”
“I bet they’re disappointed in their developmentally stunted daughter.” The corner of his mouth curls up.
“New York is expensive, and people live in multigenerational households here!” I shriek at him.
Yes, it’s a sore point for me. No one wants to be in their late twenties still living with their mom and dad like a teenager.
“So that’s why you needed to blackmail a man to be your boyfriend.” He’s patronizing. “That’s the only way you will ever experience a real grown-up relationship.”
“Stop trying to make yourself a victim.Iam the victim.”
“I fully accept responsibility for my actions.” He presses a hand to his chest. “And I have tried to make amends, but you decided to take advantage of the situation for your own gain.”
“This is a mutually abusive relationship, buddy.”
“We are not in a relationship!” He slams the steering wheel.
“Oh yes, we freaking are.”
“And it just solidifies my hypothesis that you are the crazy one—because why would a loser who lives with her parents not want millions of dollars and her own place?” He glares at me. “It’s because you want the happily ever after. You want the prince to come in and sweep you off your feet. I bet you binge-watch those horrible Hallmark movies.”
“No.”
“Liar.”
“They’re good background noise.”
He grabs the front of my blazer and hauls me to him. “Admit it—you secretly were hoping I would fall in love with you. Too bad. I’ll never fall in love with you. I’ll never love anyone.”
“You’re just mad because I played your sick little games better than you did.”
He throws me back into my seat. “Fine, get out.”
I reach for the handle then duck down.
“Seriously?”
“My granny’s coming. Are you ready to meet my family?”
“Isn’t that part of the blackmail orders?”
He reaches over me for the door.
“Yoo-hoo!”
Gran knocks on the window.
“Now you’ve done it.”
“Get out of my car.”
Gran peers in through the tinted windows. “Let me see that man who shoots out hundred-dollar bills.”
