Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“I said I would,” I agreed, though something about it still didn’t quite sit right with me.
Oscar might have given me the figurative keys to his penthouse nearly a week ago, but it still felt strange to think about being there without him. Like Devon the security guy would take one look at me scanning my fingerprint on the elevator, immediately see through our fake-boyfriend pretense, and recognize me for exactly what I was—a man who’d cannonballed off friendship mountain a long time ago and was now trying to drag Oscar over the edge too.
“And you’re bringing me leftovers of the Christmas lasagna Abby’s making from your mom’s recipe?” Oscar asked.
“Mhm. She’s making a whole extra pan for you. I told you this.”
“I know,” he said in a low voice, probably so his pilot or flight attendant wouldn’t overhear. “Sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
He blew out a breath, and when he spoke, he sounded so anxious and frustrated my heart ached. “I don’t even know. Sorry for being needy? Sorry for wishing you were coming to Vermont with me, even though I know how much you want to be with Abby? Sorry that you’re wasting time in this fake relationship when if you were in a real relationship, you’d be with your boyfriend on Christmas—?”
“Stop.” The word came out a little too loud, a little too forceful, and a woman’s head snapped around from the seat in front of me. I quickly lowered my voice and tried to tamp down my annoyance, but if Oscar reminded me one more time that the time we’d been spending together, the closeness we’d been enjoying, wasn’t real, I was going to scream. “Boyfriends sometimes spend the holidays apart. That’s just life. I don’t need you to pretend to be the perfect boyfriend. And you do not need to feel pressure from me to be a certain way, ever. I knew what I was getting into,” I said confidently.
This… was a lie.
It had all seemed so simple immediately after Abby’s nacho party. Soaking up Oscar’s presence like parched, cracked earth soaking up a cool rain, my heart had chanted, “More, more, more,” way too loud for my logical brain to remember why I’d avoided him for months in the first place. Who dwelled on the endings when things were finally, finally beginning?
The answer was Oscar. Oscar did.
Because after thirty-nine days of eating dinner with Oscar, sharing baths in his palatial tub, drinking tea he made when I was under the weather, telling him all my HEA stories, attending his office Christmas party, and helping him take care of Frank…
After thirty-nine nights of falling asleep in his bed…
After thirty-nine mornings of waking up in his arms…
I was so positive I’d found my real, true happily ever after, I couldn’t doubt he felt it too.
Until he reminded me that for him, it was all fake and would be ending soon.
“I’m not sure about that,” Oscar argued, still sounding uncharacteristically anxious.
“Babe, take a deep breath. Your family loves you, and you’ll have a good time. You’ll see. I’ll FaceTime you tomorrow and say hi to everyone after you open presents, so nobody’ll try setting you up on a date. They’ll turn their matchmaking wiles on Jasmine instead,” I teased and felt unreasonably thrilled when he relaxed enough to chuckle a bit. “And that’s assuming anyone’s thinking of anything besides Dirk and Hyacinth’s wedding, which— Oh! I forgot to tell you, I got the perfect shot of the two of them the other night. Check your email.”
After I’d mentioned taking a candid of the happy couple at the rehearsal dinner to frame, Oscar had come up with the idea of scheduling an HEA interview with them instead so I could get content for my channel and also have an excuse to get still photos of them we could use for Oscar’s gift. We’d met up at the Rockefeller Center rink two nights ago for an ice skating “double date.”
Once Oscar saw how much I’d enjoyed it, he’d offered to set up other HEA interviews for me with several of his popular and famous friends. I now had a full schedule of meet-ups that would skyrocket my channel to the next level, which was amazing.
But little did Oscar know that the part I’d enjoyed most about the date wasn’t the professional boost; it was getting to spend time with him.
There was a brief rustling sound as Oscar checked his email, then a sharp exhale.
“Oh, Hugh,” he said, and god, even the way he said my name made happy shivers run down my neck. “It’s perfect.”
I smiled. “Yeah? Good. I’ll frame it up as soon as I get back to my place.”
“You mean my place. You said you’d be there—”
“Oscar.” I was taken aback by his strange new anxiety. Was it about his family? Was it about us? “My photo printer is at my apartment, so I’ll have to go there, then I’ll meet you at your place, as agreed. I haven’t spent a night at my own apartment since Abby’s nacho party. I’m not likely to forget.”