Faker - Sarah Smith Page 0,96

keep it together. I stop moving and stand tall, my arms crossed, my eye contact unwavering.

“How could you do that, Tate?”

His chest heaves with a breath, like he’s about to launch into a long-winded explanation. “Look, that’s not . . . it’s not what you think.”

“Really? You’re going to lie to my face on top of cheating on me?”

I employ the steady, hard rhythm I’ve used countless times before, yet now it feels like a needle through my throat. This man standing before me is not who I thought he was. He’s a faker, too, but in the worst possible way.

Wetness hits my collarbone. When I touch my face, I realize I’m crying. Only a few tears though. I wipe them away, biting the inside of my cheek to keep the rest behind my eyelids where they belong.

“Just stay the hell away from me.”

I dart out of the auditorium and into the hallway. Tate’s heavy footsteps echo behind me. When he touches my shoulder, my entire body cringes.

“Emmie, wait.”

I spin around. “You kiss your ex in front of me and expect me to just shrug it off?”

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He stands, lips bitten into a thin line.

Another tear falls, and I scrub it away. His words, his feelings for me, it’s all been a lie. If he’s someone else’s—his ex’s—then everything between us is tainted. He clearly doesn’t care about me the same way I care about him. If he ever cared about me at all.

“I guess you have a type for sure.”

When I realize I’ve said the words out loud, I feel a stabbing pain in my chest. I can barely stomach how insecure I sound. Tate definitely has a type. He likes tall, tan Asian girls. I’m just a fetish, a kink for him to satisfy. Nothing more.

Through the shock, I somehow find my voice. “That’s why you were a jerk to me when we first met. Because I look like her. I reminded you of her, didn’t I?”

He stands, his face a sheet of solemn white. “That’s not—”

“Just answer the question.”

I think back to all those months ago when I fantasized about giving him a verbal dressing-down in high heels, staring at him face-to-face. My dream is coming true tonight, but it’s mutated into a nightmare. This moment is nowhere near as satisfying as I’d thought it would be. I don’t feel vindicated or triumphant. Instead, I’m a heartbroken mess wishing I could be anywhere else, wishing I could feel anything else other than this jumble of pain and anger.

This man, this man who I thought was so special, so different from every other guy I’ve ever been with, has hurt me in the most unimaginable way.

His chest heaves with a sigh. “Yes.”

I swallow back the boulder in my throat. “So not only was I paraded around like some consolation prize in front of your classmates this evening, but I also had a front-row seat to you starting things back up with your ex.”

Red seeps up his face. A huff of air follows, his shoulders rising with it. “That’s not even close to the truth. If you would just stop for a second and let me explain—”

“No, Tate. No more explaining, no more excuses. You’ve hurt me since the day you met me. You could have just explained yourself then.”

“And tell you what? Sorry I was such an immature prick to you because I was freaked out that you look exactly like my high school ex-girlfriend?”

“Yes. It’s what a fucking decent person would have done.” I dig my nails into the palms of my hands. “But you’re not a decent person. You’re with me one minute, and the next I find out you’re still screwing your ex.”

Every nerve in my body is firing on all cylinders. Whatever happiness I felt minutes, hours, days ago, whatever excitement I had for the future between us has vaporized like a puff of smoke in a windstorm. The only thing left is the pain pulsing from the base of my throat to my chest.

What little composure I have left I channel into my words. “You’re not the person I thought you were. We’re done. I never want to speak to you again.”

I dig through my purse and hand Tate the Nuts & Bolts relationship disclosure form, scrawled with my handwriting. My weekend surprise is now moot.

When Tate’s eyes fall to the form, I make a beeline for the women’s bathroom nearby, ignoring his pleas to wait.