Faker - Sarah Smith Page 0,99
feel about you.”
I silently weigh my options. All I want to do right now is speed home and rage-cry into my pillow until I pass out. But I also want closure. If whatever is between us ends tonight, I want to know I did it the right way. I want to know that we ended things calmly and maturely, not with an argument in the street.
“Okay.”
His lips remain a neutral line, but his eyes seem hopeful. We both turn to his still-running car. He pulls into his driveway, and I follow him inside.
twenty-six
Tate turns to me after shutting the front door.
“Before you say anything, let me say this. There is absolutely nothing going on between me and Camille. I haven’t seen or spoken to her in years. When I walked up behind her, I honestly thought it was you. I thought I was kissing you.”
I let out a laugh that sounds more like a scoff. “I saw the way you looked at her, Tate. You touched her arm; you leaned into her.”
His face twists at my words, like he’s swallowing bitter medicine. “I swear to you, from where I was standing, I couldn’t see her face clearly. I thought it was you. As soon as I realized it was her, I backed away and ran after you.”
He takes a breath. Seeing his chest heave up and down reminds me to inhale.
“Look, I’m a piece of shit for kissing Camille. There’s no excuse for what I did, no matter how clueless I was. If the tables were turned, if I had seen you kiss some guy . . .” he trails off. His jaw tightens and his cheeks flush as if they’re on fire. “I would have raged. You can hate me forever for that. I deserve it. But I need you to know that I’m not with anyone else but you. Ever since you and I started up, no other woman has even crossed my mind. I know there’s no way to prove that to you, especially after what you saw tonight, but it’s the truth. I promise you that, Emmie.”
Despite the pain coursing through me, I believe him. Maybe it’s his own pain displayed on his face or the way his gray-blue eyes glisten, as if they’re pleading. He blinks before any tears can fall. And in that moment, I know he’s not lying.
“Okay. If you say it’s the truth, then I believe you.”
He clears his throat. “I was wrong for not coming clean about Camille from the get-go. And I was wrong to let an ex—a past relationship—affect how I treated you when we first met.”
Hearing him say the words is a relief, but doubt still nags at me.
“Do you have some sort of fetish for Asian women?”
It sounds ridiculous spoken out loud, but I need to know. I don’t want to be anyone’s weird fixation, not even Tate’s.
His eyebrows knit. “What? Of course not.”
“You can see how it would be hard for me to believe you.”
He shuts his eyes for a long second before focusing on me once again. “I understand. But I swear to you, it’s just a coincidence. I’ve dated women from different backgrounds. I’ll dig up old photos to prove it to you.”
I shake my head, awareness kicking in. I let the insecurities that plagued me as a kid creep back in when I shouldn’t have.
I refocus on the one thing I need to know before we go any further. “How often do you look at me and think of Camille?”
“Never.” He doesn’t flinch or blink when he answers.
My eyes widen.
“It’s the truth, but I’ll clarify. When I first met you, it took a while. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I couldn’t get over the similarities. She was my first long-term relationship, and it ended because she cheated on me. The only way I could think to deal was to shut you out.”
I must visibly flinch, because he holds up his hand.
“That lasted for about a month. Then I got to know you better, and from that point on, I was never, ever reminded of her when I saw you. I swear. Eventually, I just forgot about telling you because I forgot about the similarity.”
“I don’t believe you could forget something like that.”
“I understand why you would think that.” He yanks at the collar of his shirt, the skin of his neck rosy with a sheen of sweat. “When I took you home from the hospital, I thought about telling you about her.