A Flighty Fake Boyfriend (Men of St. Nachos #2) - Z.A. Maxfield Page 0,73

and help me out of this morass I’ve created.

I went to work this morning with an intact personality, and hopes, and dreams, and then I started pulling threads and couldn’t stop. I left when the office cleaners forced me to. I ate takeout over the sink so I could shower, sleep, and do it all again tomorrow.

My life is never what I intend—it’s only what happens.

I think I might actually be defective.

Is that why I couldn’t make things work with Luis? Because I’m incapable of taking care of myself, much less another human being?

Am I only a bloodhound and my work the scent that makes me run? I think that would be fine, except that in this work, there are always a thousand unfinished hunts. A new one comes up every minute.

I can’t tell whether this is an accurate depiction of my day or if it’s just late and I’m tired and talking nonsense. I don’t know if I can do this anymore.

I don’t even know what I’m asking for. Or maybe yes, I need moonlight.

My answer is not—could never be—no. Not to you, Epic. Not to everything you are and everything you offer. Yet I’m afraid I may have to leave these particular details to you.

Is that wrong of me?

Can you forgive me for that?

Yes, yes, yes I’m yours if you want me, defective as I am. I want you to be mine.

I’ve figured out what I’m asking for.

You’re so fucking young, and you have everything bright and beautiful ahead of you, but I’m asking you to claim me and save me, whether I’m worthy of you or not.

Of course I'm yours. You are [still] mine too.

Ryan

I didn’t hit Send right away because after writing that I’d never felt so goddamn wrecked. I’d never poured my heart out like that for anyone, and it scared me. What if I was wrong about him? What if he and I were still fake boyfriends? What if I was taking the whole fucking thing too seriously, and he was simply stringing me along?

Please don’t claim me, I wanted to say. Please don’t save me. Because if things between us didn’t work out, I didn’t think I’d survive the loss.

Five minutes after I hit Send, my phone rang.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Epic’s voice sounded tight. “Are you hyperventilating? Do you have a paper bag?”

“What are you talking about?”

“What the fuck? Worthy of you? Claim you? Save you? Did you eat?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, so talk me through this. Wasn’t this your first day back at work?”

I sighed. “Yes.”

“So what happened to make you sound like I should climb your hair up a tower and fight a witch?”

I laughed; I couldn’t help myself.

I laughed.

And laughed some more.

While I was prostrate with mirth, I heard Epic’s voice, but I couldn’t make out the actual words coming from my phone. The squawk-squawk sound made the situation more hilarious still, as if I was Charlie Brown, and Epic was Miss Othmar. Wah-wah-wah.

When I finally got a grip, I wiped my eyes and picked up the thread. “…or are we having a little tête-à-tête with our friend Jack? Because you’ve totally lost the plot.”

“Nope," I sighed. "No Jack.”

“Jim? Jose?”

“Not even the Captain. That may be part of the problem, and it’s all your fault. I’ve given up my usual coping strategies.”

“Oh, sweetheart. You dope.” His voice turned velvety soft and warm as honey straight from the hive in summer. “That wasn’t coping.”

“I know.” I loved when he called me sweetheart. It made me weak in the knees. I left my office and lay down on my bed. “So, I guess we’re talking now?”

He huffed. “Seems like.”

“How are you?”

“It’s a laugh a minute here, let me tell you.” I could practically hear his eye roll. “Steven and Chloe keep sharing stories of their wild younger days.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe to convince me they were once human? Whatever. You haven’t lived until you’ve heard my mother describe naked psychedelic-drug shenanigans. I’m surprised my ears aren’t bleeding.”

“I can’t picture your mom—”

“Be glad,” he moaned. “Because there are actual pictures. I put my foot down hard there.”

“Your family is so weird. Did you ever learn why your parents changed so drastically?”

“You know, honestly, I have no idea."

"Don't hate them for wanting what they think is best for you."

"I don't." he insisted. "They were pretty tough academically, and we’re having a hard time now, but they were nice when I was growing up. They attended my soccer games and took me to Disneyland. We’re going to be