Fake Fiancée(30)

I really should go get the check.

The noise had more than likely been the cat next door.

Okay, go get it then, smarty-pants.

I grabbed a heavy-duty flashlight—just in case I needed to whack someone over the head—and eased out onto the rickety porch.

I raced to the post, snatched the white thing, ran back inside, and locked the door.

It was a long white envelope with my name scrawled across the front.

I tore it open, but there was no note—just a long-stemmed daisy. With a frown, I twirled it around in my fingers. Soft and delicate with white petals and a spongy yellow center, it was pretty and delicate . . . and my professor landlord had definitely not sent it.

Was it Bart? He’d sent me several bouquets last spring after we’d broken up, but I’d either turned them away or given them to friends. I paused, recalling my conversation at lunch with Isabella.

Wasn’t she going to a hump-day party tonight at the Tau house, Bart’s frat?

I called her. “Hey. Can you tell me if Bart’s there?”

A pause. “Uh . . . have you lost your mind? He cheated on you.”

I waved her off even though she couldn’t see me on the phone. “Someone left a daisy on my back porch just now. I want to make sure it wasn’t him.”

“Okayyyy, let me find the bastard.” I heard her walking around the frat house, opening doors. Someone yelled at her in the background and she giggled. “Oops. Sorry. Go back to fornicating.” A door shut.

And so I waited.

A few minutes later, she ventured out to the dance floor, and I heard her pushing and shoving her way through couples dancing to an Adele song. “Bart the Asshole! Where are you?”

I giggled.

Sure enough, she found him wrapped up with a girl on the dance floor. She covered the phone, muffling the sound, but I heard his disgruntled voice telling her to fuck off.

She got back with me. “He’s been with her all night, Sunny. I saw them together on campus today too. Maybe Bart has finally moved on.”

So it wasn’t Bart, unless he’d gotten someone to do it, and that just seemed scary and way out of character. It wasn’t him. He’d own it. He’d want me to know he was trying to get me back.

Isabella offered to come over and sit with me if I was scared, but she sounded a bit loaded; plus she’d ridden with her roommate.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“It’s just weird.”

I told her goodbye, sat on my bed, and looked out the window at Max’s house. His bedroom light was on, so I texted him.

Thank you for my gift.

No response.

Hello? I typed. Are you there?

I didn’t get you a gift. Sorry. What did you get?

Dammit. I really wished it had been from him. I typed, Someone left a daisy on my back porch inside an envelope with my name on it. It’s strange.

Are you scared?

Maybe, I texted.

Want me to come over? Warning: I sleep in the nude.

I giggled, already feeling lighter. What makes you think you are spending the night?

Someone left you a creepy flower. I’m staying the night there or you’re staying here.

He was right. I didn’t want to be alone.

I can sleep on the couch, he offered. But I know you want me in your bed, Cookie. Don’t lie.

I pictured his long and muscular frame draped over my small apartment sofa. Guilt flew over me.

Hello?

Just shut up and come over, I said.





Max

I’D BEEN GOING OVER NOTES in bed when I got her text. I jumped up and threw on some shorts and a shirt.

“Where ya going?” Tate asked from the couch where he was sitting with Kiki, a girl from one of his classes. They were watching a horror flick.

“Someone left something weird—a daisy—at Sunny’s. Going to check it out.”

He arched a brow. “Want me to tag along?”

I looked at his arm around Kiki and the way her fingers had drifted to his thigh. Yeah. They’d be in his bedroom soon.

“Nah. If you hear me scream though, come on over.”

I ran across the street, but before knocking on her door I jogged around back to check things out using my phone as a flashlight. Everything seemed fine. I stalked back to the front and checked the Land Cruiser, making sure she’d locked it. I exhaled, sweeping the dark street. Nothing moved. Whoever had left the gift was long gone.

I knocked and she opened the door wearing a pair of Minion pajama shorts and holding a hammer.

I laughed.

“I know,” she said sheepishly. “I never should have texted you. It’s silly. I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

I was tired. Football and then training had kicked my ass—but it was worth seeing her in those pajamas.

“Nope. I was up.”

She smiled and opened the door wider, letting me pass and get a whiff of her fresh scent.

I plopped down on the couch and she sat next to me. She walked me through hearing the noise and then finding the flower, explaining how Bart was at his frat party tonight.

“Maybe it was the kid next door,” she said, yawning. “I see her out playing outside all the time. She knows my name, too.”

Maybe. I made a mental note to keep a sharper eye out on her house.