Faking with Benefits : A Friends to Lovers Romance(121)

The reality of what I’ve done didn’t really hit me until Layla walked back in through the apartment door. Instead of falling into our arms, she looked around at us like she expected us to hurt her. Her face was guarded. Distrustful.

Of course she didn’t trust us. Zack might have been acting like a prick recently, but he was right about one thing: I’ve lied to Layla non-stop for the past two months. I took advantage of her. I told her I was ‘helping her’, but really, I was just helping myself. I was in love with her, and I used these stupid ‘lessons’ as an excuse to kiss her and hold her and have my way with her. Layla shouldn’t trust me.

Zack and Luke both made one-time mistakes in the heat of the moment. I’ve been lying to her for years. Ever since I started falling for her.

I hate that this is the man I’ve become. I didn’t used to be like this. I wasn’t always a coward. Before my mum died, I was almost painfully honest. I’d tell the truth, even if it hurt me in the long run. But now, here I am twelve years later, and I’m lying to get a girl to kiss me? I’m disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. I don’t deserve her forgiveness.

I don’t know how long I sit there, listening to the muffled talking and laughing and kissing through the thin walls. Eventually, the noises stop. I brace myself as I hear my bedroom door creak open behind me, fixing my eyes blankly at my black laptop screen.

“You love me,” Layla says softly.

I don’t look up. I don’t know what to say.

She leans in the doorway, watching me. “How long?”

“A long time,” I admit.

“Look at me.”

Steeling myself, I obediently spin my desk chair to face her. She scowls when she sees my carefully empty expression. “Don’t do that,” she snaps.

“What?”

“Don’t…” she waves a hand over her eyes, exasperated. “Go blank. You look so guarded.” Her eyes narrow. “I’ve been your friend for years. I’m one of the only people you let see what you’re feeling, so stop trying to hide it from me. I’ve earned it, goddamnit.”

I blink.

With a huff of annoyance, she stomps forward into the room, coming to stand right in front of me. “You lied to me,” she accuses.

I nod slowly.

She crosses her arms, glaring. “Are you okay?”

I stare at her. “Am I… You’re worried about me?”

“Yes, I’m worried about you! You let me use you like some kind of… crash test dummy. You let me practise kissing, and flirting, and sex with you, and it actually meant something to you. Hell, it must have hurt you!”

It did. It tore my heart apart. “It was fine,” I say blandly.

Her cheeks flush with anger. “It’s not fine! I don’t want to hurt you, Josh! I don’t want you to let me hurt you! Why didn’t you tell me you had feelings for me?”

“My feelings didn’t matter.” My voice sounds robotic. “I wanted to help you. This was never about me.”

She glances around my room, taking in the books on my shelves and the collage of wedding invites pinned above my desk. “No,” she says slowly. “Nothing you do ever is, is it? God, you’re so annoying.”

I tip my head up, looking at her. “I wish I had a better reason,” I say honestly. “I don’t. I was a coward. I wanted you so badly, but I was scared you’d say no.” I swallow hard. “Being your friend was better than nothing.”

“You could’ve just told me.”

“You weren’t ready to hear it. There’d be no point.”

She looks startled. “What do you mean?”

I sigh, wiping a hand over my face. “If I’d told you that I was in love with you before this whole experiment started, what would you have done?”

“I would’ve asked you out for a drink.”

“No,” I say softly. “You wouldn’t. Try again.”

She considers for a few seconds. “I would’ve run for the hills,” she admits eventually.

“Even with your ten-year-plan?”

Her shoulders slump. She crosses her arms over her stomach. “I think we can agree that the ten-year-plan was just a crutch. You’re right. I would’ve left.”

I nod. “Before we started this, you weren’t looking to be loved. You wanted to find a boyfriend the same way you want to find laundry detergent at the grocery store. To cross an item off your list.”

She presses her lips together.

“I’m not blaming you,” I say quickly. “Not at all. This is on me, not on you. But that’s why I lied. Because if I told you how much I loved you, I would have lost you. And I couldn’t lose you, L. I couldn’t. I…” I trail off, rubbing my chest. Even the thought takes my breath away. “The last time I lost someone I loved, it almost killed me,” I force out, my voice strangled. “I don’t know if I can do it again. You’re the most important person in my life right now.”

Her eyes flick to the picture of my mum, carefully tacked to the bottom of my noticeboard. Understanding shimmers across her face. Another pang of self-hatred spikes through me.

After my mum died, I used to wish that the grief could hit me all at once. If it was just one massive wash of pain, I could’ve fought through it. Let it make me stronger. But it’s not like that. It’s like a tap dripping, steadily eroding you away. It doesn’t make you strong; it only ever makes you weaker. And now, over a decade later, I’m apparently so weak that I’ll lie to the person I love most in the world, just to keep her close to me. “Some days, there’s not much fight left in me,” I admit. “It was easier to lie. So I didn’t have to lose you.”