Best Served Fake

forty-eight // abrasive and off-putting

The ceiling of my little makeshift bedroom had seven tiny cracks in the plaster.

It wasn't something I'd usually notice. When I had a few spare minutes at night, after a long day of activities with Carlos and his family, why should I count tiny cracks in my ceiling? Usually, I'd take my beloved alone time to sit on my phone, scrolling through TikTok and texting my friends. Unfortunately, I was avoiding my phone, so I was reduced to noticing the tiny inconsistencies in the paint on my walls.

It was counterintuitive to avoid my phone, really. It's not as if there was anything on it to avoid.

Kai had texted me a grand total of three times in the last week. And none of them had been particularly enlightening. I'd probably have a little bit more sympathy for his sudden ghosting if I hadn't casually brought his name up on the phone with Cora two nights ago, and she hadn't mentioned that she was washing dishes after having the Delaney siblings over for lunch. At least I knew he was okay. Apparently, whatever had crawled up Kai's ass was solely and specifically about me. So, as it currently stood, I was pissed, hurt and quite frankly, confused.

It probably also didn't help that the last time I'd seen him in person, I touched his dick.

So, for the last week, I'd been consumed by questions that I wasn't ready to answer, obsessing over every moment and every word shared in that tiny room in Casserine. Because, despite what I'd told Sophie, Kai hadn't actually stipulated any exclusivity clause for our relationship. He wasn't actually my boyfriend. What had Kai promised me? Nothing concrete. He'd told me he would do anything for me. That I shouldn't believe what people said about him. That it's always been real. I'd already known it was real—our friendship, the understanding between us—but that didn't mean he had told me we were together now. In the moment, I'd never considered how vague a promise real was. We could be real without him being my boyfriend.

But he had to know that was what I had been asking of him, right?

Maybe sending him a text message accusing him of being exactly the boy of his reputation was harsh, but hey, so was going to third base and then proceeding to ghost.

I still felt bad enough about it that I followed up with a crack about my rockin' bod and an alien gene pool.

I knew Kai wasn't the bad boy his reputation suggested. But there was one thing about his reputation that had always, always been true; Kai enjoyed flirting, enjoyed what came after flirting, and didn't often request a repeat. I just never considered that the same policy applied to me.

I heard the great Kai Delaney doesn't do commitment.

I'd do anything for you.

Except answer a goddamn text message apparently.

I had to confront the truth; he hadn't said I'm ready to commit. He hadn't said we were dating. He just said he'd do anything for me. And I thought I could decipher the exact angle of his smile and know it meant we were a good thing. A done deal.

"Ugh!" I proclaimed to the ceiling, shoving a pillow over my face to stifle the frustrated scream that threatened to roar out of my chest.

I wanted to text him again, but I refused to be the girl who begged for her own boyfriend's attention. He could text me.

I might've been a little pathetic, because I picked up my phone again. Just in case. There were seven messages, and none of them were from Kai. I threw the phone at the wooden panel just beside the door, frustrated, but it lacked catharsis when you were only willing to commit to a soft plunk to avoid smashing it.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in," I said, in a high-pitched voice that hopefully indicated politeness and willingness to associate, even though I'd just unknowingly thrown my phone in their general direction.