Almost yours

ch-6 The First Date I Forgot

By afternoon, I had learned three important things.

First, hospital coffee tasted much better when my fake boyfriend brought it.

Second, my best friend was terrible at lying when I actually paid attention.

And third…

Pretending to have amnesia was exhausting.

“You’ve been staring at me for five minutes.”

My best friend’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

I blinked.

“Have I?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry. Maybe I’m trying to remember you.”

Her expression softened immediately.

Guilt stabbed me for approximately half a second.

Then her phone vibrated.

She grabbed it so quickly that the guilt disappeared.

I smiled.

“Another message?”

“Just work.”

“You don’t work on Sundays.”

Her fingers stopped.

Oops.

That had come out too naturally.

Her eyes slowly lifted toward me.

“How do you remember that?”

Damn.

I smiled innocently.

“I remember my life, remember? I just don’t remember people properly.”

She stared at me.

For one uncomfortable second, I wondered if I had finally pushed too far.

Then she nodded.

“Right.”

Too close.

I needed to be more careful.

My fake memory loss had begun as a joke. I hadn’t exactly prepared rules for it.

I knew my name.

My family.

My life.

Apparently I remembered everyone except the three people currently ruining it.

Convenient?

Absolutely.

But they had accepted it because accepting it benefited them.

Especially him.

My real boyfriend.

Speaking of the devil…

The door opened.

He walked in carrying flowers.

Flowers.

I almost laughed.

Three years together, and he had brought me flowers exactly four times.

I remembered because two of those times had been apologies.

Now he was pretending to be my boyfriend’s friend, and suddenly he was Mr. Thoughtful.

“These are for you.”

I took them.

“Thank you.”

My best friend smiled.

“Aren’t they pretty?”

I looked at her.

“They are. You like roses, don’t you?”

Her smile froze.

My boyfriend froze too.

Got you.

“Why?” she asked.

“No reason.”

I smelled the flowers.

“I just thought you looked like someone who likes roses.”

Actually, she loved them.

Especially red ones.

And my boyfriend knew that.

I preferred lilies.

He knew that too.

Or at least he was supposed to.

I looked at the red roses in my hands.

How poetic.

He had accidentally brought his mistress’s favorite flowers to his girlfriend.

Ten out of ten for effort.

Zero for execution.

“Where’s my boyfriend?” I asked.

My real boyfriend’s smile disappeared slightly.

“He’s working.”

“Oh.”

I placed the flowers aside.

“I thought he promised to come.”

“He’ll come.”

My best friend answered this time.

I looked at her.

“You seem to know his schedule very well.”

Her eyes widened.

My boyfriend immediately interrupted.

“They’re friends too.”

“Everyone is friends with everyone.”

I sighed dramatically.

“My life is confusing.”

Neither laughed.

I almost did.

Before anyone could speak again, the door opened.

And there he was.

My fake boyfriend.

He walked inside, saw the three of us, and stopped.

His eyes went first to me.

Then the roses.

Something shifted in his expression.

“Who brought those?”

My actual boyfriend raised an eyebrow.

“I did.”

My fake boyfriend looked at the roses again.

“She doesn’t like red roses.”

Silence.

Oh.

Oh, no.

My boyfriend frowned.

“What?”

My fake boyfriend seemed to realize what he had said.

Too late.

I stared at him.

My best friend stared at him.

Even my actual boyfriend looked confused.

“How do you know that?” I asked.

He recovered quickly.

“You told me.”

“When?”

“Before your accident.”

I tilted my head.

“What flowers do I like?”

He should have hesitated.

He didn’t.

“White lilies.”

My heart skipped.

Correct.

My actual boyfriend looked uncomfortable.

My best friend looked even more uncomfortable.

And suddenly, the roses sitting beside me seemed hilarious.

I turned toward my real boyfriend.

“You brought me flowers I don’t like?”

His face changed.

“I didn’t know.”

My fake boyfriend looked at him.

That was all.

Just one look.

But if disappointment could punch someone, my boyfriend would have been on the floor.

I smiled.

“It’s okay.”

Then I turned toward my fake boyfriend.

“At least my boyfriend knows.”

He looked like he regretted coming.

Perfect.

My best friend stood abruptly.

“I should get some coffee.”

My actual boyfriend immediately said, “I’ll come.”

Of course you will.

I smiled.

“You two really do everything together.”

They both paused.

I waved.

“Bring me something too.”

The door closed behind them.

I waited three seconds.

Then looked at my fake boyfriend.

“Do you think they’re dating?”

He nearly dropped his phone.

“What?”

I widened my eyes innocently.

“My friend and… your friend.”

“No.”

Too fast.

“You didn’t even think.”

“Because they aren’t.”

Technically, he was lying now too.

Interesting.

I studied his face.

He didn’t look comfortable doing it.

That mattered.

Maybe more than it should.

“They look close.”

“They’ve known each other for years.”

“So have we.”

His eyes met mine.

I smiled.

“Apparently.”

He looked away.

I decided to change the subject before he became suspicious.

“Tell me about our first date.”

He went completely still.

I had discovered his weakness.

Fake relationship questions.

They terrified him.

“Our what?”

“First date.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to remember.”

“You should rest.”

“You always say that when you don’t want to answer.”

“I don’t always say that.”

“You’ve known me for six months, apparently. How many dates have we had?”

He stared at me.

I waited.

“A lot.”

I burst out laughing.

He frowned.

“What?”

“That was terrible.”

“What was?”

“Your answer.”

“I answered.”

“You sounded like someone being questioned by the police.”

He crossed his arms.

“Why don’t you tell me what a good answer sounds like?”

“I have amnesia.”

“Convenient.”

My laughter stopped.

His eyes narrowed.

For one second, neither of us moved.

Did he know?

No.

Impossible.

Then one corner of his mouth lifted.

He was teasing me.

I threw a pillow at him.

He caught it.

“You’re annoying.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“By me?”

“Mostly.”

That answer came with the smallest smile.

And something strange happened.

I smiled back.

Not because I was acting.

Not because I wanted to irritate my real boyfriend.

Just because…

I wanted to.

The realization made me look away.

Dangerous.

Very dangerous.

I had been betrayed less than forty-eight hours ago.

Falling into some ridiculous fake-romance situation was not on my schedule.

“First date,” I reminded him.

He sighed.

“Fine.”

He sat in the chair.

“We went to a café.”

“Which one?”

He named a café near my college.

I knew it.

My actual boyfriend and I had been there several times.

But so had our whole friend group.

“What did we do?”

“You talked.”

“And you?”

“Listened.”

I laughed.

“That actually sounds believable.”

“I know.”

“What did I wear?”

He hesitated.

Finally.

“I don’t remember.”

“Bad boyfriend.”

His gaze dropped briefly.

“You wore yellow.”

My smile disappeared.

Yellow.

A yellow sundress.

I remembered wearing it to that café nearly two years ago.

But not with him.

My actual boyfriend had been there.

My best friend too.

And several others.

I had barely spoken to the quiet man sitting across from me now.

At least, that was what I remembered.

“You remember what I wore?”

He realized his mistake again.

“You were wearing something ridiculously bright. Everyone noticed.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Was it ugly?”

“No.”

The answer was immediate.

Soft.

He looked away.

“It looked good on you.”

For once, I had no clever response.

Something warm crept into my face.

No.

Absolutely not.

This was unacceptable.

I reached for my water.

He handed it to me before I could.

“Thanks.”

He nodded.

The room suddenly felt too quiet.

I needed comedy.

Immediately.

“Did we kiss?”

He choked on absolutely nothing.

Success.

“What?”

“Six months, remember? Surely we kissed.”

He stood.

“I need coffee.”

I grabbed his wrist.

He froze.

I froze too.

My fingers were wrapped around his wrist.

Warm skin.

Strong pulse.

A surprisingly fast pulse.

I slowly looked up.

His eyes were on my hand.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

“You’re running away.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I have work.”

“You just got here.”

“I suddenly remembered something.”

“What?”

“That I hate hospitals.”

I smiled.

“You’re terrible at this boyfriend thing.”

His eyes lifted to mine.

Something changed.

For a moment, the awkwardness disappeared.

The irritation too.

His voice was quieter when he answered.

“I know.”

There was something almost painful in those two words.

I released his wrist.

Before I could ask what he meant, the door opened.

My boyfriend and best friend returned.

Together.

Again.

My best friend carried coffee.

My boyfriend was laughing at something she had said.

Then he saw us.

His eyes dropped to my hand, which was still hovering near his best friend.

His smile disappeared.

Good.

He walked closer.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” my fake boyfriend said.

I had a better answer.

“I was asking him about our first kiss.”

Three faces changed at once.

I nearly laughed.

My best friend almost spilled her coffee.

My real boyfriend stared at his best friend.

And my fake boyfriend looked at me like he was reconsidering his promise not to let anyone hurt me.

“What first kiss?” my real boyfriend asked.

I blinked.

“Ours.”

“There was a first kiss?”

Wrong question.

Everyone looked at him.

He corrected himself.

“I mean… obviously there was.”

I smiled sweetly.

“You seem uncomfortable.”

“I’m not.”

“Then tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Where did we have our first kiss?”

My fake boyfriend closed his eyes.

My best friend suddenly became fascinated by her coffee.

My actual boyfriend had walked directly into my trap.

He laughed nervously.

“How would I know?”

“Aren’t you his best friend?”

“Guys don’t tell each other everything.”

I looked at my fake boyfriend.

“Is that true?”

“Yes.”

Traitor.

I narrowed my eyes at him.

He almost smiled.

My real boyfriend relaxed.

Then my best friend’s phone vibrated.

She checked it.

My boyfriend’s phone vibrated one second later.

Again.

I looked from one to the other.

My smile remained.

Inside, I was counting.

Every glance.

Every lie.

Every secret message.

My fake boyfriend noticed me watching them.

Our eyes met.

For the briefest second, something passed between us.

He knew.

Not that I remembered everything.

But he knew they were hurting me, even if he believed I didn’t understand why.

And there it was again.

That quiet anger in his eyes.

For me.

My real boyfriend cleared his throat.

“We should leave.”

My best friend nodded.

“Yeah.”

I looked at my fake boyfriend.

“Are you leaving too?”

He hesitated.

“No.”

My actual boyfriend stopped.

“You said you had work.”

“I can do it from here.”

I almost smiled.

My boyfriend definitely didn’t.

He looked between us.

Something unfamiliar flashed in his eyes again.

Jealousy.

This time stronger.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

He had wanted freedom.

He had wanted to enjoy himself.

He had personally chosen the safest man to pretend to be my boyfriend because he was convinced we could never like each other.

Now he didn’t seem quite so confident.

My boyfriend walked closer to his best friend.

“Can I talk to you outside?”

“No.”

The answer surprised all of us.

His friend pulled out his laptop and sat down.

“I’m busy.”

My lips twitched.

My actual boyfriend’s jaw tightened.

Then he looked at me.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

He and my best friend left.

The door closed.

My fake boyfriend opened his laptop.

I stared at him.

He ignored me.

I kept staring.

Finally, he sighed.

“What?”

“You stayed.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

His fingers stopped over the keyboard.

For one second, I thought he might actually tell me something real.

Then he looked at me.

“Boyfriend duties.”

My own words.

I smiled.

He looked back at his laptop.

And for some stupid reason, my heart felt lighter.

I looked toward the red roses my real boyfriend had brought.

Then at the empty coffee cup my fake boyfriend had remembered exactly how to order.

One man had loved me for three years and forgotten my favorite flowers.

The other supposedly hated me…

and remembered the dress I wore two years ago.

I had started this game to discover how fake my boyfriend could become.

I hadn't expected to start wondering how real my fake boyfriend had always been.