Chapter 8: Tangled Lies
1023 Words
Lexi’s words hung in the air like smoke—“He breaks things”—and her grip on my arm was light but cold, like she’d rehearsed this. Up close, she was sharper—perfect makeup, a silver necklace glinting under the lights, eyes that cut through me. I yanked my arm free, heart pounding, and stepped back. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded, voice steadier than I felt.
She smirked, tilting her head like I was a kid asking dumb questions. “Just a heads-up, new girl. Jake’s a wrecking ball—looks good ‘til the damage shows. Ask him about last summer.” She brushed past me, her perfume stinging my nose, and melted into the crowd, leaving me rooted by the bar.
I turned, scanning for Jake. He was back on the dance floor, twirling Sarah now, all easy grins and charm, like Lexi hadn’t just rattled him. Or me. Last summer. The phrase clawed at me, joining the pile of questions I’d been dodging—Kyle’s mess, Coach’s threat, those bruised knuckles. I wasn’t his real girlfriend, sure, but this wasn’t fake anymore, not after the way he’d looked at me during our dance.
Mom’s voice cut through, calling me to the cake table, but I ignored it, weaving toward Jake. Sarah giggled as he dipped her, then spotted me and waved me over. “Your turn, Mia!” she chirped, stepping aside. Jake straightened, catching my eye, and the grin faltered—maybe he saw the storm brewing in me.
“Dance?” he asked, offering a hand, but I shook my head, grabbing his wrist instead.
“We need to talk,” I said, low and firm, pulling him off the floor. He didn’t resist, just followed, boots scuffing the polished wood as I led him to a quiet corner near the coatroom. The music faded, muffled by walls and chatter, and I faced him, arms crossed.
“What’s up?” he said, leaning against the wall, casual but tense. His blazer was crooked now, collar popped, and his eyes flicked over me, wary.
“Lexi,” I started, and his face hardened instantly. “She said you break things. Warned me about you. What’s she talking about, Jake?”
He sighed, sharp and tired, rubbing his jaw. “She’s stirring s**t. That’s what she does. Don’t buy it.”
“Too late,” I snapped, stepping closer. “She said ‘last summer.’ What happened? And don’t say ‘nothing’—I’m not stupid.”
His jaw ticked, and he looked away, staring at the floor like it might swallow him. “It’s old, Mia. Doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me!” My voice cracked, louder than I meant, and he flinched. “You’re here, playing my boyfriend, and I don’t even know who you are. Kyle, Coach, now Lexi—what’s next?”
He met my eyes then, raw and unguarded, and it hit me—he wasn’t dodging to be a jerk. He was scared. “You wanna know?” he said, voice low, rough. “Fine. Last summer, Lexi and I were a thing. Bad one. She cheated, I lost it—punched a wall, broke my hand. Kyle bailed me out of worse. That’s it.”
I blinked, processing. “That’s it? You broke your hand?”
“And a couple other things,” he muttered, flexing those bruised knuckles like a reflex. “Got mad, got dumb. She’s got a knack for pushing buttons.”
I frowned, piecing it together. “So she’s here to… what? Mess with you?”
“Pretty much.” He shrugged, but it was forced, shoulders tight. “She saw us dancing, figured she’d twist the knife. Ignore her.”
“I can’t,” I said, softer now, anger fading into something heavier. “Not if she’s right. Do you… break things, Jake?”
He stared at me, long and hard, then stepped closer, voice dropping. “Not on purpose. Not you.” His hand hovered near mine, like he wanted to touch me but didn’t dare. “This deal—it’s not fake to me anymore. You get that, right?”
My breath caught, his words sinking in, warm and jagged. I nodded, barely, because yeah, I got it—felt it too, in the way my chest tightened when he was close. “Okay,” I whispered. “But no more secrets. Promise.”
He exhaled, a half-laugh, half-relief. “Promise. No more Lexi crap. We’ve got a wedding to survive.”
I smiled, small but real, and he mirrored it—tentative, like he wasn’t used to this. The music swelled behind us, and he tilted his head. “One more dance? For the show?”
“For the show,” I agreed, taking his hand. It was warm, rough, and I didn’t pull away as he led me back to the floor. We swayed again, slower this time, his grip softer, like he was afraid I’d bolt. I didn’t. Not yet.
The night blurred after that—cake cutting, Sarah’s bouquet toss (I dodged it), Jake charming Mom into giggles. Lexi stayed on the edges, watching but quiet, and I let it go, focusing on him. By 11 PM, the crowd thinned, and we slipped out, my dress wrinkled, his blazer slung over his shoulder.
Outside, the air was cool, stars sharp above the parking lot. He walked me to my car, motorcycle gleaming nearby. “Good night?” he asked, leaning on the hood.
“Yeah,” I said, unlocking the door. “You?”
“Best fake date ever,” he teased, but his eyes held mine, serious. “See you Monday? English?”
“Monday,” I confirmed, sliding in. He stepped back, hands in his pockets, watching as I started the engine.
I was halfway home, radio humming, when my phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: “He didn’t tell you everything. Check his locker Monday. -L” Lexi. My hands tightened on the wheel, stomach sinking. What now?
- Writer
