Free Six Months Later by Natalie D. Richards Page A

“Why would you say that?”
    “She was spitting out your Goody Two-shoes crap. And God knows she can’t let it go,” Adam says, gesturing at me with something that I think is supposed to look like disgust.
    Okay, everyone in this room needs acting lessons. None of us are buying any of this, but I don’t see anything else for sale.
    I cringe, desperate to break the awkward silence. “I wasn’t—”
    Blake turns toward me, face expectant.
    “You weren’t being a self-righteous bitch?” Adam asks, his snarly tone a complete contradiction to his tense expression. “ Sure you weren’t.”
    “Whatever. Can we just go now, Blake?”
    Blake cuts his eyes to the urinal. “Well, if you’re done here, I’d still like to use the restroom.”
    If I blush any harder at this point, I’ll actually become a tomato. I cover my face, shaking my head. “Sorry. Here, I’ll take your stuff and wait for you.”
    Blake gives me one more look and then hands me his binder and phone. I’m shooting for the door before he’s even fully let go.
    Once outside, I hear Blake speak again, his voice muffled by the door. “Don’t forget yourself, big guy. Boyfriend is my job, not yours.”
    I stop short, somehow frozen by his words. Or maybe his tone. I mean, I know I’m his girlfriend. Even if I can’t remember anything, I have about two hundred pictures to prove it. But there was something about his tone. Almost like he was joking.
    Like us being together is a joke.
    Stop it.
    I shake my head because that kind of thinking really is crazy. Paranoid and neurotic and a thousand other things I should be medicated for. Blake doesn’t have a malevolent bone in his body. Adam on the other hand…
    But I can’t think about all of his evil. I’m pretty fixated on the feel of his hand on my hair, the memory enough to make me shiver now. Yeah, if anybody’s the bad guy in this relationship, it’s not Blake. It’s me.
    As if on cue, Blake’s phone buzzes in my hand. I glance at it and think about him slouched in the study room, texting under the table. Like texting a lot.
    I chew the inside of my bottom lip, glancing at the lit screen out of the corner of my eye. It’s absolutely wrong. An invasion of privacy and a breach of trust, not to mention how much of a stalker it makes me.
    And, hell, I’m going to do it anyway.
    The message is from a number I don’t recognize.
    Do your job and she won’t figure anything out.
    ***
    Riding home with a fake boyfriend sucks under normal circumstances. But now, said boyfriend isn’t just fake. He’s also hiding something from me. And it’s not an early Christmas present.
    I’m so relieved when he pulls up to the curb beside my house that I nearly fling my door open and leap onto the curb.
    “Whoa, you in a rush?”
    I offer the smile I’ve been flashing the entire ride home. So wide I’m probably showing molars and so fake it should come with a disclaimer.
    “Sorry. I’ve got an appointment. I don’t want to be late.”
    “An appointment?”
    “Dentist.”
    “On a Saturday?”
    “They’re booked up because he’s taking time off for Thanksgiving.”
    Of course they’re not booked up and I’m not going to the dentist. But I can’t tell him I’m going to my therapist. Where I’m going to proceed to tell even more lies. Seriously, I may want to ditch this whole psychology thing and go with a future as a con artist.
    “See you Monday?” I ask, and then I force myself to lean in and kiss him. His lips are warm and soft, but I feel cold and hard all over.
    Blake pulls back with a frown. “Why do I feel like you’re giving me the brush-off?”
    “I’m not,” I say too quickly.
    He looks at me, eyes sad. “That feels a little hard to believe. First I find you in the bathroom with Adam—”
    “That was nothing, Blake. He was just being a jerk and I…I overreacted.”
    “C’mon, would you believe that if you caught me in the bathroom with Abbey? Or maybe Madison?”
    The