It’s only been a week since I told him we couldn’t be together, and he’s already moved on.
My chest aches, and I press a hand to my sternum, trying to breathe through the pain.
This is whatyouwanted.Youended it.Youtold him it was over.
True, but god, it hurts.
“Actually,” I hear myself say, the words spilling out before I can stop them, “I was going to ask if I could bring someone too.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“You were?” Adam sounds surprised. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”
That makes two of us.
“Yeah.” I double down on the lie because what else can I do? “It’s still pretty new, but I think it would be nice for you to meet him.”
What? No. Stop talking, Ava! It’s time to play the quiet game.
“Who is this guy?” The question is loaded and laced with suspicion, protective father mode fully activated. “Where did you meet him? How long have you been seeing him?”
Oh god. What have I done?
“We met at the gym.”The gym?I don’t have a gym membership. Why would I when I’m allowed to use the Glider’s training facilities. I rack my brain, scrambling for details. “He’s great. Really respectful. Super nice guy.”
“The gym?” Adam’s voice sharpens. “Ava, please tell me you’re not dating one of my players.”
“No! God, no. Not a player.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “Just someone I met at the community gym. In my neighborhood. It’s fine. I promise.”
The part about the gym is a white lie, but my made-up boyfriend definitely isn’t on the team.
He’s quiet for a moment, and I can practically hear him processing.
“Alright,” he says finally. “The more the merrier. I’m looking forward to meeting your new friend.”
“Great,” I say weakly. “Me too.”
We say our goodbyes, and I end the call, staring at my phone in horror.
What the heck did I just do?
I just told my father—who I’ve known for three months—that I’m bringing a date to dinner. A date I don’t have. A date I invented on the spot because I couldn’t stand the thought of watching Knox parade around with some other woman.
And now I have twenty-four hours to find myself a fake-date.
I sink onto the closed toilet lid, my head in my hands.
Talk about a disaster of my own making.
I grab my phone and pull up my group chat with Lexie and Kayla. My fingers fly across the screen.
Me: HELP! I screwed up. Big time.
The responses come almost immediately.
Lexie: What’s wrong?
Kayla: Are you okay?