SWNOVELS The Fake Zone: Chapter 3
Emma summarizes her childhood, detailing awards received with equestrianism, her years spent dancing, and how she continues working out six days a week before she compares workouts with Grey. All the while, she flirts shamelessly with him.
I could warn her that she won’t impress him, that I’ve witnessed girls flash their bare breasts at Grey and sneak up to his hotel room, and he still hasn’t broken his rule to remain single. But a cruel and vengeful part of me enjoys watching her try to impress him, and the casual way he ignores and deflects her every effort.
“Would y’all care for some dessert?” the waiter asks, returning to our table and positioning himself between Grey and me.
This restaurant has the best chocolate mousse I’ve tasted outside of France, but I swallow my inclination to say yes and look at Grey and Emma for their responses.
“I can’t take another bite,” Emma says, glancing at her barely touched salad.
“I’m full, too,” I say. “Could I get the rest of this to go?” I extend the shiny gold credit card I’d slipped from my purse while half-listening to Emma list off her credentials like this was an interview for her to be Grey’s girlfriend, hoping to move things along.
“Of course.” The waiter takes my plate and credit card.
Grey drains the rest of his water, his face marred with a new scowl.
I ignore him and feign interest as I turn to Emma. “When are you leaving for Florida?”
“We’re flying out first thing Friday morning.” She doesn’t reciprocate the question, and for the first time since she began talking to us about her equestrian accomplishments and details of her life, we lapse into awkward silence. I kind of hope she has another horse or dance story for us as we wait for my credit card to be returned.
“Grey, do you have any siblings?” Emma asks.
Grey shakes his head. “I don’t.”
Emma gapes. “You’re lucky. I have two younger sisters, and we constantly fight.”
She goes on about a decade-long feud between her and her middle sister as the waiter drops off the leather folder with my credit card and receipt.
It’s still not the worst date I’ve been on, but it nears the top.
I grab my jacket and purse, scoop up my leftovers, and am prepared to run for the doors when Grey steps in front of me, forcing me to continue the charade.
“Jesus. You’re huge,” Emma says, moving to stand beside us. Her tone ensures her words are an insult before she laughs like a bully on the playground. I’m easily six inches taller than her.
“You’re not even wearing heels!” Emma exclaims. “How tall are you? And your feet! They’re enormous.”
I level her with a glare before gaining my composure. “Nearly as tall as Taylor Swift.”
Grey steps closer to me, setting a hand between my shoulder blades. His touch is so slight and gentle it’s a whisper against my skin, yet I feel it all the way to my toes. “I love that you’re tall.”
Emma says nothing.
As we step outside, the cold night air hits my face and bare shins like a slap, clearing the haze caused by his words.
We follow Emma to her car, where Grey lowers his hand from my back and opens her door. “Thanks for a nice evening. Please give your father our regards.”
Emma flashes him a pageant smile. “I’ll see you in Orlando.”
I wait until she slips into her seat and then pull my coat tighter, my knuckles turning white as I move to cross the parking lot.
“You couldn’t wait for one minute?” Grey asks, jogging to catch up with me.
“My giant feet and I are perfectly capable of walking to my car.”
He narrows his eyes on me but doesn’t say more. It’s one of the reasons we manage to stand each other. We don’t ask questions, knowing neither of us wants to exchange truths or realities.
As we pass a large truck, a couple steps out. The surprise has me gasping and pulling back like an alligator’s snuck up on us.
Grey wraps his hand around my waist, steadying me before I lose my balance.
“Are you okay?” the man who surprised me asks, taking in my reaction as he wraps an arm around his date’s shoulder.
“Sorry. You startled me. I’m fine.”
The couple smiles and moves away as Grey places his hand between my shoulder blades again, firmer this time.
“What was that?” Grey asks as we stop at my car.
“What was what?” I ask.
His gaze sweeps over me, his lips pursed as though he’s working to recall the rules of our acquaintanceship that keep discussions like this off the table. “Thank you again for doing that. I appreciate it, and I owe you.”
“I’ll bet you a cupcake she tries sneaking into your hotel room in Orlando.”
His lips fall into a frown. He never accepts a bet from me.
I open my door before Grey can, and slide into my seat. The cold leather seat stings the back of my thighs, causing goose bumps to dance across my flesh. “Do you want a ride to your truck?” I start the engine and press buttons to warm up my seat and steering wheel.
He runs a hand through his hair, his jaw is locked with impatience. “I’m right there.” He points at his red truck.
“Okay, well, see you.”
The night clings to him as he gives a barely perceptible nod and closes my door.
I wait until he’s in his truck, the door closed and engine started, before I back out of my spot and drive home.
“Hey. You’re back early,” Evelyn Watts, my best friend and roommate, says from where she’s cuddled up to her boyfriend and my other best friend, Hudson, on the couch. The three of us grew up together. Hudson and I were neighbors, and Evelyn visited every summer. The two began dating in August, an inevitable conclusion to the feelings they’ve harbored for each other since we were kids. They are my foundation, my sanity, and their dating has hardly changed a thing in our dynamic aside from the fact I now walk in on them actually making out rather than just staring at each other and imagining making out. “How was your self-date?”
“Self-date?” Hudson asks, lifting a brow in a similar reaction to Grey’s.
“I took myself on a date, or I intended to, but I ended up being pulled into a third-wheel nightmare where I posed as Grey’s fake girlfriend.”
“Oh, I need details.” Evelyn sits forward.
Hudson raises a brow. “Fake girlfriend?”
Evelyn shushes him.
I’m not about to admit it might have been better than sitting alone, definitely less awkward. “He got catfished.”
“By Kemp? I warned him,” Hudson says, a grin staining his lips.
“What happened? What does a fake girlfriend look like?” She stares at me intently, and I know her real question is whether we kissed? Since May, Evelyn has been praying for the impossible—Grey and me to become a couple.
I shake my head. “We just ate together and learned her life story. I now know too much about horses. Grey owes me big time.”
Hudson chuckles.
“Did you miss your movie?” Evelyn asks, checking the time.
“I skipped it.”
“You’re welcome to join us,” Evelyn pats the empty seat beside her. They often extend invites to prevent me from feeling left out, and I accept more than I should.
“I appreciate it, but my self-date is resuming upstairs in my sweatpants with a movie or book. I haven’t decided yet. Either way, I plan to pass out early so I’m bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for our flight to Orlando tomorrow.”
“Night, Mila,” Hudson calls.
I wave to them and head upstairs to my bedroom, where my imagination creeps into my subconscious, warning of imaginary dangers and noises as I flip on every light and check every corner. Some habits are hard to break—fears are even harder.
I take a breath, noting my curtain, the old brown stuffed bear tucked on a shelf, my miniature pink Christmas tree adorned with ivory ribbons and clear lights, and my TV. Then I listen for three sounds: the TV downstairs, Evelyn’s laughter, and the deepness of Hudson’s voice.
I walk to my dresser, pluck a bottle of perfume off the small metal tray, and pull off the cap to smell it. It’s floral and rich, taking me back to Hawaii, and then a second bottle made of twisted glass. This perfume is lighter, reminding me of the streets of Salzburg, where I purchased it.
Four items, three sounds, and two scents.
Four, three, two.
My heartbeat slows, and my shoulders relax as I strip off my coat and the red formfitting dress. I catch my reflection as I hang them in my closet, noting where my thighs meet, and cellulite reaffirms my imperfections as Emma’s judgment rings in my head. I tug on an oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants before heading into the bathroom to scrub my face clean and brush my teeth. Once ready for bed, I bury myself in the warmth and weight of blankets and lose myself in the pages of my current book, waiting to see if the hero finally kisses the heroine.