Page 32 of Fake It 'til You Make It

‘Whoa, calm yourself, Fluffy Boots. What are you talking ab?—’

Oh. The ball. Bouncing the ball off the wall.

Oh God, this is embarrassing. I’ve been banging a ball off a wall because I’m a loser from Loserville, whose international model girlfriend has screwed his best friend and now his business is at risk and he’s hiding out in his brother’s apartment, bouncing baseballs off a wall repeatedly because he has nothing better to do.

Except… Abbey thinks I’m Mike and Mike doesn’t do relationships or break-ups. And hell, I can finally understand why.

‘I’m just getting my practice in, babes.’ I toss the ball in the air and catch it again – I must stop this; next time, I’ll drop it.

‘By doing what?’ She throws her hands up in frustration.

Her two girls seem to have stepped closer, as if they’re keen to know the answer to the question. As if they’ve been talking about it and— Wait, do they think I’ve been banging something or someone?

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. Classic.

Before I can answer the question, the elevator doors open to my floor and a group of five women, dressed like they’re going to one of New York’s hottest clubs, make high-heeled strides toward my –Mike’s– apartment.

One very lavish woman seems to be leading the pack. Her legs go on for days, she smells like she’s bathed in expensive perfume, and she might have been sewn into the dress she’s wearing.

‘Hi, honey,’ she says, striding right by Abbey and leaning into me, holding my cheeks and pressing her painted red lips to mine. ‘We’re your Friday night, courtesy of your brother.’

She walks right by me, into the apartment, and the four equally made-up women follow her lead.What the?—?

One of Fluffy Boots’ friends moves closer to the door. ‘I’m Dee, by the way,’ she says. ‘Abbey’s sister.’

I lift my chin like a guy out of90210might do and say, ‘Hey.’ I keep my tone low. Masculine.

‘Looks like you’re having a party tonight,’ Dee says.

‘Looks like it.’Am I?

The elevator doors ping again and seven, no eight, more people get out. All dressed to party. This time a mix of guys and girls. The guys are pretty stacked, which is equivalent to a secret password into my brother’s pad. I think I recognize one of them from a night out with my brother but I can’t be sure. The way he thumps me on my shoulder as he heads by, though, tells me he recognizes me, too.

‘Where’s the free booze?’ another guy says as he makes his way inside.

Of course, my brother has bribed people to come and keep me company with free booze.

‘Hit up the refrigerator,’ I call. I’ve zero idea whether that sounded cool. It was supposed to.

Music starts blaring through the apartment speakers and the next person to walk past me is Dee, Abbey’s sister.

‘Thanks for the invitation,’ she says, patting my chest on her way inside.

Abbey and the other girl exchange looks, before the other girl follows Dee’s lead and tells me her name is Shernette, passing by with a smile. That’s more manners than my brother’s cronies have shown.

One more elevator’s worth of people arrive.

What is my brother thinking?

I really want to get the gigantic goof on the phone but right now, I’m trying to play the role of a chillaxed guy who totallyknows how to host a party. I’m down with it. I’m…street? Whatever, I do this all the time,obvs.

‘You coming in, Fluffy Boots?’

Abbey glances inside, to the loud mass of people, then looks me in the eye. Her anger seems to subside into something else, something less – resignation, maybe. She doesn’t want to be here. She might be a goodtime girl usually, but tonight, she clearly wanted a quiet night in with her sister, her friend and her fluffy boots.

That makes two of us. I was perfectly content to sit and wallow alone with my thoughts. Now I have hours of drunken partygoers to listen to.

I incline my head, gesturing for Abbey to come inside.

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