Page 20 of Hard to Pretend

“Pleased to meet you, Ms. St. James.” Chris extended a hand toward my mother. Oh, he was smooth. If this weren’t such a high stakes gamble, I might have swooned.

My mom took his hand and shook it. “Please, call me Maria.” Her dark eyes took him in as she dropped his hand. “Oh, he is handsome, Sebastian.”

“Mom!”

“Thank you, Maria.”

We spoke at the same time, and my mom seemed to find that hilarious. Her eyes twinkled as she motioned for us to follow her into the small kitchen. “Seb didn’t mention if you had any dietary issues, so I hope spaghetti is okay. Seb’s friends used to rave over it, and it was always one of his favorites growing up. I figured most people like spaghetti—”

“I love spaghetti,” Chris assured her. “You have a beautiful home. I can see where Seb got his decorating skills from. Do you two have matching blankets?”

“No,” I corrected. “Mom’s has oranges; mine has lemons.”

“They were on sale. I didn’t expect Seb to decorate his entire living room around it.”

We sat down at the small table in the living room. I noticed that Mom had brought in a third chair,the one she’d always kept stacks of bills on in her bedroom. It had come with the dining set, but the kitchen wasn’t big enough to have more than two chairs there full time. I wondered if the fourth one was still in her bedroom, covered in stacks of her scrubs. I wondered where she’d ended up putting the bills since the chair was in the kitchen. It was her organization system, one I would never quite understand. It worked for her, though, and that was all that mattered.

Mom brought over a bowl of salad and the pot of pasta. “I forgot to buy garlic bread. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mom, if you needed garlic bread, you could have asked us to pick some up.”

“Then we’d have to wait to eat, and I had everything timed perfectly,” my mom countered. “Chris, would you like anything to drink? I have lemonade, sweet tea, water… I think I have a few beers.”

“Lemonade, please.”

“Seb, honey, get your boyfriend some lemonade.” I should have seen that coming a mile away. I stood from the table and pulled out a glass from the cabinet. “And while you’re up, can you make me an Arnold Palmer? Light on the ice.”

I laughed and pulled down two more glasses. While I made the drink, I listened as my mom asked Chris questions about his life. He answered each one with the same charm he’d displayed when he introducedhimself. When I turned back to the table, I could see the hearts in my mother’s eyes.

This was a mistake. Chris was too charming. My mom was probably hearing wedding bells.

I handed out the drinks and took my seat next to Chris. My mom put salad on our plates. “I hope you don’t mind ranch, Chris. I forgot to check before I made everything.”

“I don’t mind ranch, ma’am,” Chris assured her.

“You don’t need to call me ma’am, either. It’s Maria,” my mom corrected with the smallest smile. I think she liked that he was calling her ma’am, even if she was.

The rest of dinner went smoothly. Mom and Chris got along like a house on fire. She listened to him when he talked about his job as an insurance adjuster. She tried to cajole him into singing when he told her that he liked to do karaoke with his friends. He assured her that it was something that no one wanted to hear sober. I fought the urge to tell him that wasn’t true, because I wanted to know if he was a good singer or not. We hadn’t listened to music in the car on any of our drives on our fake dates. We spent the time talking, going over our stories, and making sure that everything matched up in case people asked us questions.

Even though most of the things we’d talked about hadn’t really come up. It turned out that no onewanted to know if I knew his favorite quote or his favorite color.

When we finished eating, I helped Mom clean the kitchen. Every time Chris tried to help, my mom swatted his hand away. She insisted that he was a guest in this house and he would not be required to help with clean up until we’d been together a bit longer. I wondered what she’d say if she knew that there was no chance in that. I also wondered what she’d say when I told her next week that we’d broken up.

This was going to be a nightmare.

After cleaning up, we all sat around the living room and talked a little longer. Mom seemed happier than she’d been in a long time, just watching me with Chris. It wasn’t like we were doing anything interesting. We were just sitting together on the couch. Sometimes, Chris would rest his hand on my thigh. Every time, I became overly aware of the gentle pressure. It was going to be a bit harder to say goodbye than I thought.

It wasn’t hard to say goodbye to Mom though. Chris went out to the car while I said a private goodbye to my mother. “I like him,” she whispered into the hug.

“I do too.”

It didn’t feel like a lie when I said it, and that should have raised a few red flags.

I thought about it the entire ride back to my place. When Chris pulled up in front of my apartment, I didn’t want to get out of the car. I looked over athim, studying the way the streetlight hit his face and illuminated his profile. His full lips were tempting me. “Chris,” I exhaled.

He turned, and the moment our eyes met, I knew that any attempts at fighting that temptation would be in vain. I gave into my impulses and closed the space between us.

The first kiss was feather light, barely there. I started to pull away, but he wrapped his arms around my neck and pulled me closer. His tongue slipped past the seam of my lips, and the kiss grew heated fast. My hands gripped his shirt, holding him as tightly as he held me. If it weren’t for the console between us, I probably would’ve tried to climb into his lap and take it further.

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