Page 27 of Faker
“You can’t go. Not yet.” His hands rest in fists on top of his legs. He seems to be putting considerable effort into not grabbing me right now. I can’t decide if that’s good or bad.
This kiss. This crazy kiss, as incredible as it was, has killed my capacity to think clearly. All I know is that I need to get out of his carnow.
He shakes his head. “Just please listen to me.”
He wraps his hand around my arm, but it’s not a firm hold. Just pure softness. I stare, mesmerized by the way his creamy arm overlaps my tan skin.
“No,” is all I can manage to say.
“Please.” His eyes beg me to reconsider, but I can’t. I have to get out of this car, I have to meet Jamie, and I have to screw my head back on straight to make sense of what the hell just happened.
“I can’t.”
Sad eyes are all he gives me. His hand falls away, then I’m gone.
I walk back to Jimi D’s, catching a glimpse of myself in one of the glass windows. Matted hair, swollen lips, flushed cheeks, smeared eyeliner. The top of each hot-pink cup of my bra peeks up from the black scoop-neck top I’m wearing. I look like I just auditioned for a porno.
Using the window as a makeshift mirror, I try to quickly salvage my appearance. Luckily, there’s a giant shade pulled over the wall on the inside so none of the patrons can see me. Not that they would notice if they could see anyway. Judging by the booming music, cheering, and laughter, it seems like everyone is having a jolly good time. Everyone except me. And Tate, too, probably.
I smooth my hair with the minibrush I keep in my purse. It’s tangled to hell, but I manage. I wet a tissue and wipe clean the black smudges under my eyes, then adjust my shirt to a more respectable position. My lips and cheeks will have to calm down by themselves.
When I reach for the door, Jamie pops out, almost running into me.
“There you are,” he says. “I know you said to wait in there, but it was getting a bit loud and crazy. Can you believe they’re doing a Valentine’s Day contest? It’s August.”
I attempt a chuckle in return, but it sounds like I’m being strangled. I clear my throat. “Sorry for making you wait. I was just getting some air.”
I grip my purse in one hand, then the other. Then I jerk the strap all the way up my arm. This is some suspicious fidgeting I’m showcasing. I try to focus on Jamie’s face. His kind caramel eyes are an anchor for my wayward emotions. They center me for a half second.
“No worries at all. Feel like going somewhere quieter? Maybe the tavern across the street so we don’t have to drive?”
I nod and scurry across the parking lot to the sidewalk, half listening as he chatters about the importance of walking ten thousand steps a day.
“You okay? You look a little flushed.”
“No. Yeah. Yeah, no, I mean, I’m fine. Just hot is all.” I shake my head, hoping I can disorient myself into forgetting the impossible kiss in Tate’s car just minutes ago.
“You look beautiful, by the way.”
My mouth freezes in an “O” shape while I breathe. “Oh. Thanks.” If only he knew what a tangled mess I am inside.
He raises an eyebrow. “Sounds like you could use some convincing.”
“I’m sweating like a pig. I don’t feel very beautiful right now.” I wonder if Tate thinks I’m beautiful. Is that why he kissed me? I bite the inside of my cheek. Don’t think about him. Focus on Jamie.
He tucks a chunk of my hair behind my ear. “Stop. You’re beautiful.”
He takes my hand and leads me to the crosswalk. A car idles next to us while we wait for the light to change. It’s dark gray, four doors, with a dent in the hood. I let go of Jamie’s hand when I spot the reflection of Tate’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Two full seconds of blue-gray sky until he blinks, then speeds away.
eight
Monday morning arrives after an entire weekend spent replaying the kiss with Tate. I couldn’t focus at the tavern when Jamie chatted about his upcoming camping trip. Something about hiking in the Rockies or the Andes. Even drinking a Scotch and water couldn’t settle me. After slurping it down, I bade him farewell with a hug and chaste kiss on the cheek. If only he knew where my lips had been.
Staring at my computer screen, I run my tongue along my bottom lip. I swear I taste Tate’s clean flavor. All weekend I was a ball of stress thinking about him, our kiss, and what the hell I’m going to do about it all. How embarrassing that a single make-out session has derailed me so thoroughly. I blame the best kiss I’ve ever had, and the ache it caused between my legs. The sensations linger over me like fog.
Footsteps echoing through the hallway snap me out of my haze. Tate settles in his office, logs on to his computer, and stares ahead. A full minute passes. With each second that ticks by, my shoulder muscles tense. My fingers are useless. I can’t type my name, let alone full sentences in this awkward loaded silence.
I guess it’s up to me to break it. I walk to his desk. “Hey,” I finally say.
