Page 61 of Fake As Puck
“Yeah, I think so. I guess it makes sense with the Fourth, and all the festivities. A real girlfriend would be there.”
She gives me a knowing smile and says, “So, did something happen? Between you and West?”
I point at her and shake my head. “No.”
She scrunches her nose and asks, “You sure?”
I nod. “Yes, I’m sure. It’s a job, Tessa. I got paid to play a part, and I played it. That’s it.”
She studies my face as I take a sip of wine to avoid her scrutiny.
“When’s the last time you talked to him?” she asks.
“The day I left.”
“Don’t stress about your parents. If they need anything, you can send me over there, okay?” she says, and I appreciate her kindness.
I offer a soft smile. “Thank you, but I’m not going to send you over there. You’re busy with two kids, and it’s not your family to take care of.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “I don’t know. They might be my brother’s in-laws soon.”
I laugh, holding in my blush. I can’t, so I hide my face and mutter through my hands, “Don’t ever say that again, please.” When I think the blush has disappeared, I stand up.
“Where are you going?” she teases.
“I need to do a few things before I leave. I’ll let you relax with your husband, and I’ll be on my way.” I kiss her on the cheek. “Text you later.”
When I leave, I do something that’s either very smart or completely crazy. I go shopping.
Not grocery shopping or practical shopping, but strategic shopping. The kind of shopping where I’m not just buying clothes, I’m buying style and effort.
I hit three stores and spend way too much money on outfits designed to make West Carmack regret not texting me for three weeks.
A sundress for the day I arrive. It’s casual but fitted, the kind of thing that looks effortless but definitely isn’t.
Jeans that make my ass look incredible and a top that’s just tight enough to be interesting.
A workout set that’s technically appropriate for the gym but also makes me look like I belong in a gym.
And for the wedding. I find a dress that’s going to make him forget how to form sentences.
It’s navy blue, fitted but not tight, elegant but with just enough edge to make it memorable. The kind of dress that photographs well and makes other women ask where you got it.
I try everything on in my apartment, checking every angle in my full-length mirror, making sure each outfit achieves the desired effect: confident, unbothered, and completely over whatever weird energy existed between us three weeks ago.
The next day, I make another strategic purchase at Target.
Sleepwear.
Not the oversized t-shirts and cotton shorts I usually sleep in, but things that blur the line between pajamas and actual clothes. A silk camisole set that looks expensive but isn’t. Shorts that are shorter than anything I’d normally wear to bed. A little nightgown that’s cute enough to be seen in but practical enough to actually sleep in.
Just in case.
Not that I’m planning anything. Not that I expect anything to happen.
But if it does, I want to look like the kind of woman who deserves to be pursued, not someone who’s grateful for whatever attention she gets.
The night before my flight, I lay everything out on my bed. Outfits for each day, carefully planned and coordinated. Makeup that enhances without looking like I tried too hard. Perfume that’s subtle but memorable. Everything calculated to make me look like I’m thriving.
