He does as I say, his mouth open and closing like he’s not quite sure what to say next. “How—what happened?”
“They were in a car accident. Four years ago.”
His expression is pained. “You were only twenty.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “It was tough. My brother was a senior in high school when it happened. Andie was only twelve. It was really…” I blow out a harsh breath. “Difficult.”
“Did you have other family come in and help you?”
“No.”
“No?” He sends me a quick, horrified glance. “Then who helped you?”
“No one. I did it all. I mean, Brent stepped up as best he could, though it took him a couple of years, what with him still being in high school when it happened and really pissed off that our parents had to die like that.” It’s been such a long time since I’ve told someone my story. No guy has really stuck around long enough for me to get to this point. This is what I would consider make or break time.
Not for us, though. What Jared and I are doing is…not real.
“Sarah, that’s just so…how devastated you must’ve been.”
“It was pretty devastating,” I agree. I sound almost nonchalant, but I’m beyond the point of always wanting to cry when I think about those early days after the accident. The confusion and the pain and the horror of knowing that your parents are just…gone. I was so young, my brother and sister even younger, and we were three kids cast out to sea all by ourselves. Adrift, trying our best to survive. My parents’ friends rallied around us for a while, but eventually they all faded away. They had their own lives to live, though I didn’t understand it then.
My father’s parents were older when they had him, and they were both gone by the time the accident happened. My mother’s parents weren’t happy that she married my dad and essentially cut her off before any of us were even born. My grandmother sent me a letter after the funeral—that they didn’t bother to attend—saying they would be more than glad to take us all in and take care of us during our time of need.
I didn’t waste my time answering that letter. Just tossed it in the trash, and no surprise, we never heard from them again.
It was just us. Alone. I stepped up and worked as much as I could. My parents had small life insurance policies, but I ended up having to use a lot of that money to pay for their funerals. Once Brent came around, he started working too, and I encouraged him to go to college, to the local university in Monterey, so he could at least get an education. Our parents would’ve wanted that.
They would’ve wanted that for me as well, but I had to put my life on hold. Brent and Andie needed someone to take care of them, and that someone was me.
I tell Jared all of this, not leaving out a single detail. It feels almost cathartic, unloading on him. He’s a good listener, remaining quiet as I spill my guts. Making appropriate noises at the appropriate times and asking gentle questions when I drift in my storytelling.
“Once Andie graduates high school and goes away to college, then I’ll focus on myself,” I say, leaning my head to the right as I gaze out the passenger-side window. “Then I’ll take care of me.”
“And what do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. When I was in high school, I always thought I wanted to be a nurse.” I turn to look at him. “But I watched some reality show that filmed at a hospital ER and I realized I couldn’t handle that. I’m not a fan of blood.” It also triggered memories of when the accident happened. I want to help people, but I can’t work a job where I freak out at the sight of blood or when someone comes in after a horrible traffic accident.
We have to recognize our limits.
“Most people aren’t fans of blood,” he says, and I can tell he’s trying to make me feel better. “I know I’m not.”
Unable to stop myself, I reach out and rest my hand on Jared’s knee, giving it a squeeze. “Thank you for listening to me rattle on. I can babble sometimes, and that was one big babble overshare.”
“I didn’t mind,” he says.
“Really?” I turn my head, really looking at him. He glances in my direction, catching me staring. “Or are you just saying that?”
“I’m glad you trusted me enough to share your story with me, Sarah,” he says, his voice soft, his gaze full of understanding. This is a version of Jared Gaines I’ve never seen before in any of our previous interactions.
And I like it. I like him.
What a scary feeling.
Twenty-One
Jared
I can’t stop thinking about what Sarah told me about her parents. What a horrible tragedy, to lose your parents at such a young age. I know what that feels like—almost to the exact age—but I only lost one parent.
What would I have done if I lost them both?
Her words stick with me the rest of the drive. Long after she’s fallen asleep in the passenger seat, all curled up like a little girl, her arm tucked beneath her head, her forehead pressed against the glass. Normal me would’ve been irritated, seeing her face pressed against the window of my precious Tesla. I get this car cleaned once a week and pay lots of money for someone to wipe down every inch of surface.
But now, I don’t care if her forehead leaves a smudge on the window, and it will. I know it. Fuck it. No way am I going to wake her up. It’s like she told her story and was so exhausted after sharing so much information, she passed out within minutes.
She’s adorable too, when she sleeps. Her breaths are shallow, and I wish I could touch her. Run a hand over her soft hair, stroke her cheek. Offer her any bit of comfort that I can.
I can’t. I’m driving. We’re in the city now, traffic is at a standstill and I need to get to the hotel so we can check in before we meet my family for dinner. Rachelle isn’t coming—she has other family coming into town and she can’t get away to come with us, which is a goddamned shame.
Ha. Even my thoughts are sarcastic. I don’t want to deal with Rachelle. She probably hates me. God knows what Evelyn’s told her to poison her thoughts and make her despise me, but I’m sure they’ve shared a few good stories about me over the years.
I hate being made to look like an ass, and that’s exactly what Evelyn did to me. She should’ve told me no when I asked her to marry me. It would’ve been painful, and I would’ve been angry, but I would’ve eventually gotten over it.
And it would’ve been better to be rejected right from the get-go rather than her dumping me only a few months before the wedding. Her parents lost money on the deposit they put down on the hotel ballroom they reserved for the reception. Evelyn had already bought a dress, not that I ever saw it. I wonder if she was able to return it.
I doubt it. That thing was probably custom and I’m sure it cost a fortune.
Thank God we hadn’t sent out the invitations yet. Talk about humiliating.
We come to a sudden stop and I hit the brakes, so hard I jolt Sarah awake. She lifts her head, looking around with sleepy confusion before her gaze finds me. “Oh.” She glances at the window once more before she returns her attention to me. “I think I drooled on your window.”
Jesus. Normally this would send me over the edge.
“It’s fine,” I tell her, calm about this sort of thing for once in my life. “You all right?”
“I actually slept.” She stretches, thrusting her chest out as she wiggles in her seat, and I can’t help but sneak a look at her chest. She has a great body. One I wouldn’t mind exploring with my hands and mouth sometime soon—
Nope. There is no way I’m going there. Not now. Not after hearing her tragic story. This woman is still in a delicate state. I don’t care if she always mouths off at me and intrigues me beyond reason.
She is fragile. And still healing, even though it’s been four years, I know that feeling never really goes away. The loss of a parent. Times that by two? It’s twice as intense. I’m not so much of a bastard to dump my bullshit on her.
I am flat-out not worthy of her affec
tion.
“Where are we headed to first?” she asks once she’s resettled herself in her seat.
“We’re staying at the Wilder Hotel in downtown San Francisco, so we’ll check in first, then meet my family at a nearby restaurant for dinner,” I tell her.
“Oh. My friend’s boyfriend is Alex Wilder. His family owns those hotels,” she says.
Huh. I know vaguely know Alex too. But I don’t want to think about him at the moment. All I can focus on is the nervousness in Sarah’s eyes.
“Um, what should I wear? To dinner tonight?” she asks. “I brought a couple of dresses. Stuff I normally wear to work.”
“A dress will be fine. We’re going to a French restaurant. My dad loves it, we’ve been going there since I was a child, so it’s kind of a tradition for our family,” I explain.
“I’ve never eaten French food before,” she confesses. “Is it good?”
“I’ll make sure you order something you like. Candice will help you as well.” I pause, checking over my shoulder before I switch lanes. Why is the fast lane always the slowest in a traffic jam? “I hear you two have been keeping in touch.”
Her face brightens. “We have. I really like your sister a lot. She’s so funny and sweet. I think we could be great friends.”
Dread tugs at me, and I know that’s not a good thing, Candice and Sarah becoming closer. What’s going to happen when Sarah and I, and I quote, “end it”? Will Sarah tell Candice the truth? How we’re not even involved, yet I’m bringing her to Kevin’s engagement under the pretense that we’re a couple?
Candice will be infuriated. Ever since she was a child, she’s had a real problem with liars, as well she should. She flew into little fits of rage when she found out the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus weren’t real. Finding out her brother is lying will make her extremely angry.
Something I really don’t want to deal with.
It’s also something I can’t really focus on right now. I need to get through this weekend first.
And I’m going to need all the strength—and most likely alcohol—I can get.
Twenty-Two
Sarah
After maneuvering through agonizingly slow rush hour traffic, we finally made it to the Wilder Hotel, and it is gorgeous. Glittering chandeliers, the scent of fresh flowers filling the lobby, soft piano playing the background—there is an actual person who is playing an actual piano—and everyone who works at this hotel is eager to help you. A guy around my age took my suitcase like I was doing him a favor, an older gentleman held the door open for me, tipping his hat in my direction as I passed. And yet another one who passed me by in the lobby wished me good afternoon. The woman at the front desk had been so courteous while we checked in, dutifully answering all of Jared’s persistent questions with a smile on her face, and I tell her thank you multiple times to make up for Jared’s overly stern behavior.
Not that he was an asshole to anyone, he was just so…Jared. Serious Jared. Quiet Jared. I will stare you down as an intimidation tactic Jared. To the outside observer, he’s a bit of a jerk, I’m sure.
To me, well. I’m starting to understand him.
Isn’t that terrifying?
We take the elevator to the very top floor, where there are two penthouse suites. Yes, I said penthouse suites. We are sharing one of them, which is more than fine with me. We each get our own bedroom and bathroom, and I am beyond stoked about this. No awkward oh gee, do we have to share a bed moments, like I always see in those fake relationship movies on the Hallmark Channel. No wait, more like on the Lifetime Channel.
We’re nothing like the Hallmark Channel, which I’ve already clarified. We’re not wholesome enough.
Trust me.
The suite is huge, probably as big as the house I currently live in. I get a king bed all to myself, a closet that’s larger than my bedroom, and a bathroom with a giant tub next to a wall to ceiling window that overlooks the city.
I am in heaven.
“What time are our dinner reservations?” I call to Jared as I’m bustling about my room, hanging up my clothes that I brought so I hopefully most of the wrinkles will fall out.
“Not till seven-thirty,” Jared says, his voice sounding far away. Considering how large this suite is, I’m not surprised. His bedroom is clear on the other side, though he gave me the room with the better view.
Isn’t he a gentleman when he wants to be?
I feel more confident about being here tonight. Sharing our personal tragedies seemed to bring us closer together. Not that I want to use what happened to my parents as a way to get closer to Jared, but it certainly broke down some walls and allowed us to share our commonalities. And that’s a good thing, right?
“I’m going to take a quick shower.” He appears in my open doorway. “Just wanted to let you know. In case you look for me.”
“I think I’d figure it out when I heard the running water coming from your bathroom.” I smile at him and he ducks his head, a tiny smile curling his lips.
My heart goes pitter-patter in my chest. I wonder what would happen if he flashed a full-blown smile in my direction. I’d probably drop to the floor, rendered powerless by its extreme potency. I haven’t seen one of his genuine, full teeth showing, flashing smiles yet.
I wonder if I ever will.
“You like your room?” he asks, lifting his head.
“Who wouldn’t?” I glance around, wholly impressed all over again. “And there’s a full kitchen, right?”
He nods. “Partially stocked too.”
My mouth drops open. “Really?”
“Yeah. Check it out when you get a chance.”
“I’ll take a shower when you’re done,” I tell him right as he’s about to leave.
He pauses, frowning at me. “You don’t have to wait.”
“Sure I do.”
“No, you don’t,” he insists. “This is a giant hotel. There are people taking showers at the same time at all hours of the day and night. Go for it.”
He leaves before I can say anything in response, and I feel like an idiot. We can’t have two showers running at the same time at my house because it affects the water pressure. And all the hot water runs out faster. My house is old. And I’m so used to that, I assume all places are the same.
Clearly, they’re not. And I’m a big dork for not realizing it.
Pushing my faux pas out of my brain, I go into the dark bathroom with my phone, wanting to capture the city lights in their semi-full glory. It’s still light out, the sun is slowly setting, and the buildings are already lit. I snap a couple of photos and send one to a group text I have with Brent and Andie, reassuring them I made it here safe (they think I’m on a girls trip with a couple of friends—I couldn’t tell them the truth, they’d flip), and then I share the rest on my Instagram private story, which includes all of my girlfriends.
My view is what I caption the photos, along with heart eye emojis and San Francisco-themed gifs. I may as well play this trip up. Not all of my friends know I’m here with Jared, but they’re going to find out now.
The messages start coming in at a rapid-fire pace, no surprise.
From Caroline: Please tell me you two are sharing a bed.
Ha, she wishes.
From Stella: Nice view, but where’s the better view? AKA Mr. Hot Stuff.
And she makes fun of me for saying stuff like naughty nothings.
From Eleanor: How romantic! I love San Francisco so much!
Typical response.
And from Kelsey: Wait, are you with that perverted lingerie guy right now? WTH???
Guess I’ll have to fill her in when I get back home.
I grab a fresh pair of panties and a matching bra, and make my way to the bathroom, where my toiletry bag and makeup bag are already waiting on the counter. I take a quick shower, not washing my hair because I plan on refreshing my limp curls with the curling iron I brought.
The shower’s water pressure is freaking amazing. I crank th
e temperature to as hot as I can stand it and just let the water pound my skin, closing my eyes and tilting my head back, thankful for the shower cap the hotel provided. Steam fills the bathroom, and when I finally get out, I have to take an extra towel and wipe the mirror so I can actually see myself.
I do all the usual after-shower prep. Moisturize my face, body lotion, deodorant. I slip on my panties and bra, annoyance filling me when the mirror starts to fog back up.
Irritating.
To help get rid of the steam, I crack the door open and then brush my teeth, making weird faces at myself in the mirror while drooling toothpaste foam.
Classy.
As dinner draws closer, I’m starting to get nervous all over again, feeling a little jittery. I’m trying to calm myself down by being silly, but I don’t think it’s working.
Once I finish brushing my teeth, I plug in the curling iron, hating how hot I already am. I don’t want to start sweating this soon after taking a shower, so I kick the door open even more before I start curling the ends of my hair. I’m halfway done when I hear Jared call my name.
And realize he’s super close. Like, in-my-room close.
Kicking backward, the door is nowhere near my flailing foot, and I lift my gaze at the same exact moment Jared appears in my bathroom doorway, fully dressed.
While I’m standing in the steamy bathroom wearing a black lace bra and matching pair of panties I bought on clearance at Bliss, plus my discount (score!).
And that’s it.
“Oh shit. I’m sorry.” He quickly averts his head, placing his hand over his eyes.
Okay, this is silly. I wear bikinis that cover me just as much as my bra and panties. I mean, the man has basically touched my breasts already. And I’m fairly certain he’s fantasized about me in lingerie.
I’m not bragging here. You know he has.
“It’s all right,” I tell him, still watching him in the mirror as he keeps his hand over his eyes. “You don’t have to cover your eyes. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, am I right?”
Fake Date Page 15