Pretend You're Mine

by Francisco, Fabiola

  “Do you want anything to drink?” Harris asks.

  “That would be great, thank you.” I walk with him to the bar, so I don’t have to stand alone or give Patrick an opening to approach me. He’s been staring at us since we walked in, and it’s starting to aggravate me.

  Harris hands me a flute of champagne, and I notice he orders a scotch. He taps his glass to mine, and I smile, taking a fizzy sip.

  “Who is everyone?” he whispers.

  I begin to point out the people I know or am familiar with. Harris’s eyebrows pop up when I tell him the governor is present.

  “Wow, your dad is a very big deal.”

  I nod. “He’s a hard worker and fair with everyone.”

  “Has he ever thought about running for higher office?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. He seems to be happy here, and having a higher political rank isn’t all it’s cut out to be. He likes being with people. He’s one of them—born and raised in Everton. His dad ran a ranch here, his grandad before did the same. My uncle keeps the ranch going since my dad had other aspirations.”

  “That’s very cool.” We look around the room in silence, each of us making our own observations.

  “Incoming,” Harris mumbles into his glass, and I follow his line of vision. Sure enough, Patrick is making his way to us.

  “Hey!” I look to my left, noticing Averly.

  Instantly, Patrick makes a hard right, taking a detour from his original target. I would laugh if the reason for his avoidance wasn’t so disgusting.

  “Hi.” I look at my best friend, but I don’t miss the furrow in Harris’s brow when he notices Patrick’s obvious diversion. “You look beautiful.” She’s wearing a long black dress with off-the-shoulder sleeves and a sweetheart neckline.

  “So do you.” She runs her hand along the soft chiffon fabric. “It’s stunning.”

  “You know my mom loves to shop,” I shrug.

  “Well, Momma Powell did good. Hey, Harris,” she waves over at him.

  “Hi. Do you want something to drink?” Always the gentleman, this fake boyfriend of mine, even with my friends.

  “You’re an angel. I’ll have a glass of champagne. Thank you.”

  While Harris steps to the bar, Averly narrows her eyes and inspects me. “He looks hot,” she lowers her voice to barely audible.

  “Yup.” I purse my lips.

  “And I’ sure he’s noticed how beautiful you look. Not that you need a fancy dress and professional makeup.”

  “Thanks.”

  “How did meeting the ‘rents go?” Her eyes widen slightly.

  She must think I’m insane to make up something like this. It was the only solution I saw when Patrick found me in the grocery store. The way this town works, I wouldn’t have had to say anything for people to make their own assumptions after seeing me with Harris twice at a coffee shop. The forever-single mayor’s daughter out with the same man twice? Something must be cooking.

  “Great, actually.” I can’t believe how easy it was to introduce Harris to my parents. “They really hit it off.”

  “Uh, oh.”

  “What?” I look around and back at her. She’s staring at me.

  “You like him,” she accuses.

  “What?” I squeak and clear my throat.

  “You do.” She points at me.

  “I do not. We’re friends, I think, or acquaintances, and he’s helping me.”

  She purses her lips but doesn’t respond. I’m about to add more in my defense when Harris stands next to me, handing Averly a champagne flute.

  I do not like Harris. He’s handsome, sure. He’s also kind and well-mannered, something very important to me. But he’s just a stand-in boyfriend for a little while. A few weeks tops. I can handle that without growing a crush on the man.

  I mean, how old am I? Twelve? Talking about crushes like I’m back at summer camp where my friend was the go-between for Elvis (yes, that was his real name) and me, who was indeed my crush at the time, to see if he liked me back.

  If you’re curious, he did like me back, and we spent the rest of the summer holding hands, but our young, naive hearts couldn’t handle a long-distance relationship after camp ended. I wonder who he grew up to be?

  I shake my head and drink more champagne. Elvis isn’t important right now, Harris is. The fact that we have a deal, an agreement, and it’s as platonic as a relationship with a brother. Okay, that’s a lie. Maybe a cousin? Nope, that’s not right, either. A friend. Yeah, Harris and I are like friends. He’s my very handsome friend.

  Platonic, Poppy. I swear it’s all fake.

  Thankfully, my parents arrive to distract me from that ridiculous and long-winding road of thoughts that are bound to confuse me and foster emotions that aren’t even there to begin with.

  This is going to be a long night.

  As dinner is served, we talk with the people at our table. Harris introduces himself, allowing the nosy Everton crowd to get to know him. We’re always curious when new people move to town, and recently it’s felt like an influx. It’s actually only been Ainsley and Harris, but Knox’s return to Everton stirred things up. Lia also moved back after being gone for years.

  The usually quiet Everton has had its own share of newcomers, or returnees, in the last year. And people here love to know the reasons that bring them here.

  “Bathroom.” Averly leans into me and whispers.

  “I’ll be right back. Are you okay on your own for a few minutes?” I look at Harris.

  “Of course.” He gives me that crooked smile, the one that makes the butterflies come alive in my stomach. The one that could get me into trouble.

  “Great. Excuse me,” I say to the table and stand with Averly.

  When we walk into the bathroom, she opens each stall to make sure we’re alone. When she finishes her inspection, she turns to me.

  “Do you have to pee?” I lift a brow and cross my arms.

  “No.”

  “Then, why come in here?” I cock my head, pursing my lips.

  “You like him,” she sings.

  I roll my eyes and shake my head. I can’t believe she made me come to the bathroom for this. “I already told you—”

  “That he’s not your real boyfriend, and you’re only fulfilling an agreement he willingly agreed to.”

  Her eyeballs move up as if she’s trying to see her eyebrows. “Agreement he agreed to. Duh, Averly. If it’s an agreement, it’s obvious he agreed to it,” she’s talking to herself.

  I clap my hands, and she looks back at me. “Can you focus? Harris is helping me, that’s it. There’s nothing more.”

  “So you mean to tell me you haven’t been drooling over his southern accent all evening? Because I sure as hell have.” I clench my jaw and try to keep my face neutral. She’s just trying to get a reaction out of me by saying she’s been drooling over him. His accent. Whatever, same thing.

  “It’s super swoony. The way he skips the Gs in some words and then drawls. It’s like, ‘Hey, darlin’, let me get some lovin’,” she imitates a terrible southern drawl, walking up to me with what I assume is supposed to be swagger and embraces me. I giggle and push her away, so she wraps her arms around herself and pretends to be kissing someone. “Gimme some sugah.”

  “You’re ridiculous,” I call out as I hiccup.

  “Tell me you wouldn’t want to know how wild a southern gentleman can get,” she thrusts her hips, cackling.

  “Averly Cooper!” I slap her shoulder. “How drunk are you?” She hasn’t had that much to drink, a few glasses of champagne at most.

  “I think it’s the champagne talking,” she giggles. “Okay, now I need to pee.” She rushes into the stall, leaving the door cracked opened and mumbling some curse words about long gowns and too much unnecessary fabric, all the while laughing to herself.

  “For what it’s worth,” she calls out though the bathroom is small. “I think he’d make a great real boyfriend.”

&n
bsp; “Can we just focus on getting through tonight?” I sigh and stare at myself in the mirror, remembering what Anne said about my lipstick. I didn’t even bring my clutch with me, so I can’t touch it up while I’m here. Then, I take a hard look at my reflection, staring into my eyes.

  I do feel different while spending time with Harris, but that’s not an option. We’re here for one reason and one reason only: to shut the town up and to give me freedom from all the annoying men who think they have some magic card for winning me over.

  I’d never give any of them the time of day. Word travels fast in this town, whether people tell you the gossip because they care about you or want to hurt you, like that stupid Jessica Moore.

  I know about the wager these men have going on. All these suitors are just playing a game for their entertainment. How sad to stoop to such low levels. I’d hate to live the kind of life that is so uneventful I resort to making bets about who will win a date with the perpetually-single mayor’s daughter.

  “Phew.” Averly walks out of the stall, adjusting her dress. “It’s hard as heck to pee with long dresses on.” She washes her hands and then gives me a hug. “I was only teasing you. I know you’re reserved and like keeping your life the way it is. Besides, most men gift heartache instead of flowers.” She rolls her eyes, but I notice the slight sadness marring her features. I don’t blame her for thinking that way.

  “We can be the Single Sisters,” I tease.

  “I approve of the alliteration,” she throws back. I laugh and walk out of the bathroom, worried Harris has been left to fend for himself for far too long.

  “Oh, yay, there’s Whore Moore,” Averly mutters, and I bite down my lip. As soon as I see that Jessica Moore is sitting in my seat, talking to Harris, the laughter that bubbled in my throat dies. Averly nicknamed Jessica “Whore Moore” after an incident in high school that shall not be mentioned, especially when Averly is present.

  “Ignore her,” I attempt to calm her.

  “I’m going to get a drink.” She leaves me alone to approach Harris and Jessica, who continues to inch closer to him and touch his arm more times than necessary.

  Why is she even here?

  “Hey.” I put on my sugary sweet smile.

  “Hey,” Harris smiles and stands. “Glad you’re back.” He kisses my cheek, his hand landing on my lower back. “Let’s go dance.”

  Harris leads me out onto the dance floor, leaving Whore Moore behind with a gaping mouth. She’s used to having her mouth open like that, but not with my man.

  Oh, crap.

  Well, he’s my man to the public, and her blatant flirting with him is an automatic pass to Jail in my book, just like in Monopoly. Terrible joke teller.

  “You got there just in time. That girl was driving me crazy. I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but she approached me, asked all of these questions about us, and then began flirting with me as if I hadn’t just talked about my girlfriend.” Harris pulls me in a little closer, leading us to the soft music.

  “Yeah, Jessica is a special cookie. Not the kind of cookie you want to take a bite out of. Well, unless you want to get some kind of disease, if you catch my drift.” Oh man, I’m terrible. I’m sure she doesn’t have any disease, but I don’t want her to have Harris.

  Don’t think I’m not trying to overanalyze that thought. Just let me be.

  Harris snorts. “I take it she’s the kind of woman who is familiar with men.”

  “You can say that. She probably doesn’t have a disease, I was just being nasty, but she does have a reputation that she’s upheld for the past fifteen years, and counting.”

  “Fifteen?” His eyes widen.

  “Yeah, it’s actually sad that she believes she needs that kind of attention to feel secure.”

  “It is.” Harris nods, moving us to the music.

  I catch Averly whispering something to my mom and smiling our way. I roll my eyes and bite my bottom lip.

  One thing’s for certain as I dance with Harris, I’ve never felt more special than I do while wrapped in his arms.

  Harris

  Poppy looks stunning tonight. She’s always beautiful, but the way her dress fits her, the pop of aqua in her eyes, highlighted by her makeup, and don’t get me started on that red lipstick. As soon as she opened the door at her parents’ house, I almost lost it.

  Yet, with all these things, she still acts like herself. She doesn’t take on a more serious or formal persona just because we’re at some fancy ball celebrating her father with important politicians from around the entire state.

  I haven’t been able to look away from her radiant glow, drawn to it like a moth to a flame. I’m bound to get burned because this is all fake, and I’m not here with her as her real boyfriend.

  I’m a substitute for someone who doesn’t exist yet in her life, and I have to wonder why she’s still single. She’s funny, kind, compassionate, and spunky. I already mentioned her beauty, but she’s more than that, she’s the entire package.

  It’s refreshing to be around after living in Los Angeles for the last few years. You don’t find women like her there. Most want to get to know you so they can attend events with you—Grammy’s, CMT Awards, label release parties, VIP passes at concerts, brunch with the rich and famous. You name it, those women know how to weasel their way into it, and it usually involves blowjobs or sex in a dark corner.

  I’ve made my mistakes and have had my share of one-night-stands in my life, but I always knew how to differentiate between a good time and a woman looking to use me for my job. I stayed away from those. I didn’t need drama in my career. I already had enough keeping Knox’s at bay.

  “Do you want another drink?” Poppy gazes up at me, the corners of her lips tilted up in a shy smile.

  “I’ll get it. Do you want more champagne?” I take a step back when I realize the song we were dancing to ended.

  “I was going to get some water.”

  “Got it. Why don’t you go see what desserts they have and get us something?”

  “What do you like?” She tilts her head as if trying to guess my favorite sweets.

  “Surprise me.”

  “Do you have any allergies? Nuts, gluten intolerance, lactose intolerance?”

  “Poppy,” I stop her. “I like it all, and I can eat everything.”

  “Okay.” She nods once and heads off to her mission of finding us something sweet. I watch her walk away for a second, the way the fabric of her dress flows behind her, and she stops to talk with a few people on the way to the dessert table.

  Hands in my pockets, I sigh and turn toward the bar. While I wait for the bartender to hand me two glasses of water, Patrick appears next to me and orders a scotch.

  “How long have you and Poppy been together?” He cuts right the point.

  “A few weeks.” My tone leaves no room for more interrogations, but Patrick doesn’t catch on.

  “So, it’s not serious,” he grins, but his eyes narrow the tiniest bit. I’ve learned to read body language as part of my career, always looking for signs of discomfort, insecurities, deceit. It’s part of knowing who will make a great performer and who isn’t cut out for the industry. It also helps when choosing who you want to associate yourself with and when to quickly turn and run.

  “If you’re asking if this is a fling that will end in a few days, sorry to disappoint. I plan to keep Poppy in my life for as long as she’ll have me. We may have only recently started our relationship, but I don’t plan on letting such a gorgeous and smart woman go. I’d be an idiot if I did. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my girlfriend is waiting for me to eat dessert.”

  I grab the waters and stalk away. It’s unbelievable how people think it’s okay to intrude in your private life. I never understood that, and it’s one of the main reasons I prefer to manage artists than to be one myself. Well, that and the fact that I can’t sing for shit.

  Patrick is the type of man who plays games. He wants what he can’t have, and unfortunately,
Poppy is the mouse in his game.

  “Whoa.” I look down at the table and the two small plates full of all kinds of desserts before taking my seat. They’re all small, and I’m sure there’s a name for it, but I’m not that well-versed in culinary terms.

  “I went a little overboard, but they all looked so good.” Poppy shrugs, though I have a feeling she’s not apologizing.

  “Did you get one of everything?”

  “I got two of some of them.” She leans in and whispers, “You may be my boyfriend for the night, but I wouldn’t share some of these even if you were my real boyfriend.”

  I laugh and shake my head. We’re the only two sitting at our table, but Poppy still looks around to see if anyone heard her.

  “Well, I guess it’s a good thing I’m not, although I’d share my jerky with you,” I shrug as if I can’t believe she wouldn’t share her dessert.

  Poppy snorts. “I highly doubt that. If there was only one piece of jerky left in the entire world and you owned that piece, you’d gobble it down before anyone could fight you for it.”

  “That’s not true.” My eyebrows pull in, and I lean back in my seat. “I’d take my sweet time savoring each bite if I’ll never get to taste jerky again.”

  “Jerk,” she shoves my shoulder.

  “What? You wouldn’t share with me, so why would I share with you?” Juvenile response, I know, but it’s all in teasing fun.

  “Because I’m a helpless woman who’d perish if I didn’t eat, and your selfishness would lead to my death.” Her voice is dramatic, almost sing-song, and she places the back of her hand on her forehead.

  I hold back my laugh and arch a brow. “I highly doubt you’re helpless. Something tells me, your resourcefulness would get you pretty far in the event of an apocalypse.”

  “I was a Girl Scout for a year,” she smiles with pride. “Now, this is what we have here.” Her focus is back on the plates as she explains each dessert. Something about tiramisu and petit fours. There are mini key lime pies—two since that’s one she won’t share—cannoli, eclairs. The options are endless.