One Week Girlfriend

by Monica Murphy

  That’s why I told her I was sorry.

  “I caught your stepmom sniffing around outside this afternoon.” Fable’s tone is casual, but her words are like nine little bombs dropping all over me.

  Tension radiates up my spine, across my shoulders and I stiffen. “Yeah?”

  Fable nods. “I confronted her.”

  “What?” Shock rips through me. So does fear. What if Adele said something?

  “Yeah. She didn’t like it either. Told me that we wouldn’t last, that I wasn’t your usual type.”

  I remain silent, afraid of what she might say next.

  “And when I asked her what was your type, she said she was.”

  The blood is roaring in my ears so whatever else Fable says I can’t hear it. Her lips are moving and I literally cannot hear her.

  Without thought I stand and go back to my bedroom. She’s calling my name, her voice is faint and I think she’s following after me, but I’m not sure. I can’t see, my vision is blurred and I’m ready to boil over in shame and fear and rage.

  Adele’s taken it too far. Again. She always does. I want to tell Fable everything but I can’t. I’m scared she’ll hate me. Judge me.

  Be so disgusted by me she’ll leave.

  We’re barely halfway into this stupid trip and it’s all going to shit. I don’t know how to handle this anymore.

  Fable

  I chase after him, calling his name, but it’s like Drew can’t hear me. The way his face became so completely void of emotion when I told him what Adele said was scary. He shut down right in front of me and it was the strangest thing. Like he was throwing up some sort of coping mechanism or something.

  He slams his bedroom door right in my face and I open it, bursting into his room like a woman on a mission. He’s standing in the middle of the room with his back to me, his head thrown back so he’s staring up at the ceiling. I wish I could read his thoughts, offer him comfort, something. Anything.

  But I just stand there, shifting on my feet, overcome with confusion.

  “You should go,” he says, his voice darkly quiet.

  “Fine, I’ll leave you alone.” I understand when someone wants time to himself. I’m big on that most of the time anyway.

  “No.” He turns to look at me, his expression harsh and unyielding. “I mean you should go, as in go home. You don’t need to stay here. I don’t need your help any longer.”

  My stomach pitches and rolls and I feel like I’m going to throw up. “I don’t mind staying…”

  “I don’t want you here.” He cuts me off and I clamp my lips shut. “You don’t need to be around this shit, Fable. What you’ve had to deal with is bad enough.”

  I feel like I’m going to cry. He doesn’t want me here. No one wants me anywhere. My mom doesn’t care if I’m dead or alive. My brother would rather be hanging with his friends. I don’t really have any friends besides the few I work with, and we’re really more like acquaintances. Girls don’t like me because they think I’m some sort of slut who wants to steal their boyfriend.

  Right now, I’m all alone. No one wants me.

  Holding my head up high, I sniff, fighting off the tears. “I’ll go pack my bag.”

  I turn and leave his room and he doesn’t stop me. No surprise. What did I expect? That he would chase after me and beg me not to go after all?

  Of course not. My life isn’t a made-for-TV movie. I don’t matter to him. I need to remember that.

  My room is shrouded in darkness and I flick on the overhead light, head over to the closet where my dusty, torn duffel bag is. It’s still half-full, I never really unpacked for fear of something like this happening.

  Guess my psychic abilities are working at full capacity at the moment.

  I start stuffing the bag full of my clothes, not bothering to fold anything. I don’t know how I’m supposed to leave, but I guess I could call a taxi and have them take me to the bus station. I have the money in my bank account and my debit card is on me so I can pay for the ticket and head on home. Hopefully I won’t have to hang out at the bus station for too long.

  Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I glance at the screen and see Owen has texted me. Something about spending the night at Wade’s again, which I tell him is fine and that I’m coming home tonight. He responds immediately.

  What happened? Get fired? Did the dad come on to you? He asked.

  Long story. I’ll explain when I get home, I reply then shove my phone back in the pocket of my jeans.

  I feel like a failure. I can’t manage to be a girlfriend right and all I had to do was stand there and look pretty. Smile and nod and say nothing. How hard can that be?

  Pissed at myself, I go into the bathroom and clear out all my toiletries, shoving them in the cosmetics bag I brought them in. I snag my razor and travel sized shampoo and conditioner out of the shower and throw them in the bag, then zip it up, satisfied with the loud noise it makes. Everything echoes in this house, what with the soaring ceilings and the tiled floors. The main house is worse and it grates on my nerves.

  Maybe I will be glad to get out of here. When I get on that bus, maybe I’ll be able to breathe again.

  I turn to leave the bathroom and find Drew standing in the doorway, much like he was last night. He’s gripping the top of the doorframe and leaning his body halfway through the door. His sweatshirt is riding up, taking his shirt along with it and his shorts hang low on his hips, exposing a thin slice of his stomach. I catch a glimpse of dark hair trailing from his navel and I jerk my gaze up to meet his, embarrassed I’m checking him out when I should be thoroughly pissed at him.

  “Don’t go.”

  I stiffen my spine. This is beyond ridiculous. All the push and pull is really screwing with my brain. “I’m not in the mood to play games, Drew.”

  He lets go of the doorway and enters the bathroom. I back away from him, my butt hitting the edge of the counter and stopping me. I’m trembling, but not from fear. It’s because he’s so close, I can smell him.

  Somehow the scent of beer is gone, replaced by Drew’s warm, familiar smell. I can feel his body heat, the tension vibrating off him in potent waves. “I’m so sorry, Fable. I just…this place sucks. And I don’t blame you if you want to leave so I was giving you an out. I was trying to convince myself that’s what was best, getting you out of here, but I can’t do this alone. I don’t want to do this alone. I’d like it if you stay.”

  “Do what alone, Drew? What’s so bad about your parents anyway? You don’t tell me anything and my mind just…wanders.” I inhale sharply when he stops directly in front of me, so close our chests brush against each other.

  Without warning, he wraps his hands around my waist and hauls me up, setting me on the edge of the bathroom counter. I let go a little squeal and he steps in between my legs. He’s even closer to me now and I tip my head back, meeting his troubled gaze.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he whispers. “I want to tell you, but I can’t.”

  I touch his face and he leans into my palm, closing his eyes. I study his beautiful face and I’m consumed by the urge to kiss him. Lose myself in him.

  “Keeping it all bottled up inside isn’t healthy.” I stroke his cheek and he opens his eyes. “You really should talk to someone.” I’m trying to make him realize I want to be the one he talks to about whatever’s bothering him.

  “I can’t.”

  “All right. Whenever you’re ready, I’m here.” I drop my hand from his face and prop myself on the edge of the tiled counter, lifting up as best as I can, and press a kiss to his cheek. I want him to know that I’ll be there for him no matter what. I don’t care what sort of secrets he’s hiding—and I have a feeling they’re pretty awful—I want to stand by him and help him.

  He might be more trouble than he’s worth but I don’t think so. This man came into my life for some reason. Just as I came into his. Maybe we’re supposed to help each other cope.

  Or give each other hope.
>
  ~* Chapter Nine *~

  Day 4, 1:12 p.m.

  She’s beautiful, and therefore to be wooed; she is woman, and therefore to be won. – William Shakespeare

  Drew

  I took Fable to lunch as a sort of thank you for putting up with my shit. What I did to her last night was inexcusable, but somehow she found a way to forgive me. She’s so good to me I don’t know what I did to deserve her.

  Buying her a nice lunch is such a lame attempt to show my appreciation, but it’s all I’ve got. What I really want to do to show my thanks, I don’t think she’d be very receptive to. Despite the sweet kiss on the cheek she gave me last night and the reassuring hug she offered before we both went to bed, they definitely had more of a sisterly vibe than a I’m-hot-for-you vibe.

  Too bad, because she’s driving me crazy and I’m having a hard time concentrating. I’d rather take her to bed, strip her naked and bury myself inside her so I can forget, for at least a little while. I want to map every inch of her skin with my mouth. I want to sit with her in my arms and kiss her for hours, until our lips are swollen and our jaws are tired. I want to know what she looks like when she comes. And I want to be the one who makes her come with my name falling from her lips.

  I have never felt this way before about any girl. Ever. I sound like a complete pussy, but Fable overwhelms me—in a good way. And I’ve known her less than a week.

  Sometimes, I guess that’s all it takes.

  “I love this restaurant.” She looks around after the waitress brought us our plates, the smile on Fable’s face the happiest I’ve seen her since I brought her to this town where I grew up. “It’s so cute. And the food smells amazing.”

  Everything in downtown Carmel is what I’d label as cute. It’s got a doll-like feel to it, lots of cottages everywhere and everything’s tiny, all the narrow passages and secret hideaways. It’s like a fairy tale.

  “Dig in,” I encourage because I’m starving and ready to take my own advice. I ordered a chicken club sandwich while Fable ordered some sort of Asian chicken salad. I take a couple of bites, so involved in stuffing my mouth full of food, I’m missing out on the look of pure bliss on Fable’s face as she eats.

  I set the sandwich on my plate, completely transfixed. It’s ridiculous, my reaction to her. Doesn’t help that I’m horny as hell and everything she does seems to turn me on.

  But she’s really enjoying that salad. Her eyes are half-closed and she’s wearing this dreamy expression. She licks her lips, the sight of her pink tongue doing me in and I swallow hard, my appetite for food suddenly gone.

  My appetite for Fable comes roaring to life instead.

  “This is amazing. Like, the best dressing I’ve ever tasted.” She looks at me, her delicate brows bunched. “Are you okay? I thought you were hungry?”

  “Uhh…” Busted.

  “You’re not eating. You don’t like it?” Her concern is sweet, but this has nothing to do with a freaking sandwich and everything to do with her. How much I want her.

  And I want her pretty damn bad.

  For once, I’m ready to just go with this and not worry about the consequences. We’re attracted to each other. She won’t have any expectations, and neither do I. My turbulent past can be pushed away and replaced—at least temporarily—with new memories I can make here with Fable.

  “The sandwich’s good.” I take another bite to prove it and she smiles her approval before she starts back in on her salad.

  It hits me then that we’re on a lunch date. I’m the most pathetic twenty-one-year old guy alive. I play football, I get good grades in college, I have girls dying to go out with me, and I’ve never really taken a girl on a date. Have no idea how to be in a relationship. My past has turned me off of all that stuff and I’ve let it rule me for far too long.

  “Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving,” Fable says after she takes a drink of her iced tea. “Does your family have a big get together or what?”

  “Not really.” Well, we haven’t since my sister Vanessa died, but I’m not going there. Too heavy of a topic today. “The last few years we’ve gone on vacation during Thanksgiving.”

  “How fun.” Her smile is sweet but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She’s just saying that because she thinks I expect her to. She sees how fucked up we all are.

  She’s the first person who’s figured that out.

  “Besides, most of my dad’s family is on the east coast. My dad is from New York originally,” I continue.

  “Really?” She wipes her mouth with a white cloth napkin, then drops it into her lap. My gaze settles on her lips. They’re plump, a pretty shade of pink and I’m dying to taste them again.

  It’s like I woke up this morning with sex on the brain. Pretty accurate, considering the morning wood I was sporting. I’d dreamed of her, misty, out of focus images of the two of us tangled in the sheets. She’s consuming me and I’m letting it happen. Reveling in it, really.

  “Yeah. My mom was from there, too.” I frown. I don’t want to think about her either.

  “Have you gone back and visited?”

  “Not in years, but yeah. My grandparents live in a walkup in Brooklyn. It’s a totally different way of life there.” I’d like to go back. My grandma and grandpa are still alive but they’re old and they might not be around much longer.

  But they don’t really like Adele so we didn’t go see them much.

  “I’d love to go there sometime.” She sighs wistfully. “I’ve always wanted to see New York City.”

  “It’s an experience, that’s for sure.” I wish I could take her. Totally presumptive of me but I’m compelled with the need to make her happy. Show her stuff that I know her life won’t allow her to see.

  “Tell me something,” I say when we’re finished eating and waiting for the waitress to bring us the check.

  “What do you want to know?” Wariness flits in her eyes and it calls to me. We’re more alike than I ever thought and I find that reassuring.

  “How did you get your name?” When she frowns, I continue. “Fable. You have to admit, it’s pretty unusual.”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks turn pink, like she’s embarrassed, and she drops her gaze to the table. “My mom. She’s…different. When I was born, she took one look at me and declared me a wise soul. Supposedly she knew without hesitation I’d have many stories to tell. At least, that’s what she told me when I was around five. My grandma said the same.”

  “A wise soul, huh?” I study her and those big, fathomless green eyes are looking right back. She does seem so much more mature than other girls I know our age. She’s dealt with a lot more too. It’s like she takes care of everyone. So who takes care of Fable? “Do you have a lot of stories to tell?”

  She slowly shakes her head, her cheeks darkening to crimson. “My life is infinitely boring.”

  “I doubt that.” I find her mysterious. She puts on a front, like she’s tough and takes no shit but I get the sense that there’s a giant vulnerable side to her.

  “If you’re referring to my supposed sexual escapades, really. Totally boring. There’s nothing to tell. Most of the stories floating around out there aren’t true anyway.” Her mouth is screwed up so tight after that statement, her lips practically disappear.

  I’m momentarily taken aback by what she said. I’m trying to get to know her, not pry into her private business and her sexual past. I’m certainly not ready to go there yet. I don’t know if I ever will be. “I don’t care about any of that.”

  “Yet it’s precisely why you chose me to be your fake girlfriend.” The hurt in her voice is unmistakable. By choosing her, I’ve hurt this already damaged girl. The fact makes me feel like shit.

  “I’m not going to lie. You’re right.” Reaching across the table, I take her hand in mine and entwine our fingers. Hers are slender and so very cold. I give them a squeeze in the hopes I can warm them up. “But now, I’m really glad I chose you.”

  Her gaze meets mine once more, stark an
d wide and I feel like I just bared my soul. “I’m glad you chose me too,” she admits, her voice so soft I almost didn’t hear her.

  A rush of emotion burns through me and I try my best to keep it easy and light between us. But inside, I’m reeling. We make small talk and I pay the bill yet all I can think about is her. How much I want her. How easy she’s snuck into my life and I can’t imagine her out of it.

  Completely crazy.

  Plus, whatever happened last night eased the tension between us and we’re a lot more open with each other this afternoon. So open that when we leave the café and head up the steep sidewalk toward where I parked my truck, I grab her hand and she lets me hold it.

  Like we’re a real couple.

  “Smells like rain,” Fable murmurs and I glance up at the sky, notice the dark, swollen clouds hanging low.

  “Yeah, it does.” The first drop hits the moment I say the words and she smiles and laughs, the sound sliding over me, twisting me up inside. I love the sound and I want to hear her do it again.

  Fat raindrops start to fall and we stop and look at each other. I tighten my hold on her hand and we start to walk faster, as if we can escape the rain as it comes down harder and harder. Until we’re in the middle of torrential downpour and we’re getting soaked to the bone.

  “How far did we park again?” she asks. The rain is coming down so hard, I can barely hear her.

  “Way too far.” I went to a public lot so I wouldn’t have to worry about the parking meters and now I wish I hadn’t done that. The sidewalks are already virtually abandoned, the rain is really starting to come down in sheets and we still have blocks to go.

  “Maybe we should duck into a store and wait it out for a bit,” she suggests.

  That would work, but I see a better solution. Dragging her with me, I slip inside a narrow alleyway that I know leads to an artist’s studio and gallery. The alley is completely covered overhead, thick ivy growing along the sides and across the trellis that’s built there. It’s dark and safe from the rain and little white twinkle lights have been strewn amongst the ivy in preparation for the upcoming holiday season.