Pretending

by Shanna Clayton

  “Sounds like you’re a good friend to have around,” I say.

  He shifts uneasily, like he’s shaking off my comment. Compliments make me uncomfortable too, but mostly because I like being recognized in more subtle ways. With him, it’s different though. Like he doesn’t believe it’s justified. I don’t say anything else, sensing it would make things more awkward.

  “There.” I pat the last of the tape into place. “All finished.”

  Wesley catches my hand, trapping it there against his stomach. He draws it up across his chest, startling me, and pulling me toward him.

  “What are you doing?” My voice comes out whispered even though I’m screaming that question inside my head.

  “Getting closer.” He pulls me until I’m flat against him. I feel every ripple of muscle, every inch of his body against mine. For a second I imagine how it would feel without my clothes separating us, and the thought makes me panic even more.

  What is going on with me?

  What is going on with him?

  “This isn’t a good idea.”

  “Why not?” he asks, tilting me back.

  “Um…” Why shouldn’t I kiss him? What could it hurt? “You’re going to reopen your wound.”

  There. Valid reason.

  “Good,” he says, grinning. “It’ll give me a reason to keep you here longer.”

  I stare at his lips, losing all train of thought. My curiosity begins to outweigh any reservations I have about kissing him. This could be a mistake, but nothing in me seems to care.

  Wesley leans in before I get the chance to back away. Sparks of heat ignite inside me as he presses his lips against mine. He tastes me at first, lightly, each stroke of his tongue sending a wave of electricity through my body. My brain doesn’t work anymore; it’s like it just switched off, not allowing room for thought.

  I’ve kissed guys before, but I’ve never felt like this while kissing guys before. It’s exciting and frightening all at the same time. He’s like a magnet, molding my body into his and making me feel like I’m losing control over myself. My hand involuntarily reaches around his neck, pulling his head closer to mine, deepening the kiss. That one small movement makes Wesley groan, and it vibrates through me, warming me straight through my core.

  Part of me wonders if this is real. Two people can’t fit together so perfectly—can they? It seems impossible, especially with someone I barely know. Touching and kissing Wesley feels easy though, like I’ve known him forever. Like we were both split from the same atom.

  I feel him lift me up, pushing me onto the bed. He takes over completely, running his fingers through my hair and kissing me like he can’t get enough. There’s an intensity surrounding him that’s so strong I can feel it. Probably because I feel the same way. I can’t get enough of him either.

  The buttons on my shirt come undone. Not sure how or when that happened. His kiss becomes several little kisses, his mouth moving hotly down the length of my jaw, across my neck, and down the center of my chest. I never knew skin could feel this way—so alive. So tingly and warm.

  “Tell me your name, beautiful.”

  The question doesn’t register; I’m too distracted by the way Wesley is making me feel to focus on what he’s saying. Then he asks a second time, his hand sliding behind my back, reaching for my bra clasp.

  This time the words hit me with the force of a semi-truck. I open my eyes. “What did you say?”

  “Your name,” he demands. “I can’t do this without knowing your name.”

  Buckets of invisible ice water flush over my body, prompting my brain to work again. I can’t think straight with him hovering over me. I shove my hands against his chest. Space. I need space.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks in a ragged breath.

  “You don’t know who I am?” I can sense that he doesn’t, but I have to be sure.

  “Believe me when I say I could never forget someone like you.”

  Unlike myself, his desire hasn’t cooled at all. He grasps at my waist, ready to go back to where we left off. This time I punch him in shoulder. Hard.

  “Ow.” He stares at me incredulously. “What was that for?”

  I slide off the bed, feeling more humiliated than I’ve ever felt in my life. The night Tyson and Chase were here plays over in my mind like a bad case of déjà vu. They mistook me for a maid. I look up at Wesley, sensing he did the same thing. I can’t believe it. Three years together, and he doesn’t even know who I am.

  Wesley fists the sheets on the bed in what looks like an attempt to keep his emotions under control. “Why don’t you just tell me who you are, babe? I promise never to forget again.”

  Seeing his frustration surprises me. He usually appears so calm and collected; I never picked him for the type to have a temper.

  Still, mine outweighs his.

  “Say something,” he pleads, looking helpless. “Fuck, is this really not happening anymore?”

  “No, it’s not happening, you ass!”

  I immediately place my hand over my mouth, shocked to hear that much anger come out of me. I screamed at him. Actually screamed. That’s never happened before. Sure, I get annoyed as much as the next person, but screaming is for toddlers throwing temper tantrums. Getting that worked up is beneath me. Until now, apparently. Because right now I think I could scream until my heart comes out of my chest. Since being around Wesley is the cause of all this, I march towards the door, determined to get out of his bedroom as soon as possible.

  “Wait,” he calls, veering in front of the door just as I’m reaching for the handle. “I’m sorry. That was so fucking insensitive, and I’m sorry.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” I cross my arms over my chest, refusing to meet his gaze. “Just move so I can leave.”

  “Offending you was never my intention.”

  I keep my eyes trained on the floor as I wait for him to get out of the way. Offending is putting it way too nicely. I know I go out of my way to stay unnoticeable, but we’ve lived together for three years, dammit. He should know who I am!

  “Look, I’ll give you some time to cool off.” He reaches for my chin, forcing me to face him. I give him the coldest, harshest look I can manage, hoping he’ll get the hint. “But I will figure out your name. Eventually.”

  “Good luck, buddy. Now can I please pass?”

  After a long moment, he lets out a sigh and grudgingly steps to the side. I swing the door open, practically running down the hall to get away.

  “Something amazing happened before I pissed you off,” I hear Wesley call out from behind me.

  I ignore it and pick up my pace. Over my dead body will he find out who I am.

  “You know I’m right.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I say again over my shoulder. And it doesn’t matter. Or at least it shouldn’t. “I’m already over it!”

  The sound of his laughter echoes down the hall. He doesn’t believe me one little bit.

  God, I can’t believe I came so close to…no, I don’t even want to think about what I almost did with that conceited jackass. I don’t want to think about how easily he got me in his bed, or the way he kissed me, or the way my body acted as if it practically belonged to him. I don’t want to think about any of it.

  It occurs to me he can follow me, so I race down the twisting hallways, not stopping for breath until I reach my bedroom.

  I need my makeup. I need my glasses, and one of my sweaters. I need to be completely unnoticeable again. A sense of urgency takes over. He can never know it had been me.

  I lock the door and lean back against it, taking several breaths. Gwen is in my room, using my laptop. She doesn’t even look up, too focused on whatever she’s typing. “I’ve been talking to this guy online forever, and he still won’t commit to meeting me. You think he’s a catfish?”

  “Quick, Gwen!” I say breathlessly.

  She looks up, her mouth parting a little. “Goddammit, what did I miss? Did Kent finally try to kill you off so he ca
n hold the majority of the will? I knew when I saw the two of you together something big was going down. Did you use the tae kwon do moves I taught you? Did you kick him in the balls?”

  I hold my hand over my throat as if the action will help me breathe normally. “I never want to speak about what happened with that-that person.” I can’t come up with something else to call him—there’s got to be better insults than person—but I can’t think clearly right now. “We’ve got to get ready for Graffiti Bash. Help me with my makeup?”

  “Fine,” she grumbles, closing her laptop.

  “I want my hair pinned back in a bun. And I want to wear my biggest, rattiest hoodie. Oh and my glasses. I’ll need those too.”

  “So much for the idea of you wearing The Heart then,” Gwen mutters.

  I pretend not to hear her.

  She does my makeup, applying pale concealers that wash me out, giving her a blank canvas. Gwen is trained in theatrical makeup, and she’s got a talent for changing faces. She uses shadows to make my eyes appear smaller, my nose wider, and my lips less full. I just sit there staring at myself in front of the mirror, trying not to think about what happened moments earlier.

  “Distract me,” I say to Gwen. “What’s going on with Internet Guy?”

  “Oh him.” She shakes her head. “He’s getting super annoying. Every time I suggest we meet, there’s always an excuse.”

  “Why don’t I know about him?” I ask, pushing for more. “Give me details.”

  Anything to get my mind off of the guy a few halls down from here.

  “His name is Luke.” She holds her phone in front of me. There’s a picture on it of a guy wearing sunglasses and a Florida State ball cap. “He’s an engineering student in Tallahassee.”

  “FSU isn’t that far. Why doesn’t he want to meet you?”

  “No clue.” Gwen gathers my hair into one hand, brushing back the bumps with the other. “Last time he said he had car troubles, so I offered to go up there—and you know how old school I am about wanting the guy to me pick me up on the first date.”

  Gwen always makes the guy chase after her. If she offered to drive all that way for someone she’s never met, she must really like him.

  “Anyway,” she continues, “after that, he came up with some lame excuse about needing to study for his midterm.”

  “Maybe he really needed to study for his midterm.”

  “I could buy that, but this isn’t the first time something like this has happened.”

  “Do you think he has a girlfriend?”

  Gwen shudders, and her hands go still. “I’ve got to admit, it’s crossed my mind.” She lingers a second before pushing a bobby pin into the back of my scalp. “That’s why he’s getting annoying. I want to drop him completely, but he makes my days so interesting, and then there’s his voice—”

  “You’ve spoken to him on the phone?”

  Her cheeks redden, a grin tugging at her lips. “His voice is so sexy, Doll. I can’t get rid of him if it means never hearing that voice again.”

  “You should mess with his head, do something to get a rise out of him.”

  She holds her hand over my forehead while spraying the top of my head with hairspray. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know…” I press my lips together, thinking. “Tell him you’re dating someone new. See how he reacts. If he really likes you, it’s going to bother him.”

  “Hmm. I’ve never thought of that before. What if he has no reaction?”

  “Move on. Find someone else with a sexy voice. Preferably someone who lives here.”

  That gets a scowl out of her, but she knows I’m right. “Fine. I’ll give it a try.”

  “Let me know how it goes.”

  “I will.” She hands me my glasses. “There you go. Your sad little look is complete.”

  I put the glasses on, then turn my head back and forth in front of the mirror, checking everything out. Air fills my lungs, and I let out a relieved breath, my shoulders noticeably relaxing before my eyes.

  I’m invisible once again.

  She hands me a plain white shirt. “If you wear anything else, you’re going to stand out.”

  I take the shirt, frowning. How am I supposed to fit in and be invisible at the same time? “I’ll wear my zip up hoodie over it.”

  I pull off my Yoda shirt and replace it with the white one, careful to avoid messing up my hair and makeup.

  Gwen studies me carefully, tapping her foot against the floor. “So why are you using my love life to distract yourself from whatever happened with Kent? You sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

  As soon as she speaks his name, I feel his lips pressing against mine again…and hear him asking what my name is. Bastard. “I’m sure.”

  “Maybe I can help.”

  Gwen’s brand of help would be prying every last detail out of me, and only after that, she’d try convincing me to sneak into Wesley’s bedroom later tonight to finish what we started.

  “No, thanks.”

  She holds up her hands, surrendering. “Okay. I’ll leave it alone, but just so you know, I haven’t seen you this wound up in a long time.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “I’m just guessing here, but I think something other than talking went down.”

  “Gwen—”

  “When you walked in, your hair was a mess and your lips looked pretty swollen. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you made out with him.”

  “Gwen.”

  She shrugs, smirking. “But again, I’m just guessing.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  DOLL

  “Doll!”

  Charlotte Hart screeches my name à la Carrie from Sex and the City, catching the attention of everyone within a five-mile radius.

  “Hi, Charlotte.” I gasp for breath as she envelopes me in an extra-tight hug. “Can’t…breathe.”

  Her blue eyes are glassy; she’s already buzzed. “I knew it was you when I saw those hideous glasses, and what is this?” She picks at the back of my bun, twitching her nose. “Is this a hair piece?”

  Sometimes I wish Charlotte and I didn’t go to the same high school. The way I look bothers her more than it does Gwen, and that’s saying a lot. She never fails to give her opinion on it.

  I veer my head away from her fingers and change the subject. “You did a great job on the party, Char. This place looks amazing.”

  Located in the heart of sorority row, this house is bigger and grander than most others with its large white columns and sleek marble floors. Tonight it’s decked out in the theme of the party. Large graffiti art canvases the walls, lit up by black lights and rotating glowing orbs. When Charlotte throws a party, she goes all out. Mediocre is not in her vocabulary.

  “Why, thanks,” Charlotte says, her proud smile growing wide. “The girls and I stayed up late last night decorating.”

  Gwen walks up from behind us, smoothing out the short black skirt she’s wearing under her white T-shirt. “Jesus, it looks like a rainbow threw up in here.”

  Inwardly I cringe, preparing myself for the worst. The lighthearted mood instantly shifts. “I see you brought a guest,” Charlotte grumbles, then gives me the look. “Doll, didn’t I mention this party is for students only?”

  “Technically, Gwen is a student.” We both know I’m reaching here. The truth is Gwen dropped out of the university last year to study at a cosmetology school a few blocks from campus.

  Right on cue, Gwen looks up and plasters on the biggest, phoniest smile she can manage. “Whaddup, Char?” she drawls in a high-pitched voice. “How’ve you been, girl?”

  “Gwendolyn.” She nods stiffly. “I was great, until you showed up.”

  “You know I just love these little soirees you throw,” Gwen says, smacking her lips. “The food, the drinks, all the frat guy eye candy. It’s a real treat. Thanks for inviting me.”

  “I didn’t invite y—”

  “Looky there, I think I see ch
ips and queso. Ya’ll know that’s my favorite.” Gwen sashays away, heading toward the food table in a hurry.

  “Really, Doll?” Charlotte snaps as soon as she’s gone. “Did you have to bring her?”

  Shuffling my feet, I try to think of something to say. I hate when they do this. Both of them always make me feel like I’m betraying the other one. “Aside from you, she’s the only person I know here. I need someone to talk to tonight.”

  “Why can’t you make new friends?” she asks, and she’s dead serious. “I’ve got an idea! Let me give you a makeover. Your confidence will skyrocket.” She starts to pick at my hair again. “We can go shopping, get you some new clothes and makeup—and of course you’ll have to let me get this hair under control.”

  I swat her hands away. “No, Char. There’s nothing wrong with the way I look—”

  “There’s nothing right about it either.”

  “—so stop it with the Gwen thing. You know I refuse to get involved in ya’lls drama.”

  “Ugh, fine,” she huffs, her lips forming a pout. Someone from across the room shouts her name. “Great. I gotta go,” she says, sounding annoyed. “Hostess duties.”

  “I understand.”

  She reaches around me for another hug. “Seriously though. Despite your plus one, I’m glad you came.”

  “Me too.”

  “Leave space on your shirt for me.” She points at the front of it. “And not the sleeve or some shitty, less noticeable part. You’re my best friend, so I better get the boob or the stomach—promise?”

  Laughing, I motion to my invisible crowd of admirers. “Sweetie, you’ll have to get in line.”

  “I mean it. Save me a spot.” She smiles before slipping back through the crowd.

  I look around to see if I recognize anyone through the sea of white T-shirts. These parties are usually pretty tame, basically a chance for students to make new friends or catch up with the ones who were gone over summer. Charlotte’s crazier drunkfests happen midsemester—those being the kind I’m more reluctant to attend.

  I weave through the mass of bodies, politely tapping on shoulders to get them to make way for me. Blocking my path, a guy with stringy black hair shoves a can of spray paint in my face. “Want me to draw you a dragon?”