Pretending

by Shanna Clayton

  “I’m so glad you came!” Charlotte shouts over the music. Her pink lips curve into a smile as she sways to the slow song playing.

  “Yeah, me too.”

  I sip from my cranberry juice, happy to find the bartender paid attention when I discreetly asked him to give me a virgin. Drinking so soon after the last time seems like a bad idea, and one of us needs to be sober enough to drive. Charlotte and her friends are already too far gone to fill that position.

  “You look different,” Vanessa tells me, slurring her words. “But in a good way.”

  Vanessa and Bryn are my favorite of Charlotte’s friends. They’re both the typical, cute sorority girls, and they’re also genuinely nice. I’d been worried the catty girls from her party would be here tonight, but thank God she didn’t invite them.

  “You’d look better without this.” Charlotte snatches the glasses off of my face before I can stop her, holding them up high above my head.

  “Give them back, Char.” Those are my last pair; the first I lost in the cab with Wesley the night he brought me home from Graffiti Bash. I can’t afford to lose those too.

  “Oh, my,” Vanessa breathes. “You should look into contacts, hun. Those things aren’t doing you any favors.”

  “Holy shit, you’re a knockout!” Bryn adds, gaping at me. “Char’s right. You need to ditch the librarian look. I know it works for some girls, but your face is so much prettier like this.”

  “Thanks,” I say, not wanting to come off as rude. I do like hearing their compliments—what girl doesn’t—but it’s harder to appreciate when I’m out in the open like this. It reminds me of how much I’m revealing.

  Reaching over Charlotte’s head, I finally catch hold of my glasses. Charlotte and I play tug of war for a second, both of us yanking too hard. The glasses fall to the floor. Charlotte stumbles forward, her foot landing directly on top of the lenses, shattering them into tiny shards of glass.

  She holds a hand over her mouth, her eyes rounding innocently. “Sorry, Doll. It was an accident.”

  I scowl at her, knowing damn well that step forward was too contrived to be accidental.

  Vanessa pats my shoulder. “Don’t worry, hun. She’ll buy you new ones, won’t you Char?”

  “Course I will.” Charlotte adjusts the sparkly tiara she’s wearing, smiling wickedly. “Better ones.”

  Replacing my glasses will be next to impossible though. It took me weeks of searching to find the right style big enough and thick enough to change the shape of my eyes, and when I finally did, I purchased two, never thinking I’d lose them both.

  “Twenty-one!” shouts some random guy carrying a tray full of shots. People have been buying Charlotte drinks all night, especially after they see her tiara. I feel bad for Miles; he’s going to get the crappy end of this night. Literally. Because at this rate, she’ll be waking up next to the toilet bowl, with Miles holding her hair. At least he’s the type of boyfriend that does things like that.

  Sort of like the way Wesley carried me through Kent House and cooked for me.

  I wince, cursing at myself. As hard as I try, I can’t keep my mind from wandering back to the perfection of his chiseled face and pretty blue eyes. I need to stop thinking about him, stat.

  Forgetting him would be much easier if he hadn’t come to Professor Barakat’s class. I can’t stop replaying the things he said and the way he looked at me over in my mind. None of it makes sense. I forfeited everything, allowing him to inherit Harland’s entire fortune. He should’ve been dancing on rooftops, not sitting beside me in the lecture hall, staring at me with those sad eyes, wanting so badly to understand my motives. I can’t wrap my head around why. We’re nothing to each other. The two of us amount to one kiss and a whole lot of confusion.

  Granted, it was one really amazing, unforgettable kiss…

  I groan, shaking my head. The not thinking about Wesley thing isn’t working out very well.

  “Hey, pretty girl. You want a shot?” The guy holds out his tray of shots, offering me one.

  Looking around, I see everyone holding up theirs. Charlotte clinks hers against the glass of some guy I don’t recognize, then looks over at me, giving me a little nod to get me to take one.

  “Sure, thanks.”

  I wait until everyone is busy downing theirs before dumping the contents of mine on the ground.

  “So what’s your name?” the guy with the tray asks me.

  It’s just a simple question, one that shouldn’t bother me. But it does. I’ve become so used to staying unnoticed. This guy is trying to strike up a conversation with me, which wouldn’t happen if I were wearing my normal disguise, and it makes it clear just how exposed I really am.

  My stomach lurches unexpectedly. “Excuse me. I don’t feel so well.”

  I hop off my barstool and weave through the crowd, looking for the restroom. I find it near the back door. There’s a huge line though, and I don’t really need to go. I just need to get away for a moment. I need some air.

  I push through back door, apologizing to the people I’m bumping into along the way. The outside air is humid, but it makes me feel a little better. I walk down a back alley to get away from all the smokers and the noise of the bar. Once I’m alone, I lean back against the building’s brick wall and take a few deep breaths.

  Staring up into the night sky, I wonder what the hell is wrong with me. When moments like these come along, I worry I’ve let my disguise run my life. It shouldn’t be this hard. I should be able to go out and have fun with Charlotte, the way we used to in high school. I should be able to dance and laugh, and flirt with cute guys without feeling exposed.

  Whoever this person is I’ve turned into, I’m not sure I like her.

  “Dahlia!”

  Around the corner, I catch sight of Charlotte stumbling out of the building. She’s shrieking my name, waving her cellphone around frantically.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask, jogging over to where she’s standing.

  “A fight just broke out at the Estates between Wesley and that asshole you dated in high school. Everyone’s gathered around outside watching. Do you know anything about this?”

  My heart begins beating through my ears, the blood rushing from my face. Styler’s condo is at the Estates. How the hell did Wesley find it?

  “I need to get out of here.”

  “What’s going on?” Charlotte asks me. “And what is Styler doing in Gainesville?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Don’t care. You’re telling me on the ride over because I’m not missing this.”

  “I don’t want to ruin your birthday, Char. Stay and have fun. I’ll be back later to drive you guys home.”

  “Oh, no you don’t.” She sticks her arm up to hail a cab. “I’m going so don’t try and stop me.”

  “What about Vanessa and Bryn?”

  Charlotte waves her hand in the air as if leaving them is no big deal. “They’re busy making out with those guys that bought us the shots. They’re not going anywhere anytime soon.”

  A taxi stops along the side of the street. Charlotte opens the door, holding it open for me. I hop inside and give the driver the address.

  “Start talking,” Charlotte says once the car takes off. “Don’t leave anything out.”

  Grudgingly, I tell her how I left Kent House to live with Styler, how he’s holding the map over my head in order to keep me with him, and that Wesley isn’t taking any of it the way I expected.

  “Styler always was a grimy blackmailer,” she seethes. “What he’s doing doesn’t surprise me. But Wes? Since when does he give two shits about anything involving you?”

  Heat rushes to my cheeks, giving me away.

  “Oh my God—did you sleep with him?”

  “What? No!” I say right away. “There was one kiss though, and well, I’ve been able to see a different side to him—”

  “Dahlia Reynolds! You like him.”

  My whole face feels like it’s on
fire now, especially from the way she’s grinning. “No, Char. I mean…God I don’t know.”

  “You do. It’s written all over your face.”

  “He’s ignored me for three years. I don’t want to like him. I don’t want to have anything to do with him.”

  She leans back against her seat. “Wes isn’t perfect, I’ll give you that. But he’s not one of the bad ones either. Maybe there’s a reason the two of you are finally coming together. Maybe this is like fate or something.”

  I laugh, unable to help myself. “I doubt it goes that deep.”

  “How do you know? His father could be working some ghostly magic on the two of you from the other side.” She shakes her head. “Man, this is enough to sober me up.”

  “Told you to stay at the bar.”

  “Please,” she snorts. “Watching Styler get the shit beat out of him will be worth it. Don’t think I don’t remember how he cheated on you with that slut in the girl’s locker room. What was her name?”

  “Frankie, I think.”

  “That’s right. Skanky Frankie.”

  The taxi pulls into the Estates a few minutes later, and sure enough, there’s a crowd hovering outside by the gazebo. Charlotte and I push and shove our way through.

  “It’s all over,” someone shouts, sounding disappointed. “Nothing more to see.”

  The crowd begins to break apart, allowing us to reach the center of it. Styler is sitting on a curb, wearing only a pair of jeans. He’s using his shirt to stop his nose from bleeding, the white fabric soaked in red.

  Wesley is standing on the other side of the gazebo, looking much better off. There’s a small cut above his brow, and he’s sweaty, but other than that, he looks fine.

  “Wes?”

  When he sees me, he freezes. “Fuck,” he groans, his face dropping. He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a long breath. “I didn’t mean for you to see any of this.”

  “I just got here,” I admit. “So I didn’t actually see anything.”

  He leans against the side rail, sighing.

  “Are you okay?” It seems like a stupid question. Compared to Styler, he is much more composed and a lot less beat up. But I remember how adept he is at hiding his pain. If he’s hurting, he won’t show it.

  “I’m fine.”

  My eyes drift over his stomach, looking for signs of his cut opening. There aren’t any detectable bloodstains.

  “So why were you fighting with Styler?” I ask, surprised at how calm my voice sounds. On the way here, I was angry enough to start a fight of my own.

  Wesley looks directly at me. “He told me about the map.”

  My heart picks up it’s pace. I don’t want him knowing about that. I don’t want him equating this all to a simple treasure hunt.

  “There’s more to it than what you’re thinking—”

  “Doesn’t matter what I’m thinking. You left because of it, and now it’s yours. Get your things. You’re going home.”

  “Home? Wait a second, what do you mean it’s mine?”

  Wesley doesn’t answer me. Instead, he leans forward and looks at Styler. “A deal’s a deal, man. Give her the map.”

  Styler nods and gingerly picks himself up off the ground. Paola is there trying to help him, but he brushes her away. He limps over to where I’m standing, lowering the shirt from his blood-smeared nose. Sweat drips from his face and chest, and he breathes heavily, exhausted. Wesley walks ahead a few paces, giving us privacy.

  “He fought me for the map,” Styler says quietly. “My testosterone got the better of me, and I went along with it like a fucking idiot.”

  Wesley went to those lengths—for me?

  My brain is having trouble processing this. Across from where we’re standing, I see him lean against his motorcycle. He’s talking to Charlotte, but I can’t make out what they’re saying.

  “I’m sorry, Sty.”

  I don’t know what to say. His pride looks wounded, and strangely, I feel bad for him.

  “There’s nothing for you to be sorry for.”

  I touch his arm. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

  He shakes his head, brushing me away. “No. It’s bad enough that I lost. I don’t think I could handle you patching me up on top of that.”

  I nod, backing off. “Okay then.”

  “Just tell me one thing, Doll. Did I ever stand a chance?”

  I fidget with the bracelet I’m wearing. “Styler—”

  “Tell me the truth.”

  I look up, meeting his miserable gaze. “No,” I whisper honestly. “You cheated on me, Sty. There are no second chances for that.”

  “I was a sixteen-year-old dumbass.”

  “Monogamy isn’t your thing. Look around you, Sty. You surround yourself with women. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that. It’s who you are.”

  “I would’ve ditched them all for you.”

  “Maybe for a little while, but you wouldn’t have been happy. We were never on the same page.”

  He knows it’s the truth. I want the necklace. I want the guy who will choose just one woman to give his love. Styler was never that guy.

  “I’m sorry,” I say again. “I really am.”

  His eyes tighten around the corners. He looks sad, the pitiful kind of sad. But I know he’ll get over this. Styler has never been one to let himself be depressed over a girl. He’ll rebound quickly.

  “So what’s with this guy?” he asks me, nodding toward Wesley. “Is he the one for you?”

  I snort, surprised by the question. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because his eyes haven’t left you once since we started talking. Because he fought me for you. And I’m guessing he would’ve stopped at nothing.”

  I quickly peek over my shoulder at Wesley. He’s still standing there talking to Charlotte, but he keeps his eyes on me.

  “He’s Harland’s son,” I explain, shrugging. “We live together, but we’re not close or anything.”

  Styler wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, then looks back at me. “I don’t know if I buy that. He fought me like his life depended on it.”

  “Apparently he gets in a lot of fights. Trust me, this isn’t anything new for him.”

  “No, Doll, you don’t understand. That guy wasn’t leaving here without you.”

  I rub the sides of my arms, uncomfortable with where this conversation is headed. “Are you really planning to give me the map?” I ask, hoping to change the subject.

  “I always intended to give it you. Whether I convinced you to live with me or not, it was meant for you. My way of saying sorry. For high school. For everything.”

  My eyes begin to water. I can’t speak for a moment, and when I finally do, my voice comes out squeaky. “You found it for me?”

  “Yeah, of course.” He sniffs and wipes at his nose again. “I remember how hard you and the old man searched for it. When I heard he passed, I knew I needed to get it for you.”

  “Wow, Sty…I don’t know what to say.”

  “You deserve it, Doll. You don’t need to say anything.”

  “Does this mean we’re friends?”

  “No.” He shakes his head. “We’d make terrible friends.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “But it does mean I’ll never forget you.”

  I smile. That’s enough for me.

  ~ ~

  WESLEY

  “What game are you playing at, Wes?” Charlotte asks as she studies me.

  “What do you mean?” I lean against my motorcycle, not taking my eyes off Dahlia and her ex. “I’m not playing any games.”

  “Yeah. Okay. Like I’ll believe that.” She snorts. “So what is this about? You’re practicing to become the next world-fighting champ?”

  I don’t bother answering that question.

  “Or do you have something to prove, huh? You gotta show everyone you’re bigger and badder than the rest of them?” She steps closer, forcing me to give her m
y attention. “Everyone at Thrill-Seekers Anonymous will be so disappointed to know you’ve relapsed again.”

  “What do you want from me, Charlotte?” I growl out.

  She points toward Dahlia. “That’s my best friend right there.”

  “So you’ve told me.”

  “Where’s your sudden interest in her coming from? I’ve known you since freshman year, Wes, and the only interest you’ve ever expressed was in getting the hell away from her.”

  “I know.” I swallow, hoping Dahlia isn’t aware of that. “I was wrong. She’s not…she’s not what I thought she was.”

  “And you’re just now figuring that out?”

  Yeah, I am. It didn’t matter before. I didn’t want to know her. One night can change your life, I guess. But since I’m not ready to deal with those feelings, I’m definitely not shedding any light for Charlotte.

  “I don’t want to talk about it, Hart. What are you doing here anyway? Isn’t it your birthday?”

  “Aw, you remembered. How sweet.”

  “Saw it on Facebook. Congratulations. Now you can legally do what you’ve been doing for years.”

  “Thanks for the well wishes. Truly heart-warming.”

  “You know what I don’t understand?” I say, glancing at her. “How are the two of you friends?”

  “What doesn’t make sense about it?”

  “Well for one, your personalities are like night and day.”

  She rolls her eyes. “We’re not as different as you’d like to think. And you don’t know her personality well enough to judge it.”

  “Okay, point taken. But I’ve never seen the two of you hang out before tonight.”

  Charlotte swallows, and I know I’ve hit a sore spot. “We’ve both been busy, and we have different things going on. I’m a Journalism major and she’s Anthropology. It’s not as easy as it was in high school.”

  “And yet I’ve seen you make time for less important people.”

  Like every member of her sorority. She’s one of the most social people at the university, which is why it’s hard to buy her story about being Dahlia’s so-called best friend.