Pretending

by Shanna Clayton

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Doll and I get together when we can. Just because you’ve never seen it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.” Charlotte looks away, inspecting her perfectly manicured nails. Something changes in her face, quieting her attempts to draw information out of me. That’s when I see it. Guilt.

  Now it’s all starting to make sense. They probably were good friends at one time, but not anymore. That’s where the guilt steps in.

  “I’m glad you’re getting her away from Styler,” Charlotte says in a softer tone. “I still don’t know what you’re up to, and I don’t like not knowing what you’re up to, but I am grateful to you for getting her away from him.”

  “What’s the deal with those two anyway?”

  I shouldn’t have asked. Dahlia’s love life is none of my business, and Charlotte will probably say as much.

  Then she surprises me by actually answering. “They just grew out of each other.” She glances over at me. “And Styler is a scumbag, but that’s beside the point. Thanks for giving him the bloody nose, by the way. Made my night.”

  I want to ask Charlotte why she thinks he deserves it, but I keep my mouth closed, feeling like my limit of questions has been reached—especially since I haven’t been as forthcoming as her.

  “Glad I could entertain you.” Tearing my eyes away from Dahlia, I turn to face Charlotte. “You should stop by the house this weekend. We’re having a party. I’m sure Dahlia would like to see a friend there.”

  “But she never goes to your parties.”

  “Yeah, well…she’s never been invited before.”

  That’s an understatement. We’ve never been invited into each other’s lives, period. Looking back, I can see it now. Every word, every glance, every movement that passed between us was carefully played out with the bare minimum of interaction. I don’t know how we ignored each other for so long, but I’m done. There’s something about Dahlia I need to understand, and I think my dad knew that too. As much as I resented him, he never forced me to do anything I didn’t want to, with the exception of my inheritance stipulations. There’s got to be a reason for that.

  “Will the two of you be able to get home okay?” I ask Charlotte, sliding a leg over my motorcycle.

  Dahlia and her ex walk toward the apartment building, I assume for her treasure map and the rest of her things. Red and blue lights flash from down the street. The fight is over, but I don’t want anyone pointing me out once the cops get here.

  “Yeah, of course,” she says.

  I pull the clutch and start the engine. “Happy Birthday, Charlotte.”

  “Thanks.” A small smile pulls at her lips. “See you later, Wes.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  DOLL

  “Check it again. Please make sure.”

  My stomach sinks as Hayes places the worn map Styler gave me back on my desk. “I’m sorry, Doll. It’s only a partial.”

  I place my head in my hands, feeling like it weighs a thousand pounds. My whole body is anchoring me down, and I just want to melt into the floor. This must be what it feels like to watch your dreams disappear before your eyes.

  When I was seven my mom brought home a crystal music box; it was a birthday present from my dad. I played that music box night and day, holding it for hours on end, staring at each intricate detail, watching the little dancing bears and ballerinas twirl, in a trance. One day it slipped from my hands. An accident. The crystal shattered, thousands of pieces laying broken across the tiled floor. The only gift I’d ever received from my dad was destroyed. I can’t explain it, but I swore he knew I’d broken it, because I never heard from him again. The music box was gone, my dad was gone, and so were my hopes and dreams.

  That’s exactly how I feel now. Hopeless.

  “Styler probably didn’t know any better,” Hayes says softly, a sympathetic look on his face. He lifts his hand as if he wants to pat me on the shoulder, then changes his mind and tucks it safely against his side.

  “I’m sure he didn’t, but still…I put my inheritance on the line for this thing, and it’s only a partial.”

  “Better you found out now, rather than at the end of the semester.”

  I squeeze my eyes together. This hurts way too damn much. Way more than it should. It’s only a treasure map, I try to tell myself. Short-lived fame and museum mentions are the only things waiting at the end of that road.

  Deep down I know I’m lying. It means so much more than that. It was supposed to be my freedom. My chance to prove myself.

  Would I have really gone through with it though? The Kents come from a long line of explorers, but I’m not sure I ever had the chops to go on a real hunt. Maybe it was a pipedream all along.

  A knock at the door pulls me out of my lapse into self-pity. I assume it’s Gwen, so I yell, “Come on in.”

  The door opens slightly, and I see Wesley’s head peek around. I jump up from my desk chair and smooth out my shirt. His gaze locks with mine, and I hope I don’t look as depressed as I feel.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Guess I didn’t do such a great job. “Nothing, I’m fine.”

  The door opens wider, and Wesley’s eyes drift around the room. He nods hello to Hayes, then looks back at me. “You don’t look fine.”

  “I um…it’s nothing,” I sigh. “Just a disappointing morning. Apparently the map Styler gave me was only a partial—and not the part I need.”

  Wesley winces, as if he understands that kind of disappointment. I’m sure he does, considering all the treasure hunting he has under his belt. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I know it meant a lot to you.”

  I shrug as if it’s no big deal. “There’s still a chance I could track down the rest of it.”

  “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

  With his skillset, he’s probably one of the best people out there to ask for help, but I know I won’t. I already feel indebted to him as it is. For last night. For the map. For giving back half the inheritance he could’ve easily claimed for himself.

  I move closer to where Wesley’s standing. There’s something I need to say to him, but I’m not sure how to say it.

  I glance at Hayes. He walks to the far side of the room and stares out the window.

  “Listen,” I say to Wesley. “I never got the chance to thank you for what you did last night.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “It was something to me. At first I wasn’t happy with the way you and Styler handled it. It was stupid, on both your parts. Not to mention reckless, especially since you’re still recovering—how’s your stomach by the way?”

  “Fine.” One corner of his mouth pulls up into a grin. “Don’t worry, he didn’t hurt me.”

  “I-I wasn’t worried,” I stammer. He makes it sound like my concern goes deeper than it should. “Look, when everything is said and done…I appreciate it. So thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He rubs the back of his neck, looking like he has something else to say. “I ah, know of a way you can repay me.”

  “Of course. Anything.”

  “Let me take you out to dinner.”

  “What?” Did I hear him correctly? My brows raise, and I’m almost positive I look as shocked as I feel. “You want to take me to dinner?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But…why?”

  In the background, I hear Hayes clear his throat uncomfortably.

  Wesley’s voice lowers. “I want to get to know you, Dahlia. We’re here for a reason, you and I, and we’ve never put much effort into figuring out what that reason is. And apart from that, I like you.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek, not knowing how to react.

  I like you.

  Those three little words reverberate inside my head over and over.

  This is not how things work around here. Wesley and I are supposed to be strangers, living here until we can safely extract ourselves from each other’s lives. We’re not supposed
to care about each other. We’re not even supposed to acknowledge each other. When did that change?

  What he did last night was amazing and selfless, and I’ll never be able to express my gratitude enough. But it’s like my mind can’t fully trust him, like he’s the pet snake I’ve felt comfortable around while it was tucked away inside of its cage. Except now he’s been let loose with no glass barrier between us, leaving me under the constant fear of being bitten.

  I don’t want to get bitten.

  Wesley Kent has fascinated me for years, but now that he wants to know me too, I can’t understand why—or why now.

  “So what do you say? Go out with me?”

  His blue eyes watch me expectantly, glimmering with hope. Part of me wants to say yes, but the other more sound part of me knows if I do, there’s no going back. He’s the type that could make me do something crazy, like fall in love. And that poses a problem. I’ve watched girls fall for Wesley over the years. Stupid girls. Intelligent girls. Beautiful girls. Creative girls. It doesn’t matter what type of girl he’s into, because there’s none I can remember him being attached to, no one he let stick around for more than a few weeks.

  “I can’t,” I finally say.

  Although I’m pretty sure I was never in love with Styler, what he did was enough to make me learn my lesson. There’s no reason to repeat that mistake.

  “You can’t?” The way he says that gives me the impression he doesn’t get told no very often. “Why not?”

  “Because…because…” My eyes drift around the room as I scramble to come up with a good enough answer. I see Hayes in the corner, and I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “I have a boyfriend. Hayes and I are dating.”

  Hayes spins around and chokes out, “We’re what?”

  I glare at him, daring him to contradict me. He closes his mouth, his lips thinning into an annoyed scowl.

  Wesley looks at us both, absorbing the news. “You…and Hayes,” he repeats as if he’s trying to work it out in his head, “are together?”

  “Uh huh.” I sidestep my way over to Hayes and wrap an arm around him, plastering a proud smile on my face. “Hayes and I are together.”

  Hayes tries to shrug away from me, looking extremely grossed out by my display of affection. I shoot him a desperate look, begging him to play along.

  After about five seconds of us battling each other with our eyes, Hayes gives in, and then cringes before wrapping his arm around me too. “What can I say?” he says in the most blasé, monotone voice I’ve ever heard. “Our love is sweeter than apple pie. I can’t get enough of this girl. She’s the sun to my moon. My everything.”

  Oh God. I’d like to bury myself beneath a rock right here and now. Wesley slowly, making me wonder if he fully believes us.

  “Okay, I get it,” he says.

  I’d like to know what exactly he gets. Does he think I’m trying to avoid going out with him, does he believes Hayes and I are dating? Although I doubt he’s that stupid, I’m hoping it’s the latter.

  “By the way, Hurricane Hector steered off its course,” Wesley tells us, pausing by the door. “The weather forecast predicts it’ll hit north Florida around midnight. I’m going to board up the windows. The last thing this old house needs is storm damage.”

  Panic erupts inside of me, seizing my breath. The reaction catches me off guard. Storms have never frightened me before. Violent thunderstorms have been passing through all summer, and the most I do is flinch.

  Hurricanes are different though. I’ve never gone through one without Harland or my mom. I’m an adult now though, and I need to get it together.

  “You okay?” Wesley asks me. “You look pale.”

  “I’m fine,” I say, waving a hand in the air. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Yeah, actually I noticed we’re out of batteries.”

  “Okay. I’ll pick some up at the store. What about candles?”

  “I don’t think we have any of those either.”

  “All right then. I’ll get candles and batteries. Anything else?”

  “That should be good. Thanks.” He glances at me one last time and then disappears out the door.

  The moment he’s gone, Hayes pushes away from me, making ick noises as he holds his arms away from the rest of his body. “I need a shower.”

  “Oh stop it. You endured two whole minutes of human contact.”

  “I want to douse myself with bleach.”

  I roll my eyes. “Your repulsion is doing wonders for my self-esteem.”

  “Why, Doll? Why would you make something like that up?”

  “Trust me, it wasn’t to torture you.”

  “Then what in God’s name possessed you to tell Wes the two of us are,” Hayes pauses to shiver, “a couple?”

  “I don’t know, I panicked,” I say, my voice sounding semi-whiny. “Going out with him is a bad idea, and I don’t want to hurt his feelings, especially considering how nice he’s been to me lately.”

  “Why is going out with him a bad idea?”

  I grab my purse hanging on the wall hook. “It just is, Hayes. Now please drop it and come to the store with me.”

  “I’ll come.” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “But this conversation is not over.”

  When we get outside, Wesley is already out there stacking boards in a pile on the front lawn. “Quick, hold my hand,” I whisper to Hayes.

  “No, thanks.”

  I reach for his hand, but he dodges me. “Hayes,” I say through ground teeth. Glancing over my shoulder, I look to see if Wesley caught that, but he’s busy setting up a ladder. “Will you cut it out?”

  He scowls, letting out a frustrated breath. “Fine. But you owe me for this, Doll. Big time.”

  “It’s a deal. Whatever you want.”

  He links his fingers through mine. “Just so you know, I never got the point of this hand-holding business. It seems like such an archaic, insignificant gesture. I mean what is our physical contact really doing for you? Other than giving you a sweaty palm?”

  “We’re trying to convince Wesley we’re a real couple, Hayes.”

  “Well I doubt he’s buying it, but that’s not what I meant.”

  He’s probably right, but I’ve already dug myself this deep in the hole. Might as well keep going with it.

  We stop in front of my Nissan, and I wait for Hayes to open the door for me. When he doesn’t, I let out a frustrated sigh and open the driver’s door for myself. Hayes gets in on the other side, buckles up, and then takes out a bottle of hand-sanitizer from his pocket. The smell of alcohol fills the car as he slathers it between his fingers.

  “Holding hands is comforting,” I say, turning the key in the ignition. “And romantic.”

  “Exactly how is it romantic?”

  “I don’t know.” I shift the car into drive, then press my foot against the gas pedal. “I guess it’s like saying I am yours and you are mine.”

  “Why not just say it? Wouldn’t it be easier?”

  “I suppose so, but don’t you think it means more when someone shows you how much they care, rather than using their words?”

  “Personally, no.”

  “Well most people aren’t like you, Hayes. Most people appreciate affection. Most people crave it.” I adjust the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of Wesley as I drive away. “How do you ever expect to have sex with someone if you can’t bear to touch them?”

  “Not all physical contact is repulsive to me, Doll.”

  “So you’re saying sex isn’t off limits?”

  Hayes shifts in his seat. “I’m sure it will happen one day—with the right, hygienic girl.”

  Of course he would have to describe his ideal girl as hygienic. “Good to know,” I say, smiling. “There’s hope for you yet.”

  The nearest drug store is only five minutes down the road. When I pull in, the parking lot is packed. Looks like everyone in town is stocking up on their supplies. “Geez, do
you think there will be anything left?”

  “This is what happens when you’re not prepared. My mom and I keep an entire closet stocked with supplies and canned goods for emergencies like this.”

  “Harland was never big on preparation. Most of the time he was the absent-minded professor.”

  “You’re like that too, Doll. I’ve seen you stay up all night in research mode.”

  Hearing him say that makes me pause. He’s right; I have done that. Sometimes I’ll be so engrossed by a book, I’ll forget to go to class or miss an appointment. It’s amazing how someone can rub off on you in such a short time. I used to think I was just like my mom. Turns out I’m more like Harland than I realized.

  Customers shuffle past us, carrying their bundles of plastic bags. Hayes and I duck into the store, squeezing through the tight crowd. I spot a uniformed employee near the entrance. “Excuse me, where are your batteries?”

  “Up front, but all we have left are triple A’s.”

  Dammit. “Okay, thanks.”

  Hayes and I throw a few packs into our basket, and then we look around the store for candles. We find them a few minutes later in a back isle.

  “There aren’t any plain-scented ones left,” Hayes says while scanning the racks. “Looks like your only options are tropical hibiscus and fresh rain.”

  “Might as well go with the theme of the night,” I say, throwing a handful of the fresh rain into my basket.

  We head toward the register to checkout, stopping short when we see the line. “Holy Mother of God,” Hayes mutters.

  I crane my head around to see what he’s talking about. The line is so long, it snakes along the side of the store. Grumbling, we weave around the people and take our places at the back of it.

  Hayes shifts his weight to one leg. “Since this is bound to take a while, it’s the perfect opportunity for you to tell me what happened back there with Wes.”

  Wesley’s voice flows through my head, causing me to shiver. I like you. My stomach does a little flip at the memory. “Do I have to?”

  “Yes, you have to,” Hayes snaps, almost indignantly. “I’m parading around acting as your personal man candy; I think I deserve an explanation.”