Fake It
by Melissa Devenport
♥
Table of Contents:
Chapter 01 - Some Things Never Change
Chapter 02 - A Minute To Talk
Chapter 03 - Send Her Packing
Chapter 04 - According To Plan
Chapter 05 - The Game Plan
Chapter 06 - End Of Story
Chapter 07 - The First Real Fake Date
Chapter 08 - Leaving
Chapter 09 - Win Him Back
Chapter 10 - The Charade
Chapter 11 - Wanting
Chapter 12 - Control
Chapter 13 - Disaster Dates
Chapter 14 - The Show
Chapter 15 - The High Road
Chapter 16 - Give Him Some Air
Chapter 17 - Extra Hours
Chapter 18 - A Dream
Chapter 19 - Yielding
Chapter 20 - Coming Apart
Epilogue - Not One Single Thing
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Fake It
Written by Melissa Devenport
Published by Perfect Harmony Publications
© 2018 Perfect Harmony Publications
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission in writing from the publisher.
Chapter 1
Some Things Never Change
Sam
Wellston wasn’t the kind of town that was thriving. It wasn’t a booming area where young families moved to. It had exactly three businesses: a gas station, a hair salon and a restaurant. Besides that, there was a post office, a bank, and the building where people went to complain about town affairs. There was one school, for kindergarten to grade twelve that offered only the core classes. Forget art and language, even gym was out once the kids got too old to fit in it.
Wellston pretty much offered zero opportunity. It wasn’t the kind of town where people went to die, exactly. No, they moved into Miami for that, since the massive city thirty minutes away offered care homes and hospitals, whereas Wellston had none of that. It was the kind of town the younger generation were born into and left as soon as they could. The school dwindled every year. Houses went up for sale for rock bottom prices and were only bought up by those looking to escape the much higher real estate prices in Miami.
Because Sam Johnstone had been raised in Wellston, he saw the town as what it was, not what it truly looked like. He had fond memories there from his childhood, of hours spent playing and running around. He’d had his first love and his first heart break there. His parents still lived in the same house they always had and every other weekend, he made the half hour trek from Miami there to visit them.
His mom was just putting on a batch of buns, as she always did every Sunday afternoon, when he walked in the front door. The little bungalow was small and outdated. It hadn’t been remodeled since before he was born.
“Sam!” His dad, Henry, slapped him on the back as he entered the kitchen. On the middle of the small table with the four yellow chairs surrounding it, was a plate of molasses cookies. His favorite.
Though his father was well into his sixties, he was trim and fit. His hair had almost no gray and his face was unlined. He’d been the janitor at the school for three and a half decades, also well before Sam was born.
“Have a cookie,” his mom, Betty, prompted.
She was in the middle of kneading another batch of dough and was up to her elbows in flour. His mom never had been skinny that he could recall. She had rosy cheeks and shining brown eyes. Unlike his father, her hair was almost all gray. She’d never worked outside the house, or at least she hadn’t since he and his brother were born. She’d had them later in life, later than most people did back then. When she found out she was expecting twins, she was elated. They’d never had any more kids, though it was apparent she wanted them. He’d always felt a little like a miracle baby. There was nothing she hadn’t done for him and Howie, his twin brother.
Betty was the kind of mother who volunteered to teach Sunday School, who organized church picnics, who donated baking to local bake sales, who was involved in the PTA at school. She was a pillar in the community without being domineering or overbearing. She was always there to help, was soft spoken and supportive of her family. She was generous to a fault. She was motherly to absolutely everyone she met. Both people and animals.
“Thanks, mom.” Sam reached for a cookie, but then thought better of it and scooped up three. At twenty-eight and three inches over six feet, he still always felt like he was starving.
“Still packing it away, I see.” His dad grinned at him over a half drank cup of coffee. Even though it was three in the afternoon, Sundays in their household always had been for church and then for relaxing.
He remembered actually enjoying church as a kid, at least the food and the games and such, but he hated being dragged there when he was older. He thought, as a teenager that he was too old for that stuff. He’d definitely gravitated away from it after he graduated. His mom knew that. She didn’t push him either way. For her, church had been as much about community as it had been about anything else. She’d never forced it down his throat. She’d just wanted him to grow up to be a good person.
Being that he was now a mechanic and worked with a bunch of other blue collar guys who could put a well-seasoned sailor to shame with the things they said, he wasn’t sure that his mother’s efforts had truly done much good.
“Yup, still eating like a champ.” Sam patted his stomach. “Although, nothing I eat during the week is as good as when I come home. Nothing beats your cooking, mom.”
His mother flushed with pleasure and tittered away to herself as she punched down the dough in her giant silver mixing bowl. She’d used that bowl for as long as he could remember. Coming home was a little like going back in time. It was like going back to his childhood, since the details of the house, the curtains, the carpet, the furniture, the implements, even his bedroom, hadn’t changed.
Sam was just about to help himself to another cookie when the doorbell resounded through the house. It was the same as well, a high pitched ding that he’d always hated.
“Oh, I wonder who that is.” His mom glanced up. “Would you mind getting that, Sam? I wasn’t expecting anyone. I just have to clean up my hands.”
Sam knew that his mom wouldn’t be caught dead answering the door in her faded blue jeans and a paint stained shirt. It was the clothes she always wore for working around the house. They didn’t have a lot of money growing up and his mom insisted that special clothes be saved for special occasions. He knew full well that she was going to rinse off her hands and hurry to the bedroom to change into a dress or the blue dress pants and red blouse she often reserved for church.
“Yeah, no problem, mom.” He pushed back his chair, stole another two cookies, and walked to the front door.
It was probably someone wanting his mom to cook something for a fundraiser. Likely her cabbage rolls, since, at the risk of being blasphemous, they were heavenly good.
He pushed open the front door, his mouth full of cookie. He didn’t care anything about appearances or being overly polite. People could take him or leave him. He’d always thought that way and it hadn’t always kept him out of trouble growing up.
When he saw who was standing on the other side, as casual as if she hadn’t up and walked out of his life and broke two hearts ten years ago, his mouth fell open. Bits of cookie crumbs actually landed on the front of his sh
irt. He watched it happen, as though his life had suddenly become a slow motion video. Amy Anders. His first love. His only love, if he was honest.
“Am- Amy?” He choked. He had to slap a hand on the door frame with the peeling red paint, in order to steady himself.
She shrugged, as though the blond hair cascading down her back, the tight fitting pink dress and matching pumps, the unending legs, the flowing curves, the bright pink lips and devastating baby blue eyes with the longest, blondest lashes, were of no consequence at all.
She hasn’t aged a day. Not one single fucking day. She was still easily the most incredible girl he’d ever seen. No, not a girl. She might not have aged, but those curves had filled out. She wasn’t just a girl. She was a woman. A stunning, glorious, woman.
He was too damn shocked to respond as he normally would have. God, he’d dreamed about seeing her again. He’d thought of her on and off over the years. And by on and off, he actually meant all the time. She’d always been on his mind and not a single other woman had ever measured up. Not only was she his first love, she was his brother’s as well.
Unlike his brother, who was happily married with a baby on the way, Sam had never been able to move on from what he never truly had.
Amy Anders, the woman of his dreams. She’d become a bit of a myth, the fabled unicorn that everyone talked about. She was someone he’d never even dared hope to see again. And there she was, standing on his parent’s doorstep as casually as if she came around every single Sunday, as if she hadn’t left without a backwards glance, as if a damn decade hadn’t passed.
“Are you going to share those with me or are you just going to stand there showing me a mouthful?”
It took him a minute to realize she was talking about the cookies. He remembered that his mom’s molasses cookies had been her favorite.
He slowly extended the cookie he was holding in his hand after he recalled that it was even there. She wrapped her hand around it and he got a full look of long, tapered fingers with manicured, white tipped nails with little diamonds here and there. They were obviously fake.
“Turns out some things never change,” she grinned after she took a bite.
He had no idea if she was talking about him or the cookie.
Chapter 2
A Minute To Talk
Amy
“Do you have a minute to talk?”
Amy knew she was asking a lot. It took more courage than anyone could have guessed to look Sam up after everything that happened when they were kids. No, not really kids. They’d known each other since kindergarten and been good friends. It wasn’t until they were in grade twelve that the real shit went down.
He was obviously shocked to see her. He had no idea how she was squirming on the inside, under her cool, collected demeanor.
“What- uh- what are you doing here?” Sam ran a hand through dark hair. It was long, but not long enough to actually be fashionable. Shaggy… that’s what it was. His large fingers combing through made it stand charmingly on end.
Is it possible that someone as large as he is can actually be cute? Amy blinked hard.
Sam was all hard edges and massive, masculine angles. There was no trace of the boy she’d known back in high school. She wanted to give her head a shake. She couldn’t let herself think of the past. If she did, she’d remember how she had to break her own heart. How she’d got in over her head, how she knew she was drowning and had panicked, trying to save herself. She’d gone to Miami for a fresh start. She’d found what she was looking for, love. At least, she thought she did. She thought she could love the man she married. Maybe she even had. Either way, it hadn’t lasted. Even if she’d loved him, he hadn’t loved her. Or he’d fallen out of love. Is there even a difference?
“I was visiting mom and dad and I thought I’d drop in.” She wanted to wince at the fake sugar in her voice. She didn’t even believe herself and it was clear Sam didn’t either. He’d always called her on her bullshit growing up. That’s what made their friendship so interesting.
“No you weren’t.” He slowly crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. Those dark brown eyes of his, a cross between chocolate and rich velvet, pegged her with a pointed stare. “You never come back here. Never. Not once. I would have known about it if you did. Or did you forget that our moms are still really good friends?”
A bead of sweat started at the back of her hairline and trailed down her back. She imagined that her bra strap soaked it up, since she didn’t feel the trickle continue any lower. She couldn’t back down. Sam used to feed off weakness. She couldn’t let him see just how ruffled she was or she’d never get what she’d come for.
“Alright, you win. I wasn’t. Well, I was. I am visiting my parents, but I knew that you’d be here and I planned my trip around that. Mom says you come every Sunday, or more often, if you can, but at the very least, you’d be here today.”
She could tell she’d surprised him. He hadn’t expected an honest, direct answer. Sam slowly closed the door behind him and stepped out. God, he’d grown since high school. He was tall and thin then, but he’d filled out. What were once bony shoulders were now broad and rippling with muscle under a thin red cotton t-shirt. He had on light wash jeans that were faded and stained, obviously from use. She wondered what he did for a living. They looked as comfortable and as right as he did. She couldn’t stop looking. His shielded legs were probably as thick and muscular as his shoulders.
His face had changed as well. He didn’t look like a boy anymore. Sam had all the hard chiseled angles of a man.
Amy’s heart pounded furiously as she tried to talk herself out of being distracted by Sam’s unexpectedly devastating good looks. She’d come to him because he’d once been her friend. If there was anyone who could help her, it was him. No matter how much time and life had passed in between the time they were kids and now, he’d once sworn to her that he would always be there for her.
She made herself move. She uprooted one of the pumps which was currently mashing her toes together into what was sure to be a future bunion. At least, that’s what her mom always warned her about when it came to the sky high shoes she loved so much. Amy folded herself onto the doorstep beside Sam.
“I can’t remember how many times we sat this way over the years,” she said softly. She stared off towards the front yard, the green patch of grass and the large tree on the corner, the crumbling sidewalk and the even crumblier street beyond.
“Yeah, well…” Sam didn’t look at her either.
She felt his discomfort radiating from him. He was so close, she could feel a hell of a lot more than that and wondered why she’d parked herself close enough to soak up the heat from his body. She breathed in because she couldn’t stop herself. She expected cologne, but got only the sharp, masculine tang of him, the scent that was raw and basic and elemental, the scent of skin and male sweat that was so new it hadn’t yet turned into anything that she didn’t want to smell.
“Do you want the honest truth?” She blurted, because she didn’t know what else to say.
“Yes.” Sam didn’t hesitate.
Neither of them turned towards the other. She wondered if it was as weird for him as it was for her to be talking to the street.
“When we were in high school, do you remember how you said you’d always be there for me no matter what?”
“I guess so,” he admitted grudgingly. “Too bad you didn’t stick around to find out.”
She ignored the jab, even though she bristled. They both knew why she couldn’t stick around. At least, she thought he knew. She wasn’t sure though. She’d never been sure, that was the problem. She couldn’t throw something in his face when she didn’t fully know the truth and she couldn’t straight out ask for it.
“I’m not here about the past. I- well- at least, not really.
He finally turned to look at her and she could see the annoyance written all over his face. “Why are you here, really? Just spit it out. I don’t have all
day. Mom and dad are waiting inside.” There was a reason he didn’t ask her in. His meaning was completely clear. She hadn’t just hurt Howie and Sam when she left. She’d hurt Betty and Henry. It was just another notch added to her carved out stick of regrets.
“You know I got married?”
Sam raised a brow. “I might have heard.”
“Now who’s not being clear? You know. Everyone knows. I married a guy who was a lawyer. Even though he was just starting out when we met, he took on some big cases and won and made a real name for himself. We were happy enough, I guess.”
“Why does any of this matter to me?” Sam asked edgily.
“If you know I got married, you know I’m divorced. It’s been a year and a half.”
Sam shrugged. “So what?”
Amy choked back a retort. She knew it wouldn’t be easy going back, not to Sam, not back home. She never had been very good at eating humble pie.
“Well, here’s the thing. It’s a long story-”
“Why don’t you save us all a lot of trouble and make it short?”
She did let out an irritated sigh and Sam slapped his mouth shut. His jaw pulsed near his ear, a sure sign that he was annoyed as hell. She didn’t expect him to be anything less.
“He cheated on me. My ex-husband. That’s why we got a divorce. Ever since then, though, he’s kept tabs. We have a lot of the same friends. He never was very good with people. He wasn’t charismatic or charming. He left it up to me, to do the things he couldn’t, to win people over. That’s why I was there. I was just a thing to him. Anyway, his friends are my friends. We have the same clients. I make my living now, by working with people who know him.”
“Maybe you should get some new friends and go into a new field.”
She ignored that. “He keeps tabs. I know he does. He has people watching me, when I go out. He knows everyone. Half the city, I swear. I can’t go anywhere or be truly free. It’s the same online. I need my social media sites because they’re a huge part of my business, but I feel like he’s always watching there too…”
Fake It: A Sizzling Hot Pretend Romance Page 1