by Julia Bright
The walk to the bar takes ten minutes. Surprise hits me when I see Baxter already at the location. He wears an intense expression, one I remember well from college. I’d been on the receiving end of his ire more than once. Maybe I was twisted, but I took great pleasure in riling him up. Usually, I didn’t even try to get under a guy’s skin, but with Baxter, it was almost a requirement.
He glances up and a horrified expression crosses his face. His judgmental attitude hasn’t changed much in the years since school, but back then he’d let his judgment fall on others. One thing I would never do was apologize for my clothes. Sure, my designs were different from what most people wore, but my clothes were for women who were secure in their skin no matter their size.
I march over and pull him in for a hug. “Calling you Baxter is going to take some getting used to.”
His body stiffens and I almost lose my nerve. “Dammit, why are they here already. Shit, this is a nightmare.”
His words confuse me and I let go from around his neck. I turn and spy his parents. At least I think it’s his parents. I haven’t actually met them, but I’d seen photos. More than once, Baxter and I had bought beer or wine and had a powwow about how hurt he’d been by some shit his parents had done. Needless to say, I didn’t get any warm fuzzies seeing them now.
I draw in a slow breath, wishing I’d worn something different. Dammit, I was proud of my clothes, but a woman like Mrs. Baxter-Scott wouldn’t appreciate my style or my designs.
“Well, you must be Baxter’s fiancée. Jason, isn’t it nice to meet Baxter’s fiancée,” his mom says loud enough for everyone in the bar to hear.
Shock pulses through me, stealing my breath. I was about to tell her no freaking way was I Baxter’s wife-to-be when I notice a pleading look in his eyes. My heart twists in a way reserved for lost puppies and injured kittens.
I turn back to his mom and hold out my hand. “I’m Heather Burke, it’s nice to meet you.” Burke was my real last name. I own the business under the name Devonshire, which was my mom’s maiden name. It’s a way to honor her, and keep myself hidden from crazies when I just want to be left alone. Right now, I’m glad for the separation because I know Baxter’s parents will bend over backward getting a background check done on me.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Lucinda and this is Jason the fourth. Jacey hasn’t told us anything about you, not even your name. Honestly, we figured you weren’t real.” Lucinda lets out a bark of laughter that draws more stares.
Baxter shifts uncomfortably behind me. His dad nods and I get the distinct impression he doesn’t approve of me. His lips turn down in a frown and his nose curls a little. What the heck was going on? I want to ask Baxter, but that would have to wait. Based on their nickname for my friend, I would never be able to call him Jason.
“Mom, Dad, it’s nice to see you.” Baxter’s voice is strained, his stance stiff.
His dad grunts and flags down a waitress by snapping his fingers. Maybe the waitresses were used to such treatment in this part of town. Moneyed-up wealthy act like they own the place, and maybe they do, but their treatment of those in the service industry is nearly inhumane.
“Hi, can I get you all something to drink?” the waitress asks.
“Whiskey, neat,” Jason the elder says.
“I’ll have a cosmo,” Lucinda adds.
“Darling?” Baxter asks and for a brief moment I have no clue who he is talking to.
All eyes are on me, so I answer. “Just tea, please.”
“I’ll have a whiskey,” Baxter says.
Maybe he’d changed since college, but back then, he hated whiskey. I narrow my gaze, and he gives his head a quick shake. This isn’t my monkey. Then Jason the elder levels his gaze with me and a sneer mars his features.
“So do you think my son is a ticket to money?”
The question hits my solar plexus like no kickboxing, barre, or CrossFit class ever has. I think a gasp escapes my lips, I’m not sure. “He has money? I didn’t know.” That was a lie. Everyone in school knew Baxter was loaded. “We’re usually busy with other stuff.” I giggle and lean in, brushing my lips over Baxter’s cheek.
A few things happen all at once. Blush stains Baxter’s cheeks. I realize I like it when he blushes. The waitress approaches with our drinks, and Baxter’s mom shows us how fast she can slam a cosmopolitan. The waitress asks if she wants another and Lucinda nods.
No one says anything until the waitress brings Lucinda’s second drink. I wish I’d ordered something stronger and eye Baxter’s whiskey which he’s hardly touched. I get the sick feeling this is fast becoming my monkey and my circus.
“So, how did you two meet?” Lucinda is trying to be nice and I kind of regret suggesting anything sexual. But Baxter’s tales from his youth still affect me. I may have been drunk those nights we’d spent talking and revealing our scars, but I wasn’t so drunk I didn’t remember every word he’d said.
“Baxter helped me up after someone knocked me from my bike. Of course, that happened at school.” It wasn’t a lie but it wasn’t the whole truth. Baxter had been the one who’d knocked me off the bike and we’d both cussed a blue streak at each other until we were throwing out insults like you’re a scrubby little chihuahua rocket and your mother is a miniature goat herder. When I’d lobbed that one at Baxter, he’d thrown back his head laughing manically, then vowed to be my friend forever.
“Undergrad?” his dad asks.
“Yes.” I nod, wishing I could forget the goat herding memory before I laugh and they want me to explain what’s so funny.
“Damn fruits and nuts,” Jason the elder says under his breath before taking a sip of his whiskey.
Baxter takes a sip too. I drink a little of my tea, studying their family dynamics. What had happened to these people? They were worse than strangers. How had Baxter survived his childhood? I want to roll my eyes as I remember how hurt and broken he’d been when we met.
“We didn’t get together until I moved out here,” I say, hoping to answer questions before they come at me.
“When was that?” Lucinda asked.
“It was last year,” Baxter supplies in a rush.
I turn to stare at him. How long has he been lying to his parents? Did they think we’d been dating for a year? And if we’d been together for a year, why didn’t his parents know my name?
Jason the elder takes another sip of whiskey and so does Baxter. Was Baxter only drinking when his dad drank? Holy crap, this was all sorts of co-dependency bad.
I take a long drink from my tea, wondering how long I had to pretend to be Baxter’s woman. Would this be limited to tonight or would I have to keep this up for the weekend?
“We’ll be taking dinner at eight,” Lucinda says.
“Should give you time to change into real clothes,” his dad snips.
Bristling, I was ready to tell him they were real, and that I design my own clothes, but I didn’t want them knowing anything about me. They had no right to the information. Instead, I give a weak smile and nod. Uncomfortable backing down, I sip my tea, really wishing I’d ordered a martini.
J senior finishes his drink, tosses two twenties on the table and takes off. Lucinda uses her superpower and swallows the rest of her drink. I’d never seen frat boys drink that fast, much less aging debutants.
Alone with Baxter, I stare after his parents, not at all surprised when he slams the rest of his drink. Baxter shudders and coughs twice.
I turn to him, half wishing I’d ignored his call. “Your parents are—”
“Shitty?”
“I was going to say interesting.”
Baxter wipes his hand over his face. He sighs and stands, holding out his hand to me. I know my mouth is hanging open.
“I’m gonna need an explanation.”
Baxter sighs again. “We only have an hour.”
“Wait, you’re expecting me to come to dinner with you?”
The way he looks at me and blinks makes me shiver. His ey
es have always been able to hold me. Why we didn’t jump each other’s bones in school, I don’t know.
I drink the last sip of my tea, wondering how my life has come to this? Why am I standing in a bar with a man who doesn’t really know me, contemplating going to dinner with people who I know don’t like me?
“I need more if you expect me to go to dinner with you.” It looks like he is about to sigh again. I hold up my hand, stopping him. “No, no more sighing. Just tell me everything.”
“I…um, they expect—”
“First, did you tell them you were engaged to me?”
“No, there was—” Baxter glances around, his face blanking.
I look over my shoulder. Four strangers are at the table behind us and it looks like they’re listening to our conversation. Baxter takes my hand, tugging me toward the exit. His touch feels good, familiar. Like my hand belongs in his. I try to pull away but he holds on.
“Please, we need to hurry. You have to change. You can’t wear what you’re wearing to the place we’re going.”
“What?”
“Listen, I’m not going to—I don’t mind what you’re wearing right now, but this place is formal, or more formal than a bar.”
I roll my eyes. I hate this feeling. “I have my dress from work. So we have enough time for you to talk.” I let my bag fall off my shoulder and pat it. Okay, the dress may have wrinkles, but it will be fine—hopefully. My supplies from the gym are with me too. I can totally make myself over before dinner with J and L—I’d shortened their names because I was tired of their BS.
“Fine, but I can’t have this conversation here. There are too many people.”
I lift a brow and wait for him to say more. His lips thin and he turns. I follow, knowing I’ll regret it later.
Memories from our past hit me full force as we walk together. In college, he’d convinced me to go to dinner with our friends at this trendy lights-out place. I’d been hesitant but gone along, thinking it would be an experience.
We’d been led single file into the restaurant, holding each other’s hands. The evening had started okay, until someone spilled a freezing cold, sweet alcoholic beverage down my shirt. I shrieked and jumped up. What else was I supposed to do? When I’d jumped out of my seat, I’d bumped into someone which caused me to turn, but my foot caught and I grabbed onto Baxter.
Somehow, Baxter punched me. I later learned he’d been reaching out to grab me but failed. I flew backward, landing in the lap of another diner, which wouldn’t have been bad, but for some unknown reason, the guy had his dick out and my hand landed right on his cock. I shrieked again and the lights came on. To my horror, I was still holding the guy’s dick and everyone had seen me feeling him up. At that moment, maybe it was the excitement of someone actually touching him, he came right on my hand. It was gross and I almost threw up…okay, I did throw up. Right on his dick.
I really hope tonight wasn’t going to be like that. I roll my eyes and then tune into where we are. We cross Madison Avenue, walking at breakneck speed. “Where are we going?”
“My place isn’t far,” Baxter says over his shoulder.
We keep moving, him pulling me behind, me trailing like an untrained dog on a lead. After we cross Lexington, I dig my heels in.
He glances back, his lips turn down in a deep frown. “We don’t have time.”
“This is taking too long. You say we only have an hour. Let’s hop on a bus or something.”
Baxter looks up the street and steps out into the flow of traffic, raising his hand. A cab pulls to the side and we get in. Baxter gives directions while we sit in the back. The air between us is uncomfortable. I wish I’d not answered the phone when he’d called, but long ago, we’d been friends and I wanted to make sure he was okay. I’m fairly certain he’s not.
The taxi stops, and we get out. The area is nice, about as nice as the west side where I call home, but it’s not like Madison Avenue.
Baxter calls out to two of the residents as we head in. They wave but give him a weird look and a half wave. I’m not his fiancée or girlfriend, and they think he’s cheating, I just know it. I want to tell them I’m not going to sleep with Baxter, but what’s the point.
Once in his apartment, which is a one bedroom, lots of light, good furniture, but stark in comparison to my place, he goes for the fridge and grabs a beer.
“Why did you get a whiskey at the bar?”
Baxter’s forehead crinkles and he shakes his head. “What?”
“You ordered a whiskey. You hate whiskey.”
His face blanks. “Things change.”
I don’t stop staring at him. I can’t. He’s lying, and I know it. He just doesn’t want to admit the lies. I still need to know what is going on, but I also need to change clothes. I nod my head to the left and lift my brows. “Bathroom?”
His short nod communicates his frustration, maybe a little anger, and something else I’m not liking. In the past, I’ve ridden an elephant, climbed into bat-infested caves, stared down a pack of hyenas all for experience. Maybe one day I’ll be able to look back and laugh, chalking this up to experience, but I doubt it.
Once in the bathroom, I stare at myself in the mirror. I should walk out. Jason, or Baxter, or whatever he was calling himself now, wasn’t my problem. I owe him nothing. We have no connection at all, so why was I worried what his parents would do if they found out we really weren’t engaged, and we hadn’t ever dated?
Chapter Three
Baxter
Idiot, dumbass, fool are all words that scream through my mind. No way this would work. Heather would rat me out. Maybe not on purpose, but I had no doubt she’d make a mistake, revealing my deception. This hadn’t started as a sham. I’d had a fiancée. Had being the keyword. I was fucked.
The bathroom door opens and Heather steps out. Speechless, I stare at her in awe. Her dress has a pattern like her pants. Not at all like what my mother would approve of, but it was oddly appealing. My parents would hate this dress. No question, Heather still lives by her own rules. It was one of the things I’d admired about her in college.
“Do you have wine?” Heather asks.
“Red, I think that was your poison back in school. Am I right?”
Her lips curve up and her eyes sparkle. Time slows as I’m reminded of a much simpler phase in my life. Heather had made me laugh back then. She almost got me to break away from the preconceived notions my family had drilled into me. She’d come close to getting me to live a little more freely. But I’d come back to New York and fell back into my family’s rules. Freedom wasn’t a theory I could entertain while living close to my dad. He didn’t like freedom of expression. Strict guidelines made the world work according to my family.
“You’ve got my number.” Heather winks as she comes over.
I pour her a glass and she takes a sip, her eyes staying on me as she drinks. I should tell her to go home. My dad wasn’t ever going to give me the company. This fake engagement was just another hoop I would jump through that would be followed by another hoop and then another. I pick up my beer, wishing I’d ordered one at the bar. I was slightly tipsy, which I didn’t like this early in the evening.
“Tell me, Baxter, why am I pretending to be your fiancée?”
“It’s a very long story and we only have about twenty minutes before we have to head to the restaurant.”
Her brows lift and her lips thin. Back in school, I liked when she’d chastise me.
“Then you’d better start talking.”
How could I have messed up so much? No doubt, getting engaged to a woman I didn’t know well had been a mistake. We hadn’t been friends, just acquaintances.
“I had a real fiancée. Like, we really were engaged. I hadn’t bought a ring yet, thank God.”
“What happened?”
Heather knew too much about me. Back in school, she’d known my secrets. I’d made the mistake of telling her everything. California had been so far away from this reality
where my dad judged everything I did, from the drinks I consumed to the women I dated. When I’d met Sandra, I’d kept her existence hush-hush, until I decided I needed to get my father’s approval so I could take the company. I was ready for the challenge at work, and in my personal life, or so I’d thought.
Heather steps close and puts her hand on my shoulder. I meet her gaze and shiver. “I’m having a hard time remembering to call you Baxter, but I’ll get used to it because now that I’ve met your dad, I can’t call you Jason. And that nickname your mom calls you, um, no.”
A bubble bursts in my chest and all the anguish and rage, the pain and inadequacies come out in a laugh. “Yeah, don’t call me Jason.”
“So, your girlfriend or fiancée or whatever she was, what happened?”
I take another drink of beer and turn away from Heather, pain filling me. I can’t face her and let her see how bad it is.
“She called me about five minutes before I called you. I’m sorry. Yes, I’m using you, but I’ll pay you. I’ll give you money, anything you need if you just pretend to be my girlfriend—well, fiancée for another few days, maybe a week.”
She doesn’t say anything so I turn to see her taking a long swig of wine. She sets down the nearly empty glass and shakes her head. Doomed, that’s what I am. Without her help, my dad would figure it all out.
“Please,” I beg. I hadn’t begged anyone for anything in a long time.
“I wasn’t saying no. It’s just, Baxter, when are you going to be yourself? When will you actually decide to be you and not your father’s puppet?”
She understood more than I’d ever given her credit for. If this were some crazy stupid movie where the guy got the girl or the girl got the guy, I’d say we were destined to be together. But real life isn’t that way. I can’t abandon all I’ve worked so hard for. My parents held the purse strings for so long and decided what and when and where I would do things for so long I didn’t know how to rebel. Maybe, I had gotten an inkling in California, but I’d come back east and life here was too complicated.