Faking It

by Holly Hart

  1

  Prologue - Kim

  I’m not a falls-for-the-bad-boy kind of girl. I’m a straight A’s kind of girl; a happy-with-the-teacher’s-praise kind of girl.

  So how did I end up here?

  “You want to do what?” I squeak, hoping against all hell that I heard him wrong. He can’t have said that, can he?

  “Tie you up,” Nate says, like it’s the most ordinary thing in the world. He’s so close to me. I can almost feel the heat radiating from his skin. It’s licking at me: caressing me; or maybe that’s just the burning redness of my cheeks.

  “What: you mean like Fifty Shades?” I ask, scrunching my hands up into balls. I want to find somewhere to hide. I’m fully clothed, but I feel naked as the day I was born: naked. Do not think about that word. But it’s too late: an image of Nate’s body flashes into my mind. It’s graphic. I see the V at his hips, the happy trail of hair leading down to his…

  Nate grins. “You’ve thought about it? Funny, you didn’t strike me –”

  “No!” I protest, lying through my teeth. “I never –”

  Nate takes a step forward, grabbing my left hand and bringing it up towards his chest. His skin burns mine. Suddenly, all I can think of is my breath: in, out; in, out. I have to remember how to do all the things my body should be doing for me automatically.

  “I can see that,” he smiles. It’s a wicked grin, like he’s picturing undressing me in his mind: picturing doing things to me; dirty things. “Little Miss Perfect, all tucked up in bed at night. A little toy in the drawer beside her…”

  I clench my legs together. God, I’m bathing in his scent. It’s spicy, masculine, and all I can smell.

  “I don’t have…” I whimper. I lie.

  “You don’t have what -- a toy? Hmmm … Maybe you’re a fingers girl. Are you, Kim?”

  He lifts my hand, caressing my fingers and studying them. “The thing is, Kim, I think you’re a liar: a dirty little liar. Would you do that to me?”

  “What?” I croak.

  “I can hear you through the walls,” Nate grins. His eyes are locked on mine. I’m drowning in them. They’re like tractor beams, pulling me inexorably inward. I gulp. There’s no way what he’s saying can be true. Is there? My bedroom’s the other side of the hall…

  “You’re lying!” I stammer.

  Nate drops my hand, and it feels cold. All I want is to feel his touch once more. He licks his lips. Now I’m desperate for the touch of his tongue, and to taste his mouth on mine.

  “Maybe,” he says in a low rumble, “maybe not. Do you think of me, Kim, when you touch yourself?”

  I don’t know how he can be so direct. He’s so cocky, so confident. My tongue’s stuck fast. Whatever I say, it’s a trap. I need to run away from this man.

  “I don’t…” I whisper.

  “Don’t what?” He asks, a fire burning in his eyes. The corner of his mouth twitches with amusement as he watches me twist in the wind. “You don’t touch yourself, Kim?”

  I run my tongue across parched lips. What the hell am I supposed to say?

  “Or you don’t think about me?”

  He leans in, until his lips hover no more than an inch from my ear. His heat burns my cheek. He trails a finger down my torso. “Because,” he growls, “I don’t believe either is true. So which is it, Kiss?”

  I shiver at the nickname.

  “Nate, please,” I moan, “we’re at work. Anyone could –”

  He chuckles, pulling my body against his. My left heel falls away, and he lifts my entire weight, crushing me against the plate glass window. I close my eyes, pretending that if I can’t see him, then he can’t see me.

  "– See? Maybe that’s what I want,” he says, pressing his head into my hair and breathing in deeply through his nostrils, “maybe I want to show you off, Kiss. Would you do that – for me?”

  My legs tremble. Hell, I’d do anything for this man. If you let me go, I’m not sure I’ll be able to bear my own weight.

  “Nate…”

  “When you make up your mind, Kiss,” he whispers into my hair, “I’ll be waiting. You know where I am.”

  He drops me, and my bare foot grazes the carpet. Static electricity crackles, and sends a shock rampaging through my body. I push back against the wall, and run a hand through my hair, swallowing hard. By the time I can bring myself to open my eyes, Nate’s gone.

  My breathing is ragged, and I’m burning up inside. I’m drunk off his touch. I’m like an addict, no matter how much he gives me, I’m desperate for more.

  I’m in too deep. Nate’s not the kind of guy for a girl like me. How the hell did I get here?

  2

  Kim

  I feel like a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

  No – that’s not right. What I really feel like is a girl dressed up like a sheep, walking through a pack of wolves.

  That’s much less fun.

  “This was a bad idea,” I shout at Frankie. I’m somehow able to make myself heard over the thumping music, but only just. “Maybe we should go –”

  “Like hell we are!” Frankie laughs. She’s in a shimmering gold cocktail dress that only falls half way down her thighs. Her blonde hair flows in waves like the shaking of a candle’s flame in the club’s shifting mood lighting. She looks like she was born to be here. “I finally convince you to dress up nice and come out with me – no way you’re backing out now!”

  “This was my idea,” I grump. “Shouldn’t I get to –”

  Frankie’s face lights up in a broad smile. “No, girl,” she says, moving her hips in a slow, hypnotic rhythm in time with the music. “Not tonight.”

  Her shoulders start moving next, in a graceful figure eight, and she looks like one of those women from a toothpaste commercial, or something – unbelievably glamorous. She dances like it is all she was born to do, as easy as breathing is for most people. I wish I could say the same about myself…

  I’ve got two left feet. I know, just from glancing around, who all the eyes in the club are focused on – and it is not me.

  “Tonight,” Frankie grins, extending a finger and beckoning me over seductively. “Tonight, we’re going to find you a man!”

  I gulp, and drag my tongue over lips that have suddenly gone as dry as a creek bed in summer. “No we are not,” I insist. “Seriously, Frankie: I’ve got news to tell you. Can’t we just, I don’t know, find somewhere to sit?”

  Frankie nods, her body still gliding in time with the music like some kind of Arabian belly dancer. “Sure –”

  I heave a sigh of relief.

  "– just as soon as you join me for a dance.”

  She reaches over and grabs my arm in a surprisingly firm grasp, pulling me into the heaving crowd. There are bodies all around – men and women, just boys and girls really, grinding on each other. Everyone’s drunk – it’s just hard to say whether it’s from alcohol or lust.

  Or it could be both.

  Frankie could be the poster child for New York’s party scene. Blonde, skinny, and almost 6 feet tall – she could pass for a Heidi Klum runway model. Hell, I’ve got no idea how we ever became friends. I’m not exactly the friendly type, through no fault of my own. It just happened that way.

  Frankie puts her lips close to my ears and yells over the music. “Close your eyes!”

  “What –?”

  “Just trust me,” she says. “Close them. Just listen to the music, okay? It’ll help you loosen up.”

  I don’t believe her, but I do it anyway. Believe me – I don’t want to be this way. I wish I could be like Frankie: always carefree and happy. Unfortunately, it’s just not me. I have just always been more of the anxious type. Well – not always. There was a time when I was different; when I was fun. Before –

  “What’s that?” I splutter, as something touches my lips. For a second, I think that Frankie has grabbed a man from the crowd and introduced him to me. I’m about to give her a serious tongue lashing when I hear,

>   “Chill, chica, it’s just a drink. You didn’t think –?”

  I can feel my cheeks heating up, and gulp down a large mouthful of the stinging drink to hide my embarrassment. Frankie’s right – for a second, I did think it was a man. Also, if I am going for honesty, for a second I was okay with that.

  “What is it?” I choke over whiskey fumes. “Are you trying to kill me: or just torture me a little?”

  “It’s an old-fashioned,” Frankie laughs. “You like it?”

  “You watch too much retro TV, girl…”

  I can’t deny that the alcohol is sending a glowing warmth coursing through my veins. I don’t usually drink cocktails – and certainly not hard liquor. The music seems to beat just a little bit – not louder exactly – but almost deeper. It’s almost like I can feel it in my bones. It feels good.

  “See there; I told you!” Frankie exclaims triumphantly. My eyes snap open. Frankie’s found a small gap in the crowd of writhing, gyrating bodies on the dance floor, but that doesn’t stop people from brushing against me every couple of seconds. It feels kind of nice. God – how desperate is that!

  “Told me what?” I ask, cocking my head at her suspiciously.

  “Said you would start dancing,” she says, “See: it’s fun, isn’t it.”

  “Depends on your definition of fun,” I sniffed. Still, there’s no hiding the smile that’s creeping over my face. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol – or if it’s being here with my best friend – but somehow everything just feels good.

  “Come on,” Frankie says, jerking her head towards the bar. “Let’s get a drink.” She narrowed her eyes at me seductively. “The boys will still be here when we get back…”

  One drink turns into two, turns into three. I’m not used to drinking this much, or this quickly: the whole world is spinning. I barely notice, though, because the dance floor is so packed, the music is so loud, and I’m having so much fun.

  “About time you ditched that sweater,” Frankie giggled, grabbing the woolen sweater from my shoulders and tossing it onto a seat at the corner of the room.

  “Hey –”

  “Seriously, girl,” she says, standing with her hands on her hips and one foot turned outward. I feel like I’m an animal at a meat market, and she’s inspecting me. “With a figure like that, why are you trying to hide? Damn, I wish I had those curves.”

  I elbow her in the side, grimacing. “Shut up! You’ve –”

  “Seriously,” she says, looking down and cupping her hands underneath her breasts. She pouts, lifts them up, and lets them drop back to earth.

  I glance around. “Frankie,” I mutter, “people are looking".

  She grins. “I know… I thought it was about time we found you a guy, and I think,” she says, her voice becoming more high-pitched, “I’ve found just the one.”

  Frankie’s eyes track a guy crossing the dance floor. He’s well over six feet – and well out of my league. He looks like an Olympian, or maybe a bronzed god. Frankie starts towards him, and this time it’s my turn to reach out and grab her arm.

  “What?” She pouts. “I was just –”

  “I know exactly what you were just about to do,” I grin. “You were going to make trouble for me, like you always do: but not tonight. I’ve got something to tell you, seriously. It’s big.”

  I start walking towards the seat where Frankie threw my sweater. She follows behind, muttering. “Trouble: Like, I cause trouble. The only thing that’s big around here is what he has in his –”

  I sit down, and take a huge gulp of whatever overly sugary cocktail Frankie ordered me. I don’t need the alcohol inside me. I know I’ll regret it tomorrow. Right now though, it’s something other than telling Frankie why I dragged her here.

  “So…” Frankie prompts. “You gonna tell me, or what, Little Miss Mysterious? What’s so damn important you broke the habit of a lifetime and let me take you out for drinks?”

  “Well…” I stutter, stalling for time.

  “Wait –,” Frankie says, holding out a finger.” Don’t tell me, let me guess. You’re… Joining a traveling circus?”

  I shake my head.

  “Darn,” Frankie grimaces, scrunching up her nose. “I thought for sure that was it. Are you –”

  I cut her off before she gets the chance to list a hundred equally nonsensical ideas. I know her – she will. “If you give me a chance,” I say, “I’ll tell you.”

  “Geez,” Frankie grins, “just trying to lighten the mood.”

  “I –,” I stammer. I don’t know why I’m so nervous about telling Frankie – after all, I know she’ll be nothing but excited for me. She’s not the jealous kind. Besides, she’s got a killer job of her own. “I’ve got a job…”

  Frankie raises an eyebrow and squints at me. “I know, at the library. Wait – wait just a hot minute. You’re telling me …?”

  I nod my head.

  Frankie jumps up, grabbing my hands and taking me with her. “No way! Where? When? How could you not tell me you had an interview?”

  I cut in before another dozen questions flood out of her mouth. “That’s… That’s the thing. It’s in London. England,” I add helpfully.

  For the first time since I met her five years ago in college, Frankie is completely stunned. She has nothing to say. I help her sit down as her mouth opens and shuts like a goldfish feeding on flakes. “You’re – you’re leaving me?”

  “Oh, Frankie,” I say, “don’t be like that –”

  “I’m just kidding,” she says, punching me lightly on the arm. “Seriously, Kim, that’s amazing! But why didn’t you tell me you had an interview. I could’ve helped you –”

  “I didn’t want you to know,” I reply honestly. It’s the truth.

  In fact, I could go further – I couldn’t bear the idea of telling her that I had another interview. Frankie has helped me prepare so many times – and every single time, I didn’t get the job. It’s nothing to do with Frankie, she did all she could. It’s me. I freeze up. After three years at Virginia Tech, and another two at MIT – you can’t imagine how embarrassing it is not to be able to get a job anywhere except the local library.

  Frankie pouts. “But, England, Kim? That’s like – hell, I don’t even know how far away. Who’s going to go drinking with me?”

  “You’ll find someone. Anyway, I’ve never been your drinking buddy. Seriously, walk with me – I need some fries before I pass out.”

  “Lightweight,” Frankie grins. “But what about them,” she says, pointing at the dance floor. From where we’re sitting, it looks alive, like a billowing curtain in a darkened room. “I was going to find you a hot –”

  “I don’t need –”

  “That’s right,” she giggles, linking arms with me as I pull her out of the club. “There’ll be plenty of hotties in London, won’t there?”

  “Frankie!” I say, with a warning in my voice. She takes the hint.

  “Fine,” she grumbles. “It’s your loss. So, tell me about this job which you’re abandoning me for, then.”

  I shrug. “I don’t know that much about it. It’s all a bit hush-hush: some private bank or something. They need someone to help develop an algorithm, but they didn’t say much more. I have to sign all sorts of non-disclosure stuff.”

  Frankie whistles; then catches the attention of a street side food van. “Two of your finest fries,” she giggles. “We’re celebrating.”

  I grab my purse, but Frankie bats it away. “You kidding?” She grins. “If you’re buying when I come visit you in England, it’s only fair I pay for you now.”

  “I never said –”

  “Speaking of,” she grins, cutting across me. “Where are you staying?”

  “The company has apartments by the river,” I reply, leaning against a lamp post for stability. I blink, realizing that the alcohol has affected me a bit more than I realized. “They pay for everything. Cool, right?”

  “Kim,” Frankie begins in a schoolteac
her’s hard tone of voice. “Listen to yourself. You’re about to be employed by some fancy European bank. They’re paying for you to live in a penthouse by the river… If you don’t find yourself a hot guy over there…” She says, shaking her head. “I’m coming over to kick your ass. Got it?”

  I think about disagreeing with her, more out of habit than anything else, but something stops me. One last outbreak of nerves. I grab Frankie’s arm.