“So it was you,” Jason says, feet slightly parted, arms crossed in front of his chest.
I can’t help but look up at him admiringly. He’s pissed off, sure, but is it wrong that I kinda find it sexy that he’s pissed off on my behalf?
“I can’t confirm or deny that,” Cynthia says slyly, taking a seat on the couch, “but you have to admit that being in the papers is never a bad thing.”
“Let’s start the interview, if you don’t mind,” I say brightly as Jason and I sit down across from her, ignoring her question.
There’s part of me that thinks she’s right. There’s part of me that admits I remember every single scandal, fight, broken crown and girl fight a little bit more than I remember the winners of pageants past. Of course, I do remember the winners too; they’re the girls I’ve idolized my whole life, whether I was doing it consciously or not.
But yeah, she is right, of course. You never forget a scandal.
Cynthia pulls a big spiral notebook out of her purse, along with a pen and her phone.
“It’s okay if I record this, right?” she says, tapping on her phone before setting it down on the small table between us.
“Why do you have to record?” Jason asks, “if you’re recording, what is the pen and paper for?”
I glance at Jason and put a hand on his knee gently.
“Yes, it’s okay if you record.”
Jason shrugs and sits back on the couch next to me, making me remember how I always wanted to look right at him when he sat next to me by chance or on purpose. I couldn’t look right at him, though. If I tried, I know I’d start drooling right on the spot.
“Okay, so,” Cynthia says in her interview voice, “first of all, you have to tell me who this guy is. We know that he’s your old family friend. We know he’s tall, and big, and strong. So what else do we know about this man?”
“Well,” I say, glancing up at him with my perfect beauty queen smile, “we actually have a little bit of news to share.”
This is it. This is the foray into the unknown that those three women planned out for me this morning. This is the moment of truth, the moment that Jason and I announce our engagement to the world.
And suddenly, it feels cheap. I feel cheap. I feel like I’m using Jason, which I am, of course, and I feel as though an entire lifetime of feelings and friendship is being tarnished by something that just shouldn’t be happening.
“News?” Cynthia says, practically salivating like she’s got a good scoop coming.
And suddenly, I don’t know if I can go through with this.
“Yes,” Jason says, tucking his arm over my shoulder. “We have an announcement to make.”
I glance up at him and feel my heart swell. I am so grateful that he’s willing to do this for me, but the fact that he’s willing to go along with this ridiculous ruse is proof enough that it’s not right to go through with it.
I lean into Jason while glancing over at Cynthia, and I put up a finger quickly.
“We don’t have to do this,” I say, putting my lips near his shoulder so I can speak without Cynthia hearing. “You don’t have to go through with this if you don’t want to.”
He shifts his face to mine slowly, looking me straight in the eyes. Straight into my damn soul, and I feel his hands at they come up to my shoulders. I feel my insides tingle for him the way they always do when he looks at my eyes like that.
“I know,” he whispers before turning to Cynthia, “the truth is that Cassie and I are engaged.”
I turn to face Cynthia and watch as her jaw nearly falls into her lap and her eyes grow wide, looking between me and Jason.
“Engaged?” she says, scribbling furiously in her notebook.
“That’s right,” I say as Jason squeezes my hands in my lap. “Engaged.”
I look up at him and he meets my gaze, winks, and then leans forward with his elbows on his knees.
“So what else do you want to know for your story?”
11
Jason
I lean back in my chair at the bar, laugh, and suck back another sip from my ice-cold beer.
They say you should never return to the scene of the crime. They say when you’re in deep shit, you run away. They say when you’ve made a mistake, the best thing is to put as many miles between it and you as possible.
Alright, maybe I’m one for hyperbole. They do say you don’t return to the scene of the crime, though, but that’s exactly what Cassie and I have done.
“Okay, okay,” Cynthia says, putting her martini down on her napkin at the bar and clasping her hands together. Cassie’s sitting between me and her, and the three of us are huddled around the bar like a few old friends catching up at the after party of our high school reunion. “Santa Claus. You’ve got to get on the same page about Santa before you tie the knot.”
“I don’t know,” I say, taking another sip of my beer. Cassie turns to me and flashes me a skeptical smile. “I’m pretty agnostic when it comes to the big man upstairs.”
“Hey!” Cassie swats my chest, sending a jolt of excitement through me.
I haven’t had this much fun in...well, in years. Since I hung out with her and Mark on a regular basis.
“I’m not asking if you believe in Santa,” Cynthia laughs, “I’m asking how soon you two are gonna tell your kids the guy in the suit is a myth.”
“I guess I never really thought about it,” I say, running a hand up and down Cassie’s shoulder. “I think I’d want to tell my kid when I felt like they were old enough to figure it out on their own.”
“How do you think kids figure that out, though?” Cassie says, slipping her fingers through mine, resting them on her shoulder. “I think kids usually figure it out once their friends start talking about it. I just don’t know if I want my kids’ beliefs to be dictated by what they hear on the playground.”
“They’ve gotta learn the truth about the world some time,” I reply. Cassie’s smile is so fucking gorgeous. I’ve never had a girl like her on my arm before. And it feels really, really good.
“I want to protect my kids from the truth of the world,” she replies, giving me a soft smile. “I think a parent’s duty is to shield their kid as much as possible. The big world out there can be scary. No need to speed up the process of them learning about it.”
“I can see that,” I say, “but you don’t want them to be in for a rude fucking awakening when they finally do learn the truth.”
“I don’t know,” Cassie sighs, “it is just Santa, after all.”
“I think the Santa test is a good barometer for compatibility,” Cynthia says, scribbling something in her notebook. “So we know how you guys met. We know that you don’t like the same pizza toppings. That’s mildly concerning, but not as bad as the Santa thing, but I think if you guys compromise on it, you’ll be able to work it out. Okay, so now tell me about your engagement.”
“Our engagement,” Cassie says, looking back at me. “Oh, it was so romantic.”
She’s fishing right now. Fishing for the right thing to say. Even worse, she’s fishing for me to jump in and save her ass.
She looks up at me, smiling through gritted teeth.
I love watching her sweat like this.
“Honey, why don’t you tell it?” I say, moving my hand down her arm and to her back. I caress the curve of her hip and she smirks up at me, shaking her head. “I love when you tell the story. You’re a better storyteller than I am.”
“But sweetie,” she replies, “it was all your doing. You tell it. Come on.”
“Okay,” I break away from her and take a swig of my beer. “Fine.”
“Ohhh, how did you do it, Jason?” Cynthia says, leaning forward on her elbows.
“Okay,” I say, sitting back in my seat, “so Cassie and I used to have this little tradition where we would slip birthday cards into each other’s mailboxes. It was silly shit, and we’ve done it since we were kids. And then it started escalating. So like, one year she gave
me this engraved chrome lighter for my birthday, with my initials on it. She didn’t want me smoking, but she knew I liked to fuck around with my lighter when I was nervous, so she got me one that was all mine, personalized and everything. And then one year I knew she was really into sailboats so I got her this really cool print from this local artist.”
“Right,” Cassie interjects, leaning her shoulder against me slightly, getting into the groove of the tale I’m spinning, “and it was the nicest thing. And it all lead up to an engagement ring in my mailbox. Oh! One time he put a card with a picture of a birthday cake on it in there. And it said ‘eat me.’”
“See, I was mad at her,” I say, raising my hand to her hip. “What was I mad about? I don’t even remember now.”
“I think you were annoyed because I was going to the prom with someone I didn’t really care about,” she smirks at me, shaking her head.
“Ohh, yes,” I say. “How could I have forgotten? But see, here’s the thing. Yeah, I was pissed off at her. But it didn’t change my feelings for her.”
“So you guys have both dated other people,” Cynthia says, taking a sip her of drink. She peers at us over the edge of her glass, her eyes flashing between us inquisitively. This is the shit she’s here for. Juicy shit, like she mentioned last night. And this is why I was against me and Cassie giving this interview in the first place.
“Yes,” Cassie replies cautiously, “we have. But that was a long time ago, right hon?”
Cassie smiles up at me sweetly, then quickly puts her arm around my shoulder.
“Right sweetie,” I say, “and anyway, that was tradition, right? Prom queen and king going together?”
Cassie’s eyes narrow slightly and a pallid langour washes over her face, her perfect lips turning down slightly at the corners.
“You remember that?” she says smally.
“Of course I remember,” I say, kissing the side of her head.
“And now look at you two,” Cynthia says, closing her notebook. “I think I’ve got enough for tonight.”
Cynthia drains the last of her drink and goes into her purse as she puts her glass down. Cassie shifts away from me softly, but she keeps her arm around my shoulder.
“Oh, allow me,” I say, waving at her, “I’ve got this one.”
“Thanks for that,” she says, winking at me. “Well, Cassie, thank you again for giving me this interview. It was really nice to see you today, and I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other.”
Cynthia’s eyes shift back to mine softly, as though she’s trying to tell me something through damn telepathy. She’s a bit odd, though I have had my share of journalists and girls on the road who’ve obtained press passes through some bullshit justifications to get close to me, and even more, to the bands I’ve worked with. But there’s a dark expression deep inside her eyes, as though she can see through me somehow. As though there’s part of her that knows this whole arrangement between Cassie and me is fucking bullshit, but she’s happy to be a party to it if it means adding a nice exclusive story to her resume.
“No Cynthia,” Cassie says, extending her hand, “thank you for covering us for your paper. I know you’re just doing your job. Thank you for the opportunity to tell our side of the story.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” Cynthia says, waving to us as she makes her exit.
Cassie watches as Cynthia leaves, and when the coast is clear, she exhales audibly as her feet find their way onto the dark wooden floor below us.
“Jeeze,” she hisses, looking over my shoulder. Her eyes find mine and her scowl cracks, revealing her beauty-queen-certified smile. “What?”
“I didn’t say anything,” I reply, tossing a few bills onto the bar. “I said nothing at all.”
“Yeah,” she replies, “but you’re thinking something. I know you’re thinking something.”
“I should hope so,” I laugh, “or would you prefer some vapid pretty-boy without a thought in his head and just a perfect body and a big fucking…”
“Jason, stop!” Cassie laughs, throwing her arms around my shoulders, surprising me. If her way of shutting me up is throwing her soft, perfect body against me, I’ll never say a fucking word again.
I wrap her up in my arms, making her small next to me. And she looks up at me with those fucking perfect, beautiful eyes.
“Cassie,” I say, “you are the absolute picture of grace under pressure, class and beauty.”
“If you knew what was going through my head right now you wouldn’t be saying that,” she replies, running her fingers up and down my back.
“Why?” I ask, “is it because you have some choice words for Cynthia or because you’re thinking about what I’d be like if I were nothing but a pretty boy with a big dick?”
Her hands get rougher against my back as I lean down her take her lips with mine, just as she’s about to answer.
Because the truth is that I already know what she wants to say.
12
Cassie
I’m not sure if this is what I had in mind when I told myself everything had to stay status-quo. I’m not sure if this is what I had in mind when I told Jason we had to pretend what happened last night never happened at all. And now, I don’t know if I said it because I really meant it or because I was afraid of what it happening again might mean.
So this time, I don’t try to stop him.
When Jason kisses me, everything melts away. It’s as though I’m living a dream. A really, really good dream too. You know the kind of dream. It doesn’t feel like a dream at all. And instead of making you forget your problems for a moment, you forget yourself for a moment.
I feel like I’m not me at all. I don’t feel like someone else either, though.
I just...am.
“I thought I told you we had to be careful,” I say, but I know he knows that we both know it’s bullshit.
Maybe I can’t be seen grinding up on Jason Anderson on any dance floors or in any public places, and maybe I can’t have something as drastic as a sex tape come out, or anything like that.
But a kiss? Something as simple as a kiss between a man and his intended bride?
That can’t hurt anything, can it?
“Yeah, you did tell me we had to be careful,” he says, his hands moving down my back slowly, his eyes melting my damn panties with the heat he’s throwing at me, “this is me being careful.”
I can’t help but let out a little moan as his hands come down onto my hips, his fingers squeezing into my flesh softly.
“If you want us to be careful, we should probably get the hell out of here. We say goodnight. We go upstairs. You go to your room. I go to mine. That’s it.”
I swallow hard and watch his eyes intently. He pushes me away slightly, taking in the full length of my body with his hungry gaze.
“Okay,” I breathe, completely relieved but entirely frustrated at the same time. The two martinis I had are swirling through my head and I can feel the sweet memory of Jason all over me, craving him, needing more.
“Go upstairs,” he says, “if you really wanna be careful about this, we should go to our rooms separately.”
Jason sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and pushes his hips out slightly, pulling my hips against his. My hands sink around his waist and I can feel his hardness pressing against me.
God, I’ve been infatuated with this man for so long. And even though something insane and electrifying happened between us just last night, I still can’t believe it’s going to happen again.
Because even though right now he is saying it is not going to happen, I think we both know what’s about to happen.
“Okay,” I reply, “I’ll go first. And thank you again, Jason. For everything.”
“Don’t thank me yet, baby,” he growls into my ear, holding me close and tight.
I pull away from him, nearly trembling. Taking my purse from the bar, I start to walk away, but I can feel his eyes following me. I tuck my chin over my shoulder to t
ake a look at him, and sure enough, he’s watching me as I leave the hotel bar.
And it’s the same damn look he’s given me since before I can remember. It’s the same damn look he gave me on prom night, when he teased me and told me I’d look nice for my date. It was exactly the same; I just didn’t know what I was seeing at the time.
I try to push these thoughts out of my head, because I know they’re crazy. I try to push them out of my head because I know it’s just the martinis doing my thinking for me.
Because Jason Anderson can have any girl he wants, and if wanted me, I’d know it.
If Jason Anderson wanted me, he’d have had me years ago.
And I mean really wanted me. Not just some one-night stand, or even a one-week stand.
But when I look back at him tonight...woo boy, it certainly looks like he wants me.
Attempting to compose myself, I walk over to the elevators just outside the hotel bar. The lobby is starting to be set up for the festivities of the next several days, and a big banner is being erected over the balcony, set between two of the big marble columns that flank either side of the lobby.
It’s welcoming guests and competitors to the pageant, and my face, in addition to a few of the other girls’, is on the banner.
I shake my head and laugh to myself. I guess if they really sunk enough money into promoting silly old me, it really is in the pageant’s best interest to actually keep me in the competition.
The little scheme they came up with is actually brilliant. Not only does it keep me around, it also changes the conversation from a scandal surrounding me to an awesome story surrounding me - prom queen turns beauty queen, marries childhood friend.
It’s like something out of a fairy tale, and I’m the princess. Or queen. Or whatever.
I get onto the elevator and check my reflection in the mirror that takes up the entire back wall of the big car. I’m in here alone, which is fine with me, because I need to steady myself on the little railing and focus on catching my breath after my kiss with Jason.
Second Chance Bride: A Fake Fiancee Romance Page 7