Pretending He's Mine Page 11

Kat is calling me.

  I feel like a kid on Christmas morning. She’s the present. She’s the gift.

  “Hey you,” I say, and I probably sound all mushy, and I should be embarrassed, but damn, she brings this out in me. I can’t help it—I’m crazy for this girl, and she’s finally mine. Well, almost mine.

  “Hi. Where are you right now?”

  “On a train coming back from Mystic.”

  “Mystic? What were you doing there?”

  “Checking out your parents’ store. Remember when I told you at the museum that I wanted to see if I could figure out what it might need?”

  “Oh. Right. Of course. I almost forgot,” she says, and she sounds distracted as she quickly adds, “That’s so sweet.”

  “You okay?”

  “I’m great. I’m beyond great. When does your train arrive?”

  “Thirty minutes. Seven-oh-two.”

  “Okay. Bye.”

  And she’s gone. I look at the phone, at the flashing call ended sign. What was that about? I dial her number in case I missed something, But she doesn’t answer. I decide not to call again. We’re supposed to be staying away from each other until the semester ends, so I’ve got to be good, even though resisting her is the toughest thing ever.

  When the train pulls into Grand Central, I’m one of the first off. I head down the platform, up the steps and into the terminal. My driver will be waiting and I’ll head home, then maybe go for a run to get my mind off of all the things I can’t have right now. Then, review some final design plans, and go to bed. Tomorrow, I’ll find another way to pass the time, the the next day, then the next, and soon enough I’ll be able to see her.

  I could see her anywhere. We could hold hands on the street, go to the movies, walk to the museum, be together. Or I could see her at Grand Central Station waiting by the huge clock, a smile so big and wide on her face that she looks as if she might burst with happiness.

  I shake my head, as if I can shake the mirage away. But it’s no hallucination. She’s really here. At the train station. Looking for me. Finding me. Smiling at me. Now she’s walking towards me, running almost, and she looks so gorgeous in jeans, a sweater, and boots that clack against the echo-ey tiled cavern of the terminal, surrounded by other travelers coming and going.

  “Bryan!” she calls out, even though she’s only a few feet away, and I’m walking faster.

  “What is it? Is everything okay?”

  “It’s beyond okay,” she says, and throws her arms around me, and I inhale her. Damn, she smells good. Like vanilla lotion or something else entirely sexy and edible, which basically describes Kat in anything or nothing. I pull her closer, not wanting to miss even a second of a chance to feel her against me.

  But she pulls back. “I told my professor.”

  “What? What did you tell him?”

  “I told him I’m in love with you. That you can’t be my mentor.”

  “Kat,” I say and my heart falls. I know what this means. He’ll fail her. She needs this class to graduate. I can’t stand the thought that she’d let her own dreams fall by the wayside. “But you need this class.”

  “I know,” she says and she’s smiling so brightly, and I wish I knew why. “And I’ll have this class. I found a new mentor. Elizabeth Mortimer,” she says, referring to the head of the Elizabeth’s department store chain. “And that means…” she lets her voice trail off, and she gives me this look, this knowing look. Then she tips her forehead to the brass doors leading out of the station.

  I raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to say more, needing to hear the next steps from her.

  “We can be together, Bryan. We can be together now. We don’t have to wait. I can finish my class, and we don’t have to hide, and we don’t have to just talk on the phone,” she says, and she’s glowing, she’s radiating happiness and love. But then she turns shy, nervous. “That is, if you still want to.”

  I grab her wrist, then loop my fingers through hers. “Don’t ever think I don’t want to be with you. You were all I thought about on the train. You are all I think about. You are all I want.”

  Then I crush my lips against hers, and she tastes fantastic. She presses her luscious body against me, and that’s all it takes. I need to get her out of here and spend the night with her. Then the next night, and the next one, and all the days too.

  “Come spend the night with me,” I say. “And don’t leave. Don’t ever leave.”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” she says, and we leave Grand Central Station together.

  Acknowledgements

  So many thanks to so many people, but the first thanks goes to my readers. I love you. Truly, madly, deeply. You made my dreams come true with Caught Up In Us, and you made it possible for me to be able to write another book in this series. THANK YOU. You are the greatest readers a writer could ever want. I love hearing from you.

  Huge thanks to my critique partners Summer Stone and Cyn, and a massive thanks to my early reader Michelle, who’s become my sherpa too. I am so grateful for the friendship and encouragement of my indie bestie Monica Murphy. Big thanks to indie authors who supported me early on including Kelsie Leverich, Michelle Valentine and Emily Snow. You girls are great and made me feel welcome in our community. None of the promotion, marketing and word of mouth would be possible without Taryn at My Secret Romance, who astounds me with her awesomeness. Thanks also to all the bloggers on the Caught Up In Us book tour, as well as those who shared the cover for Pretending He’s Mine.

  Speaking of, my cover designer is the best! Josyan McGregor - I love your work!!!

  Hugs to my family and friends, and the biggest kisses to my kids and my husband—you’re the loves of my life.

  Contact

  I love hearing from readers! You can find me on Twitter at LaurenBlakely3, or Facebook at LaurenBlakelyBooks, or online at LaurenBlakely.com. You can also email me at laurenblakelybooks@gmail.com.

  Sneak Peek at Monica Murphy’s

  Second Chance Boyfriend

  Dear Readers: I’m so thrilled to share a sneak peek of Chapter One of Second Chance Boyfriend, the sequel to Monica Murphy’s USA Today Bestselling novel One Week Girlfriend. (Note: This is unedited and may change in the final version.) One Week Girlfriend is one of the best books I have read this year, and if you haven’t read it yet, DO IT NOW!

  Xoxo

  Lauren

  Sometimes you have to stand alone, just to make sure you still can.

  —Unknown

  Fable

  Two months. I haven’t seen or heard from him in two freaking months. I mean, who does that to a person? Who spends the most intense week of their life with another human being and shares their most intimate thoughts, their craziest, darkest secrets, has sex with a person—and we’re talking amazing, earth shattering sex—leaves them a note that says I love you and then bails? I’ll tell you who.

  Drew-I’m-going-to-kick-him-in-the-balls-next-time-I-see-him-Callahan.

  I’ve moved on. Well, I tell myself that. But time doesn’t stop just because my heart does, so I take care of my responsibilities. I’ve stretched the three thousand dollars I earned for my one week of pretending to be jerk wad’s girlfriend pretty well. I still have some money left in my savings account. I bought my brother Owen some cool Christmas gifts. I got my mom something for Christmas too.

  She didn’t buy either of us anything. Not one thing. Owen made me a shallow bowl he created in his ceramics class at school. He was so proud to give it to me. A little embarrassed too, especially when I gushed over it. The kid wrapped it in bright Christmas paper and everything. I was blown away that he took the time to actually create something for me. I keep that bowl on my dresser and leave my earrings in it.

  At least someone gives a crap about me, you know?

  He didn’t give Mom anything. Which—shallow witch that I am—pleased me to no end.

  January is supposedly a time of healing. New year, new goals, resolutions, whatever you want to cal
l them, where a person should be hopeful with all that unchartered territory spread out before them. I tried my best to be positive when the New Year came, but I cried. That clock struck twelve and I was all by myself, tears running down my face as I watched the ball drop on TV. Pitiful, lonely girl sobbing into her sweatshirt, missing the boy she loves.

  Most of the month is gone and that’s fine. But the realization hit me last night. Instead of dreading every single day that comes my way, I need to savor it. I need to figure out what I’m going to do with my life and then actually do it. I’d leave if I could, but I can’t ditch Owen. Without me, I have no idea what would happen to him and I can’t risk it.

  So I stay. I vow to make the best of this life I have. I’m tired of living in misery.

  I’m tired of feeling sorry for myself. I’m tired of wanting to shake my mom and make her see that she has children she should give two shits about. Oh, and that she also needs to find a job. Sleeping all day and partying all night with Larry the Loser isn’t the way to deal.

  And I’m tired of mourning the loss of a beautiful, fucked up man who haunts my thoughts everywhere I go.

  Yeah, I’m most sick of that.

  Pushing all mopey thoughts out of my head, I go to the booth where a customer’s waiting for me to take his order. He came in a few minutes ago, a blur of a tall man who moved quickly, dressed too nicely for a Thursday mid-afternoon jaunt to La Salles. The bar is hopping at night, full of college kids drinking themselves into oblivion. But during the day? Mostly bum losers who have nowhere else to go and the occasional person coming in for lunch. The burgers are decent so they’re a draw.

  “What can I get you?” I ask once I stop in front of the table, my head bent as I dig out my order pad.

  “Your attention maybe?”

  His question—spoken in a velvety deep voice—makes me glance up from my notepad.

  Into the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. Bluer than Drew’s, if that’s possible.

  “Um, sorry.” I offer him a tentative smile. He instantly makes me nervous. He is waaaay too good looking. Like beyond gorgeous, with dark blonde hair that falls over his forehead and classic bone structure. Strong jaw, sharp cheekbones, straight nose, he could’ve walked straight off a billboard. “Are you ready to order?”

  He smiles, revealing straight white teeth, and I clamp my lips shut to prevent them from falling open. I didn’t know men could be this attractive. I mean, Drew is gorgeous, I can admit that even though I’m furious at him. But this guy…he puts all other men to shame. His face is too damn perfect.

  “I’ll take a Pale Ale.” He flicks his chin at the tattered menu lying on the table in front of him. “Anything from the appetizer menu you can recommend?”

  He must be joking. Beyond the burgers, I wouldn’t recommend any food La Salle’s serves to this ideal male specimen. Heaven forbid it might taint him. “What are you in the mood for?” I ask, my voice weak.

  Lifting a brow, he picks up the menu and glances it over, his gaze meeting mine. “Nachos?”

  I shake my head. “The beef is rarely cooked all the way.” More like it comes out with a pink tinge. So gross.

  “Potato skins?” He winces.

  I wince back. “So nineties, don’t you think?”

  “How about the buffalo wings?”

  “If you want to set your mouth on permanent fire. Listen.” I glance around, making sure no one—as in my boss—is nearby. “If you want something to eat, I suggest the café down the street. They have great sandwiches.”

  He laughs and shakes his head. The rich, vibrant sound washes over me, warming my skin, followed quickly by a huge dose of wariness. I don’t react like this to guys. The only other one who could earn this sort of reaction out of me is Drew. And he’s not around…so why am I still so hung up on him?

  Maybe because you’re still in love with him, like some sort of idiot?

  I shove the nagging little voice that pops up at the most inopportune times into the back of my brain.

  “I like your honesty,” the man says, his cool blue gaze raking over me. “I’ll just take the beer then.”

  “Smart decision.” I nod. “I’ll be right back.”

  I head toward the back and slip behind the bar, grabbing a bottle of Pale Ale, glancing up to catch the guy staring at me. And he doesn’t look away either, which makes me feel uncomfortable. He’s not watching me like a pervert, just very…observant.

  It’s unnerving.

  A trickle of anger flickers through me. Do I wear an invisible sign around my neck? One that says hey, I’m easy? Because I’m not. Yeah, I made a few mistakes, looking for attention in the wrong places but it’s not like I dress with my tits or ass hanging out. I don’t put any sort of purposeful swing to my hips nor do I thrust my chest out like I see plenty of girls do.

  So why does every guy I encounter seem to blatantly check me out like I’m a piece of meat?

  Deciding I’ve had enough of his crap, I stride toward his table and set the beer in front of him with a loud clunk. I’m about to walk away without saying a word—screw the tip—when he asks, “So what’s your name?”

  I glance over my shoulder. “What’s it matter to you?” Oh, I’m such a bitch. I could really piss this guy off and get myself fired. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

  Yet again, I’m as bad as my mom. She sabotaged her job with her drinking and awful attitude. At least I only have the bad attitude.

  If I could kick my own ass, I would be doing so right now.

  He smiles and shrugs, like my smartass remark doesn’t faze him. “I’m curious.”

  Turning fully, I face him, studying him as much as he studies me. His long fingers are wrapped around the neck of the beer bottle, his other arm resting on the scarred and scratched table. His entire manner is relaxed, easy and my defenses slowly lower.

  “It’s Fable,” I admit, bracing for the reaction. I’ve heard endless jokes and rude remarks about my name since I can remember.

  But he doesn’t give me a hard time. His expression remains neutral. “Nice to meet you, Fable. I’m Colin.”

  I nod, not knowing what else to say. He both puts me at ease and shakes me up, which leaves me confused. And he definitely doesn’t fit in at this bar. He’s dressed too nice, has an air of authority about him that borders on entitlement, as if he’s above it all and he probably is. He reeks of class and money.

  But he’s not acting like an ass and he should, I’ve been so rude to him. He brings the beer bottle to his lips, taking a drink and I watch unabashedly. He’s handsome. He’s arrogant. And he’s trouble.

  I don’t want anything to do with him.

  “So Fable,” he says once he’s downed half his beer. “Can I ask you a question?”

  Shuffling my feet, I glance around the bar. No one’s paying us any attention. I could probably stand here and talk to Colin the mysterious customer for fifteen minutes and no one would protest. “Sure.”

  “Why is a woman like you working in a shit bar like this?”

  “Why is a guy like you ordering a beer in a shit bar like this?” I retort back, momentarily insulted. But then I realize…he’s complimenting me. And he referred to me as a woman. No one ever does that. I don’t do that.

  He tips his beer at me, as if offering a toast. “Touché. Would you be surprised if I said I came in here looking for you?”

  Surprised? More like creeped out. “I don’t even know you. How could you be looking for me?”

  “I should rephrase that. I came here hoping I would find someone I could steal away.” At my raised eyebrows, he laughs. “I own a new restaurant in town. The District. Have you heard of it?”

  I had. Some new fancy place that caters to the rich college kids, the ones with an endless supply of money to eat, drink and party. So not my scene. “Yeah.”

  “Have you been there?”

  I slowly shake my head. “No.”

  Leaning back against the seat, he studies me, his l
ids heavy as he does a slow perusal of…me. Now he’s totally checking me out and I can feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment. The guy is sort of a jackass.

  I’ve always had a slight thing for jackasses.

  “Come with me to the restaurant tonight. I’ll show you around.” His mouth curves into not-quite-a-smile and I’m tempted.

  But I’ve also sworn off men so I know this is a bad idea. “Thanks, but I’m not interested.”

  “I’m not trying to ask you out on a date, Fable,” he says, his voice low, his eyes glowing. I take a step back, glancing around. I need to get away from this guy. Fast. But then his words stop me in my tracks. “I’m trying to offer you a job.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Drew

  “Let’s talk about Fable.”

  I tense up but nod. I try my best to appear neutral, like our new topic of discussion doesn’t bother me. “What do you want to know?”

  My shrink watches me, her careful gaze steady. “It still bothers you to hear her name.”

  “It doesn’t,” I lie. I try my best to appear nonchalant, but my insides are churning. I both dread and savor hearing Fable’s name. I want to see her. I need to see her.

  I can’t make myself go to her. And she’s clearly given up on me. I deserve her giving up. I gave up on her first, didn’t I?

  More like you gave up on yourself.

  “You don’t have to lie to me, Drew. It’s okay if it’s still difficult.” Dr. Sheila Morris pauses, tapping her index finger against her chin. “Have you considered trying to see her?”

  I shake my head. I consider it every day, every minute of my life but my considerations are useless. “She hates me.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I know I’d hate me for what I did if I were her. I shut down and shut her out, like I always do. She begged me again and again not to do it. That she’d be there for me no matter what.” Yet I left her. With only a stupid note that took me way too long to write, filled with a secret message that my smart, beautiful girl figured out right away.