Faking It: A Small Town College Bad Boy Romance

by Hunter Rose

  “Are you okay? You looked like you were drowning,” he cries, putting his paws all over her wet arms, trying to dry her off.

  “I’m okay. I just need to sit down,” she answers, pushing his hands away.

  Her leggy friend has a look of uneasiness in her hazel eyes as she comes running over with Darren and Tony in tow.

  “Are you okay?” Darren asks Vanessa.

  “It’s okay, Maxine, Darren . . . I’m okay,” she says.

  Tony saunters over as she cringes into my side, and he pulls her from me, then helps her to a seat in the sand.

  “Girls from Ohio should stay out of the ocean.” His failed attempt at a joke leaves us all gawking at him.

  “I guess I’m not the greatest swimmer.” She reaches a hand to me, and I grab it.

  How does everyone know Vanessa, yet I have never met her? Not paying attention, I guess. I glance sideways at her, to make sure she doesn’t drown on dry land. Everyone is treating her like a vampire, afraid she may combust in the sunlight.

  The ocean waves smash into the sand near our feet, and we try to enjoy the rest of the party. But all I can think about is her. All I can stare at is her. She almost just drowned. What if I hadn’t been there? What if I couldn’t have reached her in time? My mood sours at the thought, and some sort of sense of urgency to protect this girl slams through me. There’s something about her that keeps me here and in the present. Even though for the rest of the day everyone treats her with kid gloves, I’m left gawking at her. I’m left wondering about her. I’m left wondering how I can get to know her more and more. Like, I’ve never felt this sinking feeling in my gut at what’s happening to me. It’s real, and every time Vanessa smiles at me, I can’t stop this earth-shattering feeling in me that explodes throughout my chest.

  Is something happening to me? Why fuck, yes it is, and it’s because of her.

  The sun casts a warm, soft glow along the horizon, and Vanessa looks at Maxine. “Well, this has been fun, but I need to get to work. Can I still borrow your car, Max?”

  She rises with a hint of seduction, and I bounce to my feet, not ready to end this time with her just yet.

  “Sure, I’ll see ya later, love,” Maxine says, tossing her keys to Vanessa.

  “I’ll walk you to the car,” I say.

  Saying my goodbyes to everyone, I watch Vanessa lean in and give Jordan a hug. Jealousy shoots through me, which is absurd, because I never get jealous. Yet, there is something I don’t trust about him.

  “Where do you work?” I ask, following her to the parking area.

  “A little Italian restaurant. It’s in that same shopping plaza as the coffee shop.”

  “I’m suddenly in the mood for carbonara,” I joke, smiling at her.

  “Oh yeah, right. You’re not coming to my job.” She smiles, laughing a little.

  “Are you going to deny me food?”

  She considers this for a moment as I smile widely.

  “I’m kidding. I’m not gonna stalk you.” I laugh.

  The setting sun glistens off her perfect features, and I catch myself staring a little too long. She has a perfect spot behind her ear that calls to my lips. I lean forward, mesmerized by her skin, and she tilts back.

  “So, I guess you’ll need my number,” she says.

  I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the fantasies popping into my head.

  “Guess so.”

  She takes out her phone and we exchange numbers. Yearning for more, I step closer. I can almost smell the salty surf in her hair. I take a deep breath. I need to slow down or I’m going to scare this girl away. But I almost can’t stop myself. It’s like I’m drawn to her in this moment for some reason. Maybe it’s the sun, the alcohol, or something. Then, I remember I haven’t even had a drink today.

  I reach my arms around her waist, wanting to hug her. “Have a good day at work. I’ll be thinking about you.” I lean in a little closer and squeeze her body tightly. We stand in this perfect hold for a while, until she finally breaks away.

  “Oh, by the way, I’m off tomorrow. If you’re not busy, we can go on our date.” She turns, getting in the car as I hold the door open.

  “I’m all free.”

  6

  Vanessa

  What am I doing?

  I can’t believe I actually agreed to a date. Trace Weston, oh my. He shows interest, even though he has one of the worst reputations around. Jordan doesn’t like it. But then again, he never cares for anyone. Trace is hot. Sexy, dark hair, and piercing, deep eyes. What’s not to like?

  Drowning—what an idiot. Why would I go swimming in the huge Atlantic Ocean, when I have never had a proper swimming lesson?

  I just had to keep moving into the water, wanting to be alone with Trace; wanting him to keep following me deeper and deeper into the water. Ugh, he probably thinks I’m so stupid.

  Why did I agree to a date? I’m not the kind of girl who will hop into bed with him. Virgin? No, not me, but I respect myself more than that. He’s a guy who has sex with a girl and never calls. No, thank you. Not what I’m looking for. But c’est la vie! Fancy French term for ’well, he asked, and I accepted, so no backing out now.’ I’m sure that isn’t the exact meaning, but it’s close.

  Backing Maxine’s car out of the beach parking lot, I glance over at Trace as I pull away. He stands there, watching after my car. In board shorts with no shirt on, he shows off the most amazing chest I have ever seen. He has the kind of abs you take pictures of. I hope he didn’t catch me checking him out earlier.

  I’m sure he did.

  I don’t know much about Trace, but one thing I’m finding out is he’s very observant. The way his eyes studied me when he first made it to the party almost took my breath away. I didn’t want him to stop staring.

  I head home, running into the house once I arrive. I throw off my swimsuit and hop in the shower. With time to spare, I walk out the door and head off to work, picking up an energy drink along the way.

  Work is the same as it is every day. I check my zone and side work, and then prepare myself for the shift. The first hour, the restaurant is slow, so it’s the perfect time for chit-chatting with co-workers, although I don’t think the boss sees it that way. ‘If you have time to lean, you have time to clean,’ is one of his favorite lines.

  I walk over to the side stand, where Meghan and Kristine are busy stocking glassware for the dinner rush. Sometimes I love the rush, running around like a crazy person, not even remembering my own name. It’s fun, and the money’s great.

  “Hey, how was Maxine’s party?” Kristine says.

  “Yeah, it was okay. I almost drowned.”

  Both girls’ mouths drop. They almost look alike, with matching red hair and green eyes, but funnily enough, they’re not even related. But they’re best friends, and work here together. They also live together, just like Maxine and I do, and I even have one class with Kristine on Mondays. They both ask if I’m okay and what exactly happened.

  “It’s okay. Trace Weston saved me. Do you know him?”

  “Is that Darren’s roommate?” Meghan asks, playing with the strands of her red hair.

  “Yes, the one with the dark hair,” Kristine chimes in. “He’s hot, Vanessa. Like, really hot.”

  We’re still gossiping when our manager walks up to us.

  He pushes his glasses up his pointy nose. “Get to work, ladies. Do you know tonight’s soup, Vanessa?” He looks right at me.

  Now, this should be an easy answer. We rotate each night between two soups, so I have a fifty-fifty chance of getting this right. I should have paid attention to the chart. My manager is getting frustrated as I go over my choices. Tomato Bisque or Italian Wedding?

  “Tomato Bisque,” I say with a smile.

  “Wrong. Now get to work.” He turns on his cheap, fake-designer shoes, and shuffles off to bother other employees standing around.

  Damn.

  I glance at the front door and picture Trace strolling into the
restaurant.

  Whoa, how did that thought get there?

  He said he wouldn’t stop by, but why am I watching the door like a hawk, hoping he does show up to surprise me?

  I half expect that maybe he didn’t listen and will come in for dinner. While I am thinking of everything Trace-related, I get my first table of the evening.

  I walk over to the nice looking older couple as they browse the menu.

  “Hi. Welcome to Pesto’s. My name is Vanessa, and I will take care of you this evening.”

  I start my spiel featuring the specials when the woman cuts me off with, “Water.”

  Lovely. I just hadn’t gotten to the part where I ask you that yet.

  The man with graying hair sitting next to her doesn’t look at me, so I ask, “And for you Sir? What would you like to drink?”

  He looks up in shock, as if he thought he was sitting alone at home.

  “Oh, I want nothing to drink. I’ll just have water,” he says in a gruff voice.

  Alrighty then, last I checked you drink water. I walk away from the table and go to fetch their drinks. Lost in daydreams of Trace, I top the waters off with a lemon as a co-worker, Georgie, walks up.

  “Hey, did you hear?”

  “Hear what?” I grab two straws.

  “We’re getting a new manager.”

  “Really? Who is leaving?” I ask.

  “Douglas.”

  Oh, thank god. I love working here, but my manager Doug’s an ass. He’s the one who asked me to name the soup of the day. He never smiles, and to be honest, the guests don’t care for him either.

  I glance up at Georgie, a nice, older man with dark hair, who has been working here since day one.

  “Oh well, then I guess I won’t be quitting this week.” I laugh, grabbing a tray and adding my drinks onto it.

  The management always works with my schedule for school, and if I need time off for studying, it’s easy to find someone to cover for me. So, I would never really quit.

  Georgie just smiles as I walk away with my tray.

  When I arrive to the table, I have two more tables. Fun.

  After one quick glance toward the front door, hoping and wishing, I continue my work, getting busier and busier as the night goes on.

  The shift passes by in a blur. We’re busy, and I deal with a few impossible guests. One lady tells me she’s allergic to garlic. I head to the chef and relay her message. The chef glares as if I’m making it up and says, “Allergic to garlic? Everything we cook has garlic.”

  “Will you talk to her?” I ask, shrugging my shoulders in frustration.

  “Tell her she can have noodles and butter.”

  The rest of the night is smooth, with only a few mishaps here and there. The new busser drops a huge tray of glassware, and Doug might actually kill the poor kid. When the restaurant slows, I begin to do my closing side work, excited to leave work soon.

  Upon finishing my duties and making sure everything is in pristine condition, I head to Doug to check out. After a long night, I’m ready to leave. After watching the door all night, I’m only a little disappointed that Trace didn’t stop by.

  But I shouldn’t be. Seriously, I know I told him not to stop by, and he isn’t the type of guy to stop by, but for some reason I can’t stop thinking about him. What is wrong with me?

  Kristine catches up to me on my way out the door. “Hey, I hear there’s a party at your house.”

  “What? Where did you hear that?” I ask with wide eyes.

  “Maxine texted earlier, told me to stop by.” She laughs.

  Great. I just want to go home and forget about tonight. Hanging at the beach all day wore me out. Now I just want a shower and my bed, and to think about Trace all night long.

  I smile at Kristine anyway. “So, are you going to head over?”

  “Yes, but I need to wash the smell of garlic off my hair.” We laugh as we walk through the parking lot.

  I grab my phone out of my purse and find two text messages. The first is from Maxine:

  Hey Biotch, I am having people over . . . so hurry up and get your ass home. Trace is here.

  The second is from Trace and my fingers grip tighter around the phone so it doesn’t fall out of my hands.

  Hope work is going okay. I’m at your house and can’t wait to see you again.

  My stomach fills with butterflies at the thought of seeing him. He is at my house. What if he went in my room? Oh shit, did I clean? I run a mental checklist and think about how my beach clothes are sprawled all across the floor. How could Maxine bring people over to the house? I love Maxine—she’s my best friend—but sometimes she doesn’t think. I walk to Maxine’s car and hop in. Flipping down the vanity mirror, I try to tame my hair, knowing I’ll be seeing Trace soon.

  It shouldn’t matter what I look like, though. The man did see me drowning in the ocean. I’m sure he doesn’t care about my hair, but I still paw my hands at it anyways, trying my best to make myself look presentable.

  As I pull up to my house, cars are everywhere. Fortunately, it’s still early in the evening so the neighbors shouldn’t be complaining yet.

  Loud music blares as I step inside our house. I spot Trace on the couch, laughing with Tony. Darren is sitting next to Maxine, her hands resting on his lap. She sees me, hops off the couch, and rushes over.

  “Oh yay, Nessie’s here. Now the party can begin.” She laughs as she throws her arms around me, squeezing me tightly.

  My eyes meet Trace’s, and his mouth lifts into a smile; a sexy smirk that sends my heart racing.

  Sticky and gross after a long shift at work, I must appear horrid. My eyes travel around the living room. Almost everyone here is someone we know from work who had the night off. Mark and Kyle, two guys we work with who have the major hots for Maxine, hang on her every word. A few girls from one of my study groups are here, too: Ivy and Gretchen. I notice Maxine’s best friend, Fallon, sitting near Trace, her long, dark hair cascading along her shoulders. I feel a tad jealous, but I smile as I look around. Everyone is old enough to drink except me. It’s a few more months until my twenty-first birthday, and let’s just say the countdown has already started.

  Half-eaten pizza on paper plates litters the tables and counters. Some people are dancing, while others are sitting around, laughing and talking. I look out to the back porch, where people are smoking and conversing.

  Jordan is nowhere to be seen, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Thank god.

  “Jordan isn’t here?” I whisper to Maxine.

  “He was earlier but left.” She smiles back.

  “Cool. I’m gonna head to my room and change.” Stepping over random people who are sprawled out on the floor, I smile at Trace. Crossing my fingers that my room isn’t a make-out destination, I sneak through the open door, close it behind me, and start picking up a few things off the floor. My bikini from earlier is thrown across the desk chair. I stuff it into the hamper in the closet. I throw on sweats and a comfy t-shirt, and pull my hair out of its bun.

  There is a knock at the door just as I decide to rejoin the party.

  And there’s only one person I want it to be.

  Trace is standing there when I open the door. His hands are pushing on the doorframe. He leans his head into the room, looking around.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi,” I answer back. Standing and staring at him like the moron I am, I watch his eyes wander around the room.

  “Can I come in?”

  Blocking the door that leads to my personal space, I frown. Part of me knew he’d end up in here anyways. Why else did I clean? With a huff of my breath, I slide to the side so he can enter.

  Nerves erupt inside my chest as he moves past me.

  “Sure.”

  He steps inside and heads over to the desk. A notebook is lying on top, and he takes great interest in it, thumbing through page after page.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Nosy. What are you doing?”

  “I thought it might be a diary
.” He chuckles, closing the notebook and returning it to the desk, then turns to take in the rest of the room.

  “Diary, ha! Like I would let you read that,” I snort.

  “Ah-ha, so there is a diary?” He struts around as I close the door. The party blares on, and it’s almost too quiet in here. We’re alone in this little cocoon and I like it. I find myself happy he’s here and we’re not out in the living room instead.

  I’ve been thinking about this guy all night at work, and now that he’s here in my room, I don’t want him to leave. At all.

  I want to pause time, and not have the realities of life and who he is remind me why I shouldn’t be here with him.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” I grin, sitting on the bed.

  He moves across the room and sits down next to me, making my heart stammer in my chest.

  “I would.” His nearness does things to me, and I find it hard to concentrate on the conversation at hand. I haven’t been attracted to anyone in a long time. Things didn’t end too well with my last boyfriend, Eric, and since then I haven’t wanted to date. Usually, if guys ask me out, I turn them down. It’s not as if men are lining up at the chance to date me, but I get a few offers.

  A small few.

  I stare at his eyes and get lost for a moment. They are so dark, it’s hard to see where the iris begins and the pupil ends. His mouth parts as he tries to speak, but then seems to decide against it. He breaks our gaze and looks under the bed.

  “Umm, why are you looking under there?” Who knows what can be under there? Old magazines, pictures I haven’t looked at in ages, maybe even a bra or something just as embarrassing. He drops to the floor and proceeds to crawl under the bed in search of something.

  “I’m looking.”

  “You’re nosy! Whatever you’re looking for, I can guarantee it’s not there.” I shake a finger at him, even though he can’t see me.

  He scoots out from under the bed and is on all fours, looking up at me. His hair hangs in his eyes, and I have the urge to brush it out of his face. Then, as I stare down, it’s as if my lungs refuse the air trying to enter. In one quick movement, he is on the bed, sitting next to me. And oh so close. Too close. The urge to touch him is back, and I can barely stop my hand from reaching out.