Faking It (UnReal #1)

by J. D. Hollyfield

  With not much time to spare, we both quickly showered. Separately. Even though I caught Hunter peeking once, faking he forgot I was in there and offering me the most devious wink. If we weren’t in such a hurry to make this flight, I would have considered offering him my “why we should save water and shower together” speech.

  We finally get to the security check, where Hunter hands over our tickets and we are escorted past the line. “What? Did you do something wrong?” I ask hoping no rubber glove inspections are about to take place.

  “No, we’re going through the private security. We’re taking a private charter.” Before I have a chance to comment, we are approached by two TSA officials. The woman, who looks like she wants to eat Hunter for breakfast, lunch and dinner greets him, standing a wee bit too close for my liking. Shit, anyone’s liking.

  “Hello Mr. James, it’s a pleasure to have you flying with us today. We do have to do a small check, so if you don’t mind I am going to pat you down.” She steps forward and places her palms flat on his chest. Hunter finches at her touch while my eyes practically bulge out of their sockets. Clearly her version of a pat down looks more like a pet down!

  Now, I am not normally the jealous type, and it’s not like Hunter’s mine or anything, so who the hell knows what comes over me. Because I thought I just stood there, but somehow as the skanky TSA agent cops a feel, my hand goes up and swats hers away. Hunter and both officials turn to me in shock, the bitch more like in anger.

  Hunter looks me over, worried something is wrong until it registers. Well at least it registers for him before I even understand what just happened.

  “Shit sorry, muscle spasm,” I mumble, looking at my hand like I am just as confused as they are. I’m sure I’m blushing like a twat. Pat down my ass, I mutter to my cuticles.

  The TSA official attempts to step up to Hunter once again, while I pretend I am scanning my immaculate nail job, but the second she puts her hands on him I pounce again!

  “Seriously Miss, is there something wrong? I need you to step back,” the twat agent says, reprimanding me.

  “Excuse me, but I don’t think he is hiding anything in between his legs, you—”

  “I would prefer the gentleman to search me, thank you.” Hunter steps forward, his voice stern. His eyes tell the woman he means business. She glowers at him then at me and backs away.

  “Whatever. Brad.” She scowls and the guy steps forward to pat Hunter down. Once he is cleared, he turns to me and gives me a look. A look that says he is going to enjoy this. I roll my eyes and lift my arms, waiting for inspection. Just before his hands make it down my hips, Hunter shoves him off me. “No, I want the woman to pat her down. Don’t touch her again.”

  I turn to Hunter in shock. Damn is that what I looked like just now? I take in our situation and I begin to laugh. “Hunter James, I think we have ourselves a situation here.” I banter.

  With his brows knitted together, he agrees, “I think we do. This was a bad idea, and we should have never left the room.” His appearance has become stressed and disheveled as he runs both hands through his hair.

  “You’re both fine to go. The plane is waiting for you. Enjoy your flight, Mr. James,” the agent says coldly, and Hunter grabs for my hand, pulling me through the gate.

  The fancy plane was reserved exclusively for high-profiled celebrities or just plain ol’ rich dudes. The original seating arrangement placed me in the middle seat, which placed a random good-looking guy next to me. And since I know all the signs, there was no mistaking his quest to see if I had a wedding ring on. Guys are all the same. They might see you with a guy but if they see no ring, they still see you as fair game. The moment the gentleman started talking to me, Hunter intervened. Startling the flight attendant, he abruptly got up and told me to change seats. I smiled at his possessiveness, because when someone like Hunter James goes all cave man, you just sit back and enjoy it. The problem for poor Hunter was that he didn’t realize there was another single guy sitting across the aisle who also had no problem openly checking me out. I had zero interest in either one of them, as I sat there and flipped through a magazine absent-mindedly. It wasn’t until I glanced at poor Hunter who clearly minded and resembled a man ready to commit murder. I bumped my shoulder with his to get his attention. His answering look, making him resemble a pouting boy, made me have to bite down on both my lips to avoid laughing. I gave him a flirty wink and placed my hand in his. I think this calmed him, or at least kept him out of jail.

  We haven’t been up in the friendly skies for more than a few minutes before Hunter begins to unclip his seat belt. “I need you to come to the bathroom with me?”

  “Why? They don’t like too many people standing in the aisle, you know.”

  “You won’t be standing in the aisle. Let’s go.” I’m looking at him strangely. Until it sinks in. “Why exactly do you want me to go with you?”

  “Because I can’t stand it any longer,” he whisper-growls. “I need to take you into the bathroom and make them think I am fucking you senseless so these vultures know you’re with me. Get up, let’s go.” He snaps his belt off and attempts to stand.

  I pull his shoulder down so he falls back into his seat. “Hunter, we can’t both go into the bathroom and do any of that. It’s illegal.” And I also refuse to admit why I know that.

  “It’s not. I’m sure people still do it all the time. Up you go.” His pupils are beginning to dilate and I know he is serious. The poor man has been festering about the non-competition on each side of us since we took off.

  “Hunter.” Turning my body toward him, I take my hands and cup his face. I raise my voice so my words are dramatized and so that the two meat cakes on each side of us can hear. “I know you are aching to do so many dirty things to me, but my sores aren’t gone yet. The doctor said we should wait. We don’t want you to get them again, do we?” I tease. I watch the meat cake next to Hunter, scrunch his face and turn away from us. I turn to the aisle and flag down the flight attendant. “Yes, excuse me, do you think I can get some ice? I have some… ya know, blisters… down below, and the ice helps.” I smile while catching the cringing face of my other ex-fan. Mission complete. I offer my attention back to the only person on this plane who I care about. Hunter is stock-still, except for his eyes, which are now as big as saucers. “You realize you just announced to most of the plane that you have genital herpes, right?”

  “Yep. And now no one will give me the time of day. I’m all yours.” I wink. Hunter’s expression has dissolved into one of humor, although he is shaking his head at me.

  “You amaze me more and more every single second, Lex. And I do believe that if you’re not careful, we will end up searching out those chapels.”

  I try to hide the surge of emotions that shoot through my heart.

  I bring his mouth to mine and with my lips and my tongue, I offer him the best French kiss ever, convincing him just how little anyone else on this plane matters. And just how much he does.

  It takes the flight attendant telling us we’re about to land for us to break away. I don’t lose eye contact with Hunter and I can tell he is appreciative of what I did. He feels like the man in charge. Even if his prize was herpes.

  Oops.

  WE’RE WALKING THROUGH THE entrance of the Peter Lik art gallery in the Venetian hotel in Las Vegas. Hunter is waiting for Joseph, his agent, while we both sip some champagne.

  “Holy shit, do you see that?” I turn toward the beautiful painting hanging in the middle of a set. Hunter turns wondering what or who I am so focused on.

  “Do you see someone you know?”

  “No!” I nudge him. “Look! It’s an Antonio Vicenti piece.” I pull him toward the display. “His work is magnificent. His brush strokes are known for his expressionism. It’s been told that he only paints when his moods are dark and disturbing. Claims that’s the only time he is inspired. This one is called Wounded Escape. You can sense the anger in him by the color combination and look�
�his strokes—they are less as smooth and more tapered. As if he is wounding the canvas instead of painting it.”

  I turn to Hunter for agreement, but he is just looking at me with a goofy smile on his face.

  “What?” I’m curious as to why he looks so amused.

  “Give me the sign and we are out of here. I hate these things. I’d much rather be testing out second base with you than being at this showing.”

  With my smile now matching his, I say, “It’s totally fine. Again. This is my element, remember? You do yours. Then we can possibly test out third base.” I wink, just as someone walks up to us.

  “Hunter! My man. Great suit, seriously good decision coming tonight. Walter Evans is going to be here and he is extremely interested in your work. He’s here with his wife who wants to spend more than Pinault does on art in a year, if you know what I mean. This will be fantastic for you.”

  Hunter brushes him off, his brows creasing. He seems a bit tense suddenly, and I am unsure why.

  “And who is this bombshell?” the gentleman inquires, stepping past Hunter to get a better look at me.

  Hunter cuts him off, pulling me closer to him. “This is Lexi. Lexi this is Joseph Kaufman, my agent.” He turns back to Joseph. “We’re not staying long, so let me know where I need to be and then I’m out.”

  Joseph’s eyes sweep from Hunter to me, and back. “Sure, sure. Whatever you say, man. Let’s go.”

  He directs us to the main room of the gallery. I’m amazed at the lineup. They sure do run a smooth operation here. As touristy as it looks, I pull out my phone and snap a few photos to take back to St. Markey.

  A couple approaches as I finish my last snap. “Mr. James, I would like to introduce you to Virginia and Walter Evans.” His agent announces. Walter gives him the simple nod while his wife slithers over and extends her arm. Hunter, to my surprise takes it and kisses the top of her hand.

  I’ve been in this business for years. I know the ins and outs on how to sell. I see this nonsense happen all the time with buyers and sellers. But this time? That mouth? And that hand? That shit doesn’t sit well with me. Why? I have no idea. I mean it is just a kiss. And Hunter is just… he’s just… I force myself to brush it off. Because what is Hunter to me? I arch my back with confidence while I sip my bubbly hoping that once Hunter introduces me, everyone will know I’m with him and the drooling cougar will back off. Sadly, that time doesn’t come. Joseph pulls Hunter away, drawing his full attention to the couple who are willing to make him richer. I’m forced to let go of Hunter’s grasp as he turns to me. Silently I mouth, “Go,” as I smile. A fake smile that says I’ll be fine and have fun. But fun is far off from what I’ll be having.

  I spend my time chatting with attendees here and there admiring random art. The sales person in me comes out and I’m tempted to find the owner and collect some bonus money. To my dismay though, I find myself on my own more than I imagined, and even more time sweet talking the waiters into keeping my champagne glass full. Every time I glance over at Hunter and he has someone’s paws on him, I grab another glass and chug. I have no problem filling the void with bubbly.

  At drink seven, I decide I can’t hide my disappointment over not being with him any longer and I set out in search for him. It’s when I find him that my natural high plummets into a sour feeling in my stomach. Hunter, who is standing in front of a painting, is accompanied by a gorgeous woman still old enough to be my mother while he allows her hands to roam freely up and down his arms and back.

  Not realizing it, a strangled gasp escapes my throat at the scene. Hunter quickly turns in my direction not allowing me the time to mask the hurt spreading across my face.

  “Lex, wait.” Hunter calls for me, but I’m already turning to flee. Just before I do, I witness the cougar snake her slender arm around his bicep. Maybe Hunter was right and we should’ve stayed in our bubble. I shake that thought right off and plaster my trademark smile on my face. “It’s fine Hunter, you continue to enjoy yourself.” And before he has the chance to catch me, I hurry past the entryway to a secluded seat at the bar to calm my wounded heart.

  I perch myself onto an empty barstool and catching the attention of the waiter, I order a vodka soda. I shake my head feeling like such a fool. How stupid am I to think that something was actually happening between us? Something that would make him different. When the waiter provides me my drink I take a hefty swig but it doesn’t dissolve the heavy pit in my stomach. Nor does it erase the image of that woman with her slimy paws all over my man. My man. Shit. So foolish. An unfamiliar emotion comes over me. He isn’t my man, I remind myself as I wipe at the strange moisture building behind my lids. His actions just prove the doubts I was having, and those were that he was never serious about me. He just liked what he saw. Like all the rest of them.

  “Now what do we have here?” I turn quickly, being pulled from my sullen thoughts to see an attractive looking, possibly European gentleman leaning against the bar, sipping on what I presume to be a whiskey drink. He doesn’t make eye contact directly with me. Well, he does but my cleavage doesn’t count. His eyes slowly shift upwards finally making it to my eyeballs. Man this douche might have just set a record.

  “A shame to see such a pretty lady sitting alone. Doesn’t look like you should be in a boring place like this.” His thick accent comments, pouring more insult onto my open wound.

  “Oh, and why’s that?” I ask trying to pull myself together. And also because I just love hearing why tool men like him think a gallery—a gallery very much like the one I work at and actually fucking love—is boring.

  “Because you should be the art, baby,” he declares, pushing away from the bar and leaning in to me. His closeness makes me feel uncomfortable, so I lean away.

  “Then I hate to break it to you but I’m not alone.” Even though my date is too busy being groomed by a hungry cougar to remember me.

  “Well if you were with me, I would never let such a beautiful woman out of my sight.”

  Seriously? Sweet pick up line. Not.

  At one point in my life I would have loved the attention. I would probably lean into his words and turn my flirtation on full blast until I had him eating out of the palms of my hands. But since that me is gone, New Leaf and I just want to put our knees to his balls and go back to the hotel room.

  “Well, I better go find my date then,” I comment as I proceed to slide off my chair. Unfortunately, he doesn’t take the hint and only moves in closer. Our bodies brush together allowing him the unwelcomed opportunity to wrap his arm around my waist.

  “Excuse me I think you got the wrong—”

  “Get your fucking hands off her!”

  We both turn to see Hunter’s angry form storming toward us. I know I’ve done nothing wrong, but his sudden fury unsettles me.

  “Hunter, this man was just wishing me a good night.” Not. But the way the imaginary steam is pouring from his nostrils I figured I’d help the guy out.

  “You’re kidding me, right?” The stranger laughs, unfazed by Hunter’s anger.

  “Get away from her, Parker.”

  “Well, well, if it isn’t the elusive Hunter James, in the flesh. Looks like you’ve been doing well for yourself since fleeing France,” he comments, smiling at me and then back at Hunter.

  Hunter’s eyes blaze as mine go wide at the fact they know one another.

  “Hunter I was—” I try again to explain myself but Parker continues, “What’s the matter, Hunter, afraid someone is going steal your muse, precisely as you did or was—”

  Parker doesn’t finish his sentence, because Hunter swings and punches him square in the mouth.

  I would spend more time in shock at what just happened, but I’m quickly tossed out of the way as Hunter and Parker go at it. Swing for swing. I watch Hunter get a nice shot to his nose, while he takes one to the eye. Ouch! “Stop it you two!” I yell at deaf ears. They don’t even flinch at my request. They’ve caused quite a big scene now, and for Hunt
er’s sake, I need to break this up. I don’t want flying fists anywhere near this model figure so my efforts entail sacrificing the fresh drink on the bar. I pick it up and toss it toward their faces. Hunter does pause this time, turning toward me. Unfortunately, this allows Parker the opportunity to take a cheap shot pushing Hunter, and also taking me down. I scream as I slip on the wet floor I’ve created. Hunter dives for me trying to catch my fall, but I nail the ground and take a good smack to the ass.

  “You son of a bitch!” Hunter flares, turning for round two. As a patron helps me to my feet I witness Hunter tackling Parker. I am so over this. He couldn’t even help me up. Flaring nostrils are probably not the best look for me, but I am way pissed. “Fuck you both!” I snap and push through the crowd to leave. They can beat the crap out of each other for all I care. I’m outta here.

  There is more shuffling behind me, when a strong hand wraps around my arm. “Where the fuckare you going?” I whip around to see Hunter breathing heavily.

  “Back to the room!” I bark back, trying to release my arm.

  “Are you kidding me? What the hell was that back there?” he huffs, anger etched across his face.

  “Back there? Are you serious? How about what the hell was that all night!?”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “You know exactly what that means. All the pawing and the flirting. Jesus, Hunter! Now I see why you didn’t want to come. Probably to avoid having me ruin your game!” I tug harder on my arm, but his grip only tightens. His eyes go completely black as he yanks at my arm, slamming me into his chest.

  “I don’t come to these things because I don’t enjoy them. I don’t enjoy strangers touching me. Pawing at me. I want none of it. I just want to create my art. I don’t give a shit if it sells. I said no to this. I said yes to more time with you.”