But you see, I don’t want to share my life with anyone else, especially virtual strangers. No one cares that much about my pitiful life, am I right?
I was shocked to see Rhett followed me on Instagram the afternoon of our brunch date, and that he added me on Snapchat that night. I followed him back on IG, scrolling through his feed and immediately getting bored.
I’ve already scrolled through his feed before. Countless times. He has a public profile, which made it easier for me to stalk him. He shows off on IG, how great his life is, where he travels, all his friends, all the girls. We get it, your life is perfection.
I couldn’t add him on Snapchat before we started talking, though, since it tells you every person who adds you and I couldn’t risk it. I didn’t want him to think I was some stalker set out to get his fine ass, like every other girl on campus who lusts after him.
But when he added me a couple of days ago, I went ahead and added him right back. Not that I could see much. Snapchat allows you to post on your story, and some people do it excessively, but not Rhett. There were no stories from him to look at, and he hadn’t even snapped me back after I added him, for whatever reason, I don’t know.
I’m not the kind to make the first approach, but in this moment, I decided to hell with it, and I sent him a snap. A selfie of me, making a face, my tongue sticking out. Below my face, I typed, what are you up to? and then sent it.
Rhett immediately snaps me back, a selfie of him and the words. Not much. How bout u?
I decide to tell him the truth, something I’m not used to.
Bored.
He takes the conversation to chat. Same. Though I should be doing homework.
I should be too. One thing I shouldn’t be doing is talking with him. Or…
Maybe I should. I keep automatically throwing up these walls, mentally listing all the reasons why I shouldn’t talk to him or see him or spend time with him. When that’s exactly what I should be doing—spending time with him. How else am I going to get closer to Rhett?
What I really need is for him to take me to Daddy and Stepmama’s house so I can meet them. Look that woman straight in the eyes and silently defy her to not recognize me.
That’s my ultimate goal.
My phone dings, letting me know Rhett said something, and I check it.
I want to see you again.
I stare at the words he just typed, unsure as how to answer. He’s bold. He just asks for what he wants and isn’t afraid of the consequences. I’m not used to that. My father was weak. He didn’t know how to ask for what he wanted. If he did, I wonder if he’d still have my mother in his life.
Chewing on my lower lip, I wonder how I should answer him. My fingers hover over the cracked screen, fingernails tapping. I’m sitting on the saggy couch in my living room, textbooks scattered around me, the sun slowly going down, making my shack of a house grow darker and darker. Reminding me just how alone I really am.
I’m pretty busy this week. This isn’t a lie. I have class, I have to work Wednesday and Thursday nights. Friday night I’m off, but Saturdays are always busy, so I never get time off then.
Too busy to go out to dinner with me?
Maybe.
I add a winking emoji to let him know I’m flirting. Hopefully he takes the bait.
Come on. You need to go out and have fun sometime, right?
He adds a winking emoji right back.
Okay, good. He’s flirting. This I can work with. It’s a lot easier to do this over Snapchat versus in person.
But I do need to play hard to get.
You’re so right. But I’m just really focused right now.
There. That answer should work.
Focused on having no fun? I smile despite my annoyance. He’s persistent, I will give him that. You doing anything Friday night? Or is your schedule too full?
It’s like he reached into my brain and saw my schedule for the week.
Actually, I’m free.
Not anymore. You’re going out. With. Me. :)
There’s been this ball of nerves resting in the pit of my stomach since my text conversation with Rhett on Monday night. Anticipation and dread about my dinner date with him on Friday. He’s been consistently snapping and texting me since I agreed to go with him, and I respond dutifully. I’ve started to wait for his snaps, my heart racing every time the notification sounds.
Since I don’t really talk to anyone else, those notifications are all from him. I’ve discovered a few things about Rhett Montgomery. Intimate, personal things I didn’t pick up on when I did my online stalking.
One, he’s very chatty. He will send me these long-winded texts and I respond to him with a yeah, or sure. I bet that drives him crazy. But it’s like the guy has a lot to say, and it’s not total bullshit either. He’s…God, I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but he’s interesting.
He’s also smart. I like talking to him. He makes good conversation, and he’s never boring.
Protective. Always asking me if I’m okay, if I’m safe, like he actually cares. He doesn’t even know me, but that doesn’t matter.
Kind. Rhett’s also kind, it complements his protectiveness. He’s nice to the rude server at the restaurant, he talks about his friends and family in a way that I can feel his love for them. That sounds corny, but it’s true.
Flirtatious. Very flirtatious. He says things that allude to his attraction toward me. He likes me. He’s into me. I know this because that’s exactly what he says. Plus, the last couple of nights, he’s sent me photos of him just out of the shower, hair wet and no shirt on, his dark gaze smoldering as he stares into the camera. From what I can tell he has a broad set of shoulders and a nice body.
He’s hot. There’s no denying it.
It’s hard for me to trust if all this flirtatious protectiveness is real, though. It feels too good to be true. Phony.
That’s what I keep telling myself. He’s fake. No one can be that sweet, that sexy, that interested in a girl he barely knows. It’s got to be an act.
Got to be.
I had to break down and let Rhett pick me up at my house, after he kept telling me again and again he wanted to come get me.
You don’t have a car. You’ll have to ride the bus to meet me at the restaurant, he told me when I asked where he was taking me. Let me come get you.
I just told myself that when he arrives at my house, I have to meet him out front, so he can’t come inside. Not that I have anything to hide—my true identity isn’t obvious, I’ve hidden everything I own that refers to Jennifer Fanelli, not that he’d have a clue who that is.
And not that there’s much to Jennifer Fanelli in the first place.
Truthfully? I don’t want him to see my meager belongings and judge me for it (he’d never judge you for it, he’s the perfect almost boyfriend!). Everything I own came from a thrift shop, Walmart or Target, and some of my furniture I even found on the side of the road, like the scratched-up coffee table and the dresser in my bedroom with the drawers that don’t open all the way.
Thank God for Savannah. When I spotted the furniture, I called her up to meet me in front of the house with the dresser and coffee table waiting on the sidewalk. She helped me shove the furniture in the trunk of her car, the both of us laughing the entire time as we tried our best not to break anything.
She’s my first real friend here, yet I’m not real with her. Not at all.
I go all out for the date, wearing my best jeans and an old pair of black slip-on Vans that still look decent. I splurged and bought a new black long-sleeved T-shirt. So simple, yet it looks pretty good on me—everyone looks good in black, right? Savannah recently cleaned out her makeup stash so I used some of the stuff she gave me, adding layers of mascara to my eyelashes and slicking on the berry-colored lipstick until my lips shine.
Checking my reflection in the mirror, I tell myself I look good. Good enough. I blew my dark blonde hair straight and I’m wearing the tiny diamond earrings my
dad said belonged to my mom. They’re not real—she got them on QVC or the Home Shopping Network, he couldn’t remember—but she left them behind when she left us, and I’ve kept them with me my entire life.
For some weird, stupid reason, they make me feel closer to her.
By the time I hear a car pull up in front of my place, I’m already out the door and locking it, leaving the front porch light on, the dingy yellow glow better than complete darkness when I return home. It’s cold out—a storm is supposed to move in tomorrow and I sort of wish for a coat, but it’s too late now. No way am I going back inside. Rhett might follow me in.
“Hey.” Rhett is already out of his sleek black car and jogging up the front walk toward my front door. “You’re ready, huh.”
“Why do you sound so disappointed?” I’m teasing him, but I also want to know his answer.
He stops just in front of me, tall and broad, clean and fresh. I can smell his soapy scent, appreciate his floppy damp hair, the appreciative glow in his eyes no doubt matching my own. There’s no denying Rhett is attractive, and for the briefest moment, I wallow in his dreamy good looks. “I was hoping to meet your roommate.”
I blink at him, trying to compute what he said until it finally sinks in. “I don’t have a roommate.”
He frowns, his dark brows furrowed. Damn it, he’s extra cute when he does that. “Are you serious?”
“Why are you so surprised?”
“Everyone I know has a roommate.”
“Including you?” I already know the answer to this question.
“Yeah, including me.” He looks at my dark house, his brows still furrowed. “So you live here alone.”
“I sure do.”
“How can you afford it?” His gaze meets mine.
“Look at this neighborhood.” I hold up my arms, waving at the houses nearby. My voice is full of amusement, but deep down inside, I burn with shame. “It’s not the best side of town, so rent is cheap.” Well, not that cheap, but definitely less expensive than his neighborhood, I’m sure.
“Looks dangerous.” He sounds almost…angry. On my behalf?
Probably.
Like I said, too good to be true.
“It’s not that bad.” It’s awful, but it could be worse. My neighbor is kind of shady, pretty sure he’s a dealer, but I mind my own business.
Now Rhett’s examining the neighbor’s house, the street, the entire neighborhood. “I don’t like thinking of you alone here, especially at night.”
I’m so tempted to roll my eyes, but I keep myself in check. “You don’t like thinking of me alone anywhere.” I grab hold of his hand—ignoring the electricity that sparks between us when our skin touches—and we start walking toward his car. “You shouldn’t worry so much.”
He lets me lead him. “It sounds like you need someone to worry about you.”
“I can take care of myself.” I send him an irritable look, but it fades when I see the way he’s smiling at me.
“I like this independent woman thing you’ve got going on, but it’s okay to let someone take care of you every once in a while.” His smile grows. “You should give it a try sometime.”
“With you?” I raise my brows, trying to ignore the way my heart beats rapidly against my chest, or the hot flush that sweeps over my skin.
“Maybe.” He winks, actually winks as he lets go of my hand and opens the passenger-side door for me. I climb inside the expensive sports car, the leather-tinged-with-Rhett scent enveloping me the moment he shuts the door.
It takes him maybe ten seconds to get into the car, but I’m already irritated by then. Saying I should let him take care of me, who the hell does he think he is? I refuse to depend on anyone but myself. I am the key to my own destiny, and I will never forget it.
“I hope you like Italian,” he says as he starts the car with a push of a button, something I’ve never seen before. The engine purrs, he revs the car with a steady push of the gas pedal and then we’re off, peeling down the street with a squeal of brakes, Rhett shifting the car into gear smoothly, like some sort of goddamn professional.
I’ll look back on this night later and remember this is the moment I realize I’m in way over my head.
Il Gabbiano is the finest Italian restaurant in town—at least, according to the sign outside the building, it is. Rhett opens my car door for me, taking my hand as we walk through the parking lot, his fingers warm and sure as they tuck around mine. I cling to him, his solid heat drawing me in, making me want to do and say crazy things. Instead, I focus on my upcoming performance, praying I’m wearing the right thing, scared I’m going to do something stupid to mess this up.
Being with him makes me feel insecure. Is it because I’m an imposter? Am I scared of getting caught?
Yes. A thousand times yes.
“Jensen.”
His sexy deep voice knocks me from my worrying thoughts. “What?” My head snaps up to find he’s watching me carefully. So carefully, I’m almost scared he can read my thoughts.
“Did I tell you that you look beautiful tonight?” He squeezes my hand as we approach the restaurant, slowing his pace so I have no choice but to stop with him.
My cheeks go hot. I’m not used to the constant compliments. They make me uncomfortable, especially when I remember what I’m doing. “Yes, you did. But thank you again.”
He also told me I looked beautiful on the drive over, when I caught him staring at me while we waited at an intersection for the light to turn green. He’d seemed entranced with me, and let me tell you, that’s heady stuff. No one ever seems to care about me. I just…move through life without affecting anyone.
With Rhett, it feels like he actually wants to be a part of my life. That he’s so grateful I’m here with him. That should make me feel strong, right? Like he’s giving me all the power and eventually, I can use it against him.
But I don’t feel strong. His words and actions make me unsure. Make me doubt I’m doing the right thing, when I’ve never wavered from my purpose before.
I don’t like it.
“You seem nervous.” With his other hand, he pushes wayward tendrils of hair away from my cheek, his fingers a lingering caress on my skin. I can’t stop the shiver that takes over me and he feels it, I know he can. Without a word, he leans in and I tilt my head back, his mouth hovering above mine. Right there in front of the restaurant where everyone can see us, he kisses me. The barest brush of lips, his kiss is the lightest touch that somehow grabs hold of my heart and strangles it until I feel like I can’t breathe.
“This isn’t a test,” he murmurs after he lifts his lips away from mine.
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t want you tense or nervous. I don’t want anything from you that you can’t give.” There he goes again, seemingly reading my mind. “I just want to get to know you better.” He taps the tip of my nose with his index finger. “A lot better.”
His words throw me. I’ve always been someone’s secret. My mother’s. The boys I’ve been with…no one wants to admit they know me. Here’s Rhett kissing me in front of a restaurant, holding my hand like we’re a real couple, saying such sweet things that should make me wary but instead his words make me want to melt.
And I can’t melt. I need to remain ice-cold. No feelings, no emotions. That way, no one can hurt me.
“Why me?” I blurt, snagging my hand out of his so I can step away from him. I need the distance. I know this isn’t the best spot to have this discussion, but I’m seized with the sudden urge to know exactly why he’s acting this way.
“Now I have to ask you what you mean.” He scratches the side of his head, looking adorably confused.
“We see each other a couple of times and now you’re taking me to dinner and it feels like there are all these expectations—” Stop talking, stop talking! “—and I don’t know why you chose me.”
“I’m drawn to you. Isn’t that a good enough reason?”
It’s the answ
er my old self wants. It’s the answer Jennifer is immensely pleased with—and yes, I just referred to myself in the third person. I set out to trap him and it happened quicker than I imagined. Here he is, interested in me, taking me out to an expensive dinner and most likely secretly hoping he’ll be peeling my panties off my body with his teeth by the end of the night. Normally I’d give my body to him without question. That was always the plan.
Instead, my insecurities come flying out, making me say stupid stuff, just like I feared. Again, I’m about to blow it and that’s the last thing I need.
Stay. Focused.
“Yes.” I breathe a sigh and nod once, to reaffirm my answer. “That’s a good enough reason.”
“Great. Now that we’ve got that settled…” he says just before he kisses me again, a quick one that takes me by surprise. “Let’s go eat,” he murmurs, and all I can do is blink up at him, trying to bring his handsome face back into focus. By the time I recover, he’s holding my hand again, leading me toward the restaurant entrance, and I follow along blindly, nearly tripping over the sidewalk.
As we enter the building, I’m immediately dazzled by the stark white interior and the open ceiling with its crisscrossing rough-hewn beams. There are colorful flower arrangements everywhere, their lush, fresh scent lingering in the lobby, and I take a deep breath, savoring the smell. This place reeks of money. It’s expensive, classy, like nowhere I’ve ever been before.
Two men clad in sharp black suits stand behind a high counter, and as we approach them I can see they’re scanning an extensive list with fierce concentration. One of them glances up when Rhett says he has a reservation and offers his name. The one man stands a little straighter, calling Rhett Mr. Montgomery with a touch of awe and respect. He nods at his coworker before leading us deep into the restaurant, until we’re at a table by an expansive window that overlooks the river that runs through town. Candlelight flickers in the pale gold votive resting in the center of the table, casting its glow upon the single white rose sitting in a crystal vase by the window.
My palms are sweating as the host holds the chair out for me, and I practically fall into it, shocked when he gently pushes my chair closer to the table. He takes the napkin from the plate and shakes it out before draping it across my lap, and I can only sit there, unsure of what to say or what to do next. I mutter a thank-you when he finishes, and my gaze cuts to Rhett, who’s watching me with amusement, his mouth curled into a lopsided smile.
Her Defiant Heart - Monica Murphy Page 5
