Faker

by Sarah Smith

  She pulls her glasses off and inhales, like she’s about to break bad news. I cease breathing.

  “Brett from Service and Repairs has been fired. Now, we wouldn’t normally divulge information about a firing to another employee, but this concerns you.”

  Lynn looks to Will, who clears his throat.

  “Tate brought to the managers’ attention a couple weeks ago that Brett was speaking about you inappropriately. He overheard him in the break room and reported it to me and Brett’s boss. The language used was lewd and unacceptable. Tate demanded that Brett be fired, but we had to investigate first,” Will says.

  Lynn nods along. “We discovered this wasn’t an isolated incident. Apparently, Brett made inappropriate comments to a couple of other female employees.”

  “Wait, what?” I’m light headed. This is information overload.

  “I know this is difficult to hear. You’re a young lady working at a mostly male company.” Lynn sighs. “Tate was on our case the entire time we investigated. It was a bit much at times how often he would check up on it, but I can certainly understand where he was coming from.”

  My head is spinning. Tate demanded that Brett be fired for me? I shake my head, hoping it somehow centers me and I can come up with a well-worded reply. It doesn’t.

  “That’s a shocker,” I say.

  Lynn folds her hands on her lap. “I suppose it is. However, given how he took care of you when you fell on the worksite, I don’t think it’s a shock at all.” She gives what I think is a knowing look, but it disappears before I can be sure.

  This impromptu meeting has me feeling like I’m riding a roller coaster with no safety bar. I look to both Will and Lynn. “I appreciate you telling me.”

  I shoot up from the chair, shut the door to Will’s office behind me, and leap to Tate’s doorway. He’s glowering at a photo of a chain saw on his computer screen.

  “We need to talk.”

  “I’ll forward you the chain saw info in a minute.” He keeps his eyes on the computer. His harshness is back.

  “No, not that. I need to talk to you right now.” The words punch out of my mouth in a harsh whisper. I glance behind to Will’s office door. “Not here. Come on.”

  I speed walk down the hall to the stairwell door. I open it and point for him to step in. The metal door clanks shut, and we’re left standing at the landing at the top of the stairs, silently staring at each other.

  “That gift, it’s not what you think.” The waterlines of my eyes burn. I can’t cry. Not here, not now.

  His arms rest at his sides, each fist clenched. His face is a sheet of white steel. “I don’t think anything.”

  “Yes, you do. That’s why you’re upset.”

  “I’m not upset.” His strained tone gives away his lie.

  “Stop it. I’m going to call Jamie later and clear things up. I’m not interested in him in that way.”

  “Based on that adorable stuffed bear, he may need some serious convincing.” His bitter tone makes my throat squeeze.

  I grab his arm and pull him away from the door, hoping the few extra inches will serve as effective insulation, because I don’t want anyone overhearing us. We’re so close that if I move my arm in front of my body, I’d graze his.

  “Tate, you stayed with me at the hospital. I bathed next to you. I spent almost every day with you this past week and a half. We’ve been texting every single day. I thought it was clear just how much I like you.”

  He crosses his arms, the defensiveness melting from his face.

  “Look, I’m not sorry for chatting with Jamie or getting to know him or having a drink with him. That happened before this stuff with us.”

  He starts to shake his head, but I stop him.

  “You’re mad about all that. Or jealous. Don’t try to deny it.”

  His jaw clenches, and I can count every muscle pressing against his skin. He’s frustrated. So am I. But all I want to do is take his face in my hands, touch his jaw muscles one by one, and kiss him. What a mix of emotions he brings out in me.

  “Fine. You’re right. I just . . .” He trails off before huffing out a tense breath. “Look, I know I have no right to be jealous or upset. But after all that’s happened with us, the thought of you and him . . .”

  He shakes his head and looks away.

  “I know.”

  “I’m sorry for how I reacted.”

  I sigh and smile. Crisis averted after one ill-timed teddy bear delivery.

  “I had no idea about Brett.”

  His eyes widen. “Management told you?” he asks, his tone softer.

  I nod. “You did that for me?” It comes out more like a question than a statement like I intended.

  He shrugs. “I don’t want to work in a place where an employee thinks he can speak about his coworkers like that.”

  I ease to a whisper. “It means so much, what you did.”

  I place the palm of my hand against his chest and take another step toward him. I’ve been aching to touch him all morning. Feeling how hard his body is when I’m not delirious with pain has been the highlight of my evenings lately. In my alert state, I relish this flesh. His heart beats swiftly against my hand. I wonder if it’s my touch that causes it. I hope so.

  “Working here, around all these guys, I have a shield up every day. Knowing you were looking out for me means everything.” My voice is a soft rasp.

  Gently, he grabs my hand and pulls it off his chest. My stomach twists, but then he laces his fingers with mine and pulls me closer, pressing my torso against his.

  “I fucking hated that guy,” he says in a low whisper. A slight smile catches the edge of his lips.

  “Me too.” I grin wide.

  “Every time he looked at you, I wanted to smash his head into the side of a table, the floor, the wall.”

  “I kind of wish you had.”

  His smile grows. “If I had done that, then I’d be in jail, and we couldn’t have this awkward moment in the stairwell.”

  “I don’t think it’s awkward.” I tilt up my head. My lips inch closer to his.

  Our stairwell interlude almost feels like progress. We’ve shared truths and worked out a misunderstanding, and now we’re better. Closer.

  The sound of the metal door slamming open at the bottom of the stairs below us jerks us apart. We’re pressed against opposite walls now, arms crossed over our chests. Heavy footsteps thud up the staircase. Gus darts between us to walk through the door. I wonder if he even saw us. He sure didn’t act like it. We glance at each other and laugh at the same moment.

  A hint of worry creeps into my brain. “Do you think he noticed anything?”

  “Nah. It’s Gus. He doesn’t pay attention to anything outside of the warehouse.”

  I step back into his reach, and he gently wraps his arm around me. I touch my lips against his. He pecks me but stops before we can properly kiss. I pull back, disappointed.

  “Believe me, I want to. I’d press you up against the wall right here, right now, but we can’t get caught. Not like this,” he says. The hard swallow in his throat lets me know he’s telling the truth.

  “You’re right.” I’m embarrassed for letting my hormones dictate my behavior in this stairwell. “Come out to lunch with me, then. We can find a spot someplace away from here where you can press me against a wall.” I trace my fingers across his chest, hoping to convince him.

  He leans his head back and groans. “I wish I could, but I have a dentist appointment over my lunch hour.”

  Backing away again, I shoot him a pouty face. He pulls me to him, leans down to nibble my bottom lip, then licks it lightly with the tip of his tongue. My knees buckle.

  “What about after lunch?” I’m shameless in my desperation.

  “I should have told you: I have to go to a social media semina
r this afternoon at the DoubleTree. Today’s a half day for me.”

  I groan and pound lightly on his chest. “You’re killing me.”

  He grabs both of my arms and pins them behind my back. Something hard and blunt pokes me from the front of his pants. “I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

  He releases me, then folds his hands in front of him to conceal his pants tent. “Okay. Back to work for us. You go first.”

  I walk back to my office, a giddy skip in my step. Five minutes later, he returns to his. I can’t help but feel flattered at the thought that it took him five minutes to collect himself after pressing against my body. Leaning around my computer, I steal a quick glance. He’s smiling to himself. When he catches me peeking, he rewards me with a wink. My mind races with all the ways he will make it up to me.

  fifteen

  By two o’clock I’m deathly bored and turned on. My cell phone rings, and I jump to answer it, hoping it’s Tate. When I look at the screen, I freeze. It’s Jamie. Crap.

  “Emmie! How are you? Are you okay?” He sounds concerned.

  “Hi, yeah, I’m good. Thanks.”

  “I was so worried when I didn’t hear from you after you went to the hospital.”

  “Well, I’m fine now.” It’s like I’m reading from a cue card. I wonder if he can pick up on the disinterest in my voice. I register the plush bear propped against the chair in the corner of my office. “And thank you so much for the gift.”

  “I thought you’d like it.” I can tell he’s smiling. “How’d your surgery go? Are you recovering okay?”

  “It all went well. I’m crazy sore, but I’ll live. Wait, how did you know I had surgery?”

  “Tate answered your phone one of the times I called to check on you.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, he was a little short with me. I offered to come see you, but he wouldn’t tell me what hospital you were at. He said he had everything under control and didn’t need my help. And he told me to leave you alone during your recovery, so you could rest. Can you believe that? He’s got that stone-wall jerk personality down.”

  I feel a pull of defensiveness for Tate but push it aside.

  “Can I see you? It’s been a while, and I’d like to see your pretty face.”

  His attempt at a sweet comment makes me cringe. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Look, I appreciate the gift, but I don’t think I’m interested in—”

  He chuckles. “Oh no, I don’t mean that. I was hoping to give you some pointers for when you’re able to go back to the worksite. I was chatting with Lynn the other day, and she mentioned the social media project you and Tate are in charge of. She was worried it would fall by the wayside with you being out the past week and a half. I told her I could talk to you and help. I do marketing and promo work in my job too.”

  “Oh, that. Sure.”

  “Great! How about we chat about it tonight over ice cream? You know what they say. Ice cream after surgery is a must.”

  I frown at my lap. I’ve never heard anyone say that. “I, uh—”

  “Please? Don’t make me beg.” The whiny, drawn-out way he says “please” is like nails on a chalkboard.

  “Shouldn’t Tate be part of this meeting?”

  “Sure, if he’s free.”

  I glance at the clock. He’ll be at the seminar the rest of the day, maybe the evening. I have no idea; he didn’t give me a time frame.

  “Actually, I think he’s busy,” I say.

  “That’s okay. You can fill him in on what we discussed.”

  “Fine,” I finally concede. “I can meet you at that ice cream shop in Dundee after work.”

  “I’ll pick you up. You shouldn’t have to drive after what you’ve been through.”

  I’m too exhausted to fight him, so I agree and give him my address. We hang up, my head spinning.

  * * *

  • • •

  “ARE YOU OKAY?” Jamie asks while seated next to me on a bench outside of the eCreamery Ice Cream. I assume my phony smile is not convincing.

  “I’m fine. Like I said on the phone, still very sore.”

  I finish the last of my vegan chocolate ice cream and toss the container in a nearby trash can. This past half hour with Jamie has been an awkward mess. Awkward side hug when he picked me up, awkward small talk in the car, sitting in awkward silence while eating our ice cream. I check my phone. Still no message from Tate. I text him that I’m meeting with Jamie for the charity homebuilding project, but that I’ll be free afterward if he’s up for another cuddle session at my place. I want him to know he’s on my mind. I wonder if I’m on his.

  “What ideas did you have?” I ask.

  The half smile Jamie shoots me has lost its intriguing luster. The guy who set my pulse on fire when we first met doesn’t even register on my internal Richter scale. Whatever chemistry we had has fizzled.

  He takes a bite of his raspberry sorbet. “What’s the deal with Tate?” he asks, ignoring my question.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Is he into you or something?”

  “I thought you wanted to discuss promoting our homebuilding project.”

  “I’m having a hard time getting a read on him.”

  Now I’m annoyed. That’s twice he’s ignored my questions.

  I pin him with what I hope is a stern stare. “Look, I appreciate the teddy bear and ice cream, but I thought we were meeting to talk about work, not Tate.”

  He frowns. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I just wanted to know what I was up against.”

  “Up against?”

  With a flick of his wrist, his empty ice cream container lands in the nearby trash can. “Well, yeah. I thought that we . . . that you and I were—”

  “Friends,” I finish for him. “I’m sorry if you thought it was more, but honestly, all I want right now is a friend.”

  The letdown is hardly kind, but I’m not interested in kind. Jamie dragged me out here under the guise of work talk when all he really wanted to do was eliminate Tate as dating competition.

  “A friend,” he repeats with a raised brow. He scoffs, then smiles. It doesn’t look happy though, more like regretful. “Well, then. Let me take you back home, friend.”

  When we return to my place, I start to let myself out of the car, but he insists on opening it for me. He gestures to the porch, but I stop at the giant birch tree in the front yard. He stands on the pavement below me.

  “Thank you again for the ice cream and the stuffed bear.” I cross my arms. “We’ll have to figure out another time that Tate, me, and you can chat.”

  He sighs. “Sure. Have a good night.” He leans in to kiss my cheek, but I jerk my head to the side and end up bumping my head into a low-hanging tree branch. His wet lips land on my ear. He backs away into the street, a disoriented look on his face. The whole scene is a mess and a half.

  “Sorry, I— Friends can kiss on the cheek, right?” he stutters.

  I wipe my hand along the side of my face. “I don’t.”

  “Uh, good night, then.” He gives me a limp wave before climbing into his car and driving off.

  When I look up, the streetlight at the corner of my block catches my eye, but not because of the glow it casts on the darkened street. Because it perfectly highlights Tate’s silhouette as he walks over to me.

  My breath comes out in a rough blow. Now we’re both standing on my lawn in the dark.

  “I got your text.” His tone is nonchalant, casual, and every bit a surprise.

  “Your timing couldn’t be more perfect. Or awful, depending on how you look at it.”

  He shrugs. “I take it the meeting with Jamie didn’t go well?”

  “You caught the tail end of it, didn’t you?”

  He nods.

  “‘Didn’t go well’ is putt
ing it nicely. I’m pissed. We didn’t talk about work at all. He wanted to talk about you and me. And then me and him.”

  He clenches his jaw, which shifts his expression into hard territory. When I cradle his face in my hand, he immediately softens. There’s a gentle moan.

  “I told him I wasn’t interested in him other than as a friend.”

  “A friend?” He lifts an eyebrow. “Friend” is the buzzword of the day.

  “We have to work next to him for several months. You have to see him at the rock climbing gym. It’s best if we stay on friendly terms. You understand, right?”

  “Not my favorite thing in the world to see him try to kiss you, though.” There’s an edge to his voice, but he seems to understand. I can tell by the softness in his eyes and how his hand squeezes my hip.

  “I didn’t like it either.”

  “Maybe you’ll like this.”

  He places a giant orange and green papaya into my hands. My jaw drops at the sight of my second favorite fruit. I didn’t even notice he was holding anything. This is what he meant earlier in the stairwell when he said he would make it up to me.

  “Can I ask you a question?” he asks.

  “Of course.”

  He takes my hand and leads me to sit down on the curb with him. “Why did your family move all the way out here?”

  The randomness of his question nearly makes me laugh, but then I remember that he asked me this in the hospital. I never answered him, bombarding him instead with personal questions of my own.

  “You don’t give up, do you?”

  He nuzzles my neck, wetting my skin with his breath. “Not when it comes to you.”

  I swoon from the inside out. “Money. My parents couldn’t afford to live in Hawaii anymore. My dad has family in the Midwest, and he and my mom decided it would be better to live here since it’s cheaper. And my dad’s family offered to watch my sister and me so my parents could save money on babysitters. So we moved, but it didn’t help things all that much. My dad still could never hold a job for long.”

  “Why?”

  “He has a difficult personality. Very stubborn. He got into arguments all the time with his bosses and coworkers. He’d get fired or quit. It drove my mom nuts. She eventually got sick of it and divorced him. My little sister and I lived with her from then on and saw him every other weekend.”