Faker

by Sarah Smith

  “I thought you said to stay on opposite sides.”

  “Just for a sec. Promise I’ll behave.”

  I wish upon all the stars in every galaxy that he’s lying. I round the counter. In a hot second, his hands are on my waist, I’m pressed up against him, and I’ve forgotten how to inhale.

  “Breathe,” he whispers, his breath moistening my mouth. My tongue runs along my bottom lip, and I take in the sticky air around us.

  Eyes open, he presses his lips against mine. Their velvet feel delivers a lightning bolt to my heart. Before we can get our tongues involved, he pulls away.

  “That’s all I can do. It’s all we should do,” he huffs.

  I nod. Heat simmers between us, but our brains know better. He lets me go and takes a step back. With the cupcakes tucked under his arm, he walks to my front door.

  I should see him out, but instead I stay put and open my mouth.

  “How about you stay the night?” I’ve never gone this deep on a second date before, but this is unlike any second date I’ve ever had.

  He turns to me with his brow lifted.

  “A reward for how good we’ve been. We’ve behaved ourselves pretty well so far, don’t you think? We can sleep in my bed and cuddle, just like we did on the couch those nights you came to check on me after my surgery. We won’t take it further than that, of course. It’s just, I—I know we’re only at our second date, but it feels like so much more, don’t you think? Probably because of our history.” The hurried way I babble gives away my nerves. I swallow to steady myself. “I’ll be good if you’re good.”

  His stare gives nothing away. First there’s a frown, then a sigh, then dropped eye contact to the floor. I brace myself for the excuse, for the letdown, for the embarrassment I’ll nurse with the leftover wine sitting on my counter after his rejection. But then he looks up, a grin on his lips and something extra in his eyes.

  “Let me shower first. Then we can head to bed.”

  nineteen

  It’s a darn shame.” Perry’s nasally voice cuts through the song playing in my earbuds. “You’d think Tate would know how to schedule tweets properly.”

  The noise drifts from Will’s office. I yank out my earbuds so I can eavesdrop. It’s not often that I hear Perry trash-talk Tate. He wouldn’t dare do such a thing to his face, but Tate’s running late this morning, because after spending last night kissing, cuddling, and dozing in my bed, he had to drive back to his place to get ready for work.

  Rules were set to preserve my recovery. We had to stay fully clothed and couldn’t go further than making out. Despite the no-fooling-around policy, I’ve never had a more satisfying night.

  I smile to myself, remembering the way his body was the perfect big spoon to my little spoon, how his sleepy grin and his perfectly tousled bed hair greeted me when my alarm went off. I could get used to that endearing sight every morning.

  Will’s voice pulls me back to the present. “The storage product promo shouldn’t have started until next week. He knows that. I told him.” There’s the sound of papers shuffling.

  “Well, Will, you can only do your best. You’ve always maintained excellent communication between your department and us folks in Purchasing, but that guy seems to have a mind of his own. Never really works well with others. I’m wondering if he needs a talking-to.”

  My blood simmers. Perry speaks as though he has authority over the Purchasing department. He doesn’t. He’s the same level as Tate and me. Lorenzo is head of Purchasing, but he’s gone today, which explains Perry’s sudden appearance in our section of the building.

  He sputters more nonsense about Tate’s supposed shortcomings. The urge to defend the man I’m dating is strong. This exact same defensiveness has hit me before when protecting my little sister from a bully or my best friend from criticism. It signals a turning point. Tate is now part of my tribe, and no one messes with my people.

  I scroll through my emails. I remember Tate messaging me about those toolboxes a few weeks ago when I wrote descriptions for them.

  Perry’s nasally vocal assault continues. “Now we have a slew of customers pissed that they won’t be getting the discount that was promised. The manufacturers only gave us permission for discounts on those specific dates, and the call center’s having to deal with their complaints. We’ll probably have to honor the sale by eating the cost ourselves. The manufacturers sure as heck won’t pay the difference between the sale price and the actual cost.”

  The email I’m looking for pops up. Right there in bold, the incorrect date is listed, which means that Perry sent Tate the wrong information.

  I print off the sheet, highlight the date, and dart to Will’s office.

  Perry drones on. “I think that Tate should be the one to take the customer complaint calls. Don’t you—”

  “Really?” I interrupt, standing in Will’s doorway. Perry frowns at me while Will looks up from behind a pile of scattered papers.

  “You think Tate should apologize for your mistake? You’re completely in the wrong on this one, Perry. As usual.” I scowl at him before handing the paper to Will. “The only reason Tate set up the promo tweets for this week is because Perry told him to.”

  “Let me see that,” Perry mutters. Will hands him the paper.

  An expression between indignant and embarrassed clouds Perry’s face. “I don’t see why you needed to involve yourself in this discussion, Emmie.”

  Classic Patronizing Perry. He’s used this tactic before when I’ve tried to correct him in the past. Always trying to make me feel like an outsider. He wouldn’t dream of taking that tone with Tate.

  “I do.” I cross my arms, stand tall, and square my shoulders. I don’t even have to remind myself to slide into boss-bitch mode. I’m already there. “You’re only mad because I called you out on your latest blunder. Stop coming into our office and trying to get other people in trouble for your mistakes. We all have better things to do.”

  Perry the Plague, meet next-level Boss-Bitch Emmie.

  Will straightens in his seat before raising his brow at him. “She’s right, Perry.”

  “Be more careful next time. We’re all a little tired of your unprofessional antics.” It’s my best professional screw-you tone. Clear and deliberate, almost slow in delivery, yet strong and hard in volume. It says don’t mess with me ever again unless you’re prepared to die on this hill.

  Perry’s face reddens. He has no words, and it’s delightful. The few seconds of tense silence in Will’s office feel like a triumph.

  “Ridiculous,” he mutters.

  I slide to the side to let him exit the office first. He walks out the door, then freezes.

  With wide eyes, Perry stammers at an unseen person around the corner. “I was just . . . You know, it’s a funny story—”

  “Is it?” Tate’s hard tone hits my ears. He must have heard everything.

  “I wasn’t trying to—”

  “Weren’t you?” Tate is calm and steely in his no-nonsense tone. I know he’s standing up straight, arms at his side, giving Perry a stare-down that will haunt his nightmares.

  “There’s not much to add. Emmie said what needed to be said, and I heard it all.”

  I crane my neck to peek out the door. Perry’s back blocks my view of Tate, except for the top of his face and the right side of his body.

  “I think we’re done here, Perry.” Not even a blink mars Tate’s stony face. He extends his arm to Perry, and I look down. He’s holding the container of Funfetti goodness. “Cupcake?”

  Perry shakes his head and scampers out of our office and down the hall.

  “Did someone say cupcakes?” Will says.

  Tate walks the few steps to Will’s office and hands him one.

  “Thanks, man! This is one for the record books. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you eat sweets in the o
ffice.”

  The corner of Tate’s mouth quirks up. “Thought I’d add some sweetness to my life. Best decision I ever made.”

  I have to clear my throat to disguise the gasp I let loose.

  Will peels away the cupcake wrapper, seemingly oblivious. “Just don’t overdo it. Too many sweets is bad for you.”

  Tate’s knowing stare finds me. “No such thing as too many when it’s the right kind of sweet.”

  In a single bite, half of Will’s cupcake is gone. Unlike me, he remains unaware of the subtext of Tate’s comments.

  “And don’t worry, I’ll send an email to Perry’s boss to warn him about pulling that sort of crap again. His errors aren’t our problem,” Will says through a mouthful.

  I hand him a second cupcake. “Thanks, Will. Seriously.”

  Will may be forgetful and silly from time to time, but he always has our backs. For that I’m thankful.

  He pops a thumbs-up. Tate follows me to my office. I’m all smiles. Tate is too.

  “You were pretty impressive back there,” he says, leaning against the doorway.

  “I’ve had it with Perry’s quest to make everyone look bad, even though he’s the one who is famously incompetent.”

  Warmth softens the angles of his face. “You defended me.”

  “Of course. I wasn’t going to let him trash you.”

  “Thank you,” he says in that low tone I go crazy for. His intensity is back, but only in his eyes this time.

  He’s bare in his gratitude, utterly stripped down in this moment, and it’s my doing.

  “I can’t believe you were going to give Perry one of your cupcakes,” I say once I refocus.

  “Not to eat. If he had said yes, I was going to smash it in his face.”

  I cover my mouth to keep from laughing, but then his face shifts to serious. “We’ve got our meeting for the Midwest Family Homes Foundation in ten. You ready?”

  “Yup,” I say.

  I grab my notebook with the ideas I jotted down the other day. But then he lowers his head and along with it his tone. “Seriously, Emmie. Thank you.”

  Tenderness accompanies his soft expression. I grow so weak in the knees, I have to sit down in my office chair.

  All I can do is whisper, “Sure thing,” turn to my computer, and watch him walk back to his office. We can’t kiss; we can’t hug; we can’t rip each other’s clothes off. But we can share this new silence, heat and triumph tumbling between us, and enjoy our latest moment of intimacy.

  * * *

  • • •

  NINA SIMONE’S GRAVELLY voice is the soundtrack to my soak in the tub this evening. Anything to take the edge off the fire engulfing my insides. It’s been burning full blast ever since I defended Tate at work last week. We’re two dates, one sleepover, and a million kisses in, and I’m properly smitten.

  The tiny incisions glisten in the water, the glue from the tissue adhesive shining bright. From my phone, the melodic sound of “Feeling Good” bounces between the walls. Too bad my body isn’t keeping pace with our speed. I’d be ready to throw down right now, but postsurgery recovery and all.

  I dry my hand off on the bath mat and grab my phone from the lid of the toilet. I contemplate texting Tate to ask what he’s up to, but instead I snap a photo of my freshly shaved legs dangling over the side of the tub. My thumb hovers over the screen, ready to text him the photo in hopes of piquing his interest. Sexy texts are what couples do during the honeymoon stage. Couple. We’re only two weeks into officially dating and haven’t had the label discussion yet. It’s been a month since our first kiss, though. We’re acting like a couple, but is it jumping the gun a bit to send a seminude pic before the boyfriend-girlfriend discussion? Possibly.

  I stretch my arm to set my phone back on the toilet lid, but I slip on the slick edge of the tub. My thumb hits the button, and the photo sends, just as it drops out of my hand and onto the floor.

  “Shit,” I jolt up, my abdomen throbbing in pain. “Ow, shit.”

  A slow hiss of breath eases me through the soreness. It’s gone in seconds, but the realization of what I’ve done lingers. Two breaths later, my phone rings. Tate’s name flashes across the screen. I’m tempted to ignore it, but that will just make for an awkward workday tomorrow. May as well get the humiliation over with now.

  “Yeah? I mean, hello?” I pound a fist to my head, my eyes pressed shut.

  “You’re in the bathtub.” There’s a low growl when he speaks. A smidgen of my humiliation disappears. I guess he liked what he saw.

  “I am.” I try for a nonchalant tone.

  “You’re taunting me.”

  “Am not.” My nonchalance is now a breathy huff that mirrors his rasp.

  “Liar. What are you trying to do to me, Emmie?” There’s a frustrated chuckle at the end.

  “Nothing. I’m innocent. Just simply bathing by myself.”

  “By yourself? That should be a crime.”

  I let out a breath. “I have to say I’m relieved.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I press my eyes shut, even though he can’t see me. “I thought it would seem desperate, maybe jumping the gun a bit, sending you a photo of my half-naked body.”

  He huffs a breath. I think he’s smiling. “Come on. We’re going on dates; we’re spending the night together; we’re getting physical to the point of having to set rules so we don’t injure ourselves. Desperate isn’t even on the radar for us.”

  Us. The way he says it sounds official. “Us,” I repeat.

  “Us. As in you and me.”

  “Two of us.”

  He chuckles. “We’re a couple, Emmie. Is that what you want me to say?”

  A giggle hits the base of my throat. I have to lean back to laugh properly. “You said it, not me.”

  “Come on. Tell me you haven’t been thinking the exact same thought. I sure as hell have.”

  “I have,” I groan. My hand slips from my stomach to between my legs. “We should celebrate.” A moan escapes. Even though I’m talking to him on the phone, the pulse between my legs is back. Just the sound of his voice, that perfect low growl, gets me going.

  “How?”

  “Just listen.”

  The pressure of my hand leads to a single quiet moan. I swirl my fingers round and round. The clench in my abdomen doesn’t aggravate my soreness like I thought it would. I’m relieved because I don’t think I could stop, even if I had to.

  I put the phone on speaker and place it on the edge of the tub. Eyes closed, I let my hand work in slow circles. Quick, even circles. Every muscle in my body shakes. A minute passes, then another. The heat and pressure always build quickly when it’s just me, but with Tate on the other line, the sound of his heavy breath echoing against the walls, my pleasure comes lightning fast. A long, pitchy, breathy moan pulls from the bottom of my throat and out of my mouth. Panting, I clutch the side of the tub and bring the phone back to my ear.

  “How was that?” I say, still short of breath.

  He lets out a groan. “Fucking hell, Emmie. The way you breathe, the way you moan . . .”

  I can picture his face perfectly. Shy, dilated eyes, half smile, face an undiscovered shade of red. I wonder if he got a bit handsy with himself too. A soft chuckle falls from me. I’m the one doing all of this to him, and it is a whole new realm of satisfying.

  “Can we call that date three?”

  “We can call it whatever you want. Thanks for letting me listen.”

  “It sounded like you did a bit more than listen.”

  A pause follows. “Can you blame me? You drive me wild, Emmie.”

  We share a chuckle, then say good night. I lie back and submerge myself under the water, still on fire. It’s official. We’re a couple. Tate Rasmussen is my boyfriend.

  * * *

  �
� • •

  I WALK INTO Lynn’s empty office, mimicking the slow, quiet movements of a cat burglar. The word “couple” bounces through my head. It’s the reason why I’m creeping in an office that isn’t mine.

  Luckily, what I’m looking for rests in a neat stack on top of her desk: the Nuts & Bolts relationship disclosure forms. Just the sight of the bold black text makes me grin. I won’t ask Tate about it, not today at least. But as of last night’s bathtub session, we’re officially a couple. The conversation about making us “work official” is sure to come up soon. I may as well be prepared.

  Soft, swishy footsteps echo down the hall. With shaky hands, I swipe a form, fold it in a hurry, and shove it in the outer thigh pocket of my yoga pants.

  I spin around to the open door just as Lynn spots me.

  “Oh, hey, Emmie.” Her wide smile is devoid of any suspicion. God bless Lynn and her wholesome nature. “Were you looking for me?”

  I nod frantically. “Uh, yep. Today’s the day the family is visiting the worksite, right? I was just wondering if you needed help with that.”

  I blink like I’m sending Morse code. I hope she believes my lie.

  “Oh, how sweet of you to ask! I do actually.” Lynn’s grin grows even wider.

  She asks me to hand out goodie bags to the kids once they tour the home. “I’ve been so impressed with what you two have managed so far on this social media and marketing project. Have you seen how well Nuts & Bolts is trending on Twitter and Instagram?”

  When I tell her I’ve scored a feature in a local industrial magazine for Nuts & Bolts, she high-fives me.

  “You, Tate, Will, and I should meet next week to talk more about the amazing progress of this project. How’s next Monday morning sound?”

  I nod yes before heading to the worksite. Since I’m not allowed to do any physical labor yet as part of my surgery recovery, I’ve been throwing myself full force into media promotion. All those press releases and pitches I sent out have paid off, with local news stations and the newspaper wanting to cover Nuts & Bolts’ homebuilding project.