Faker

by Sarah Smith

  From the side of the unfinished house walks Tate. The slow burn inside me slides into full-blown fire. He’s wearing a tattered gray shirt, worn jeans, and a tool belt. I take in the sculpted glory of his upper body with hungry eyes. Holes dot his T-shirt, giving me delicious glimpses of the perfect flesh underneath. I lick my lips.

  He saunters up to me. “Looking at me like I’m a piece of meat? How very unprofessional, Ms. Echavarre.” His smirk leaves my face on fire.

  Behind him trail a trio of dark-haired elementary school–aged children. Their mom, a petite woman with a kind face, follows. He introduces me to the family who we’re building the house for. The kids flash shy smiles while the mom pulls me into a hug, then sways gently back and forth. Emotion hits, and I have to swallow back a lump in my throat. She hugs a lot like my mom. When I pick my mom up from the airport in a couple of months, it’ll be nonstop bear hugs for sure.

  Tate grins down at the kids. “You guys wanna see where we’re going to put up your swing set?”

  His cheery tone and exaggerated smile have me swooning hard core on the inside. All those times I listened to Kaitlin and Addy raving about how attractive it is to see a man with kids, I would roll my eyes and shrug. Never understood the appeal. I do now, though.

  It’s an endearing balance to his hard exterior, a peek into his ever-growing soft side—a side I didn’t think existed for the year that I’ve known him. There’s so much goodness within him that I didn’t even realize. It makes me want him more than ever.

  I offer their mom the goodie bags. She thanks me, then beams at the sight of Tate pointing out the empty swath of dirt that will eventually be planted with grass. Each of the kiddos stares up at him with wide eyes. He says something we can’t hear, but it causes a raucous round of giggles among the kids. Flicking off his hard hat, he hands it to the oldest one, who tries it on before letting his younger sisters wear it. Tate high-fives them before darting to his car. He returns with a rugby ball and tosses it to the kids. They play a rousing game of catch with loads of laughter.

  “What a sweet young man he is. My kids were asking him all sorts of questions about the house and the yard. He was so patient with them.”

  I smile to myself. “He is something else entirely.”

  I introduce her to Lynn when she walks over to us. The kids scurry over to us, excited to dig in to the bags. Lynn takes the family to say hello to the other volunteers. Tate wanders over to me, one hand on his hip, the other gripping the ball.

  “Man, kids have a lot of energy,” he wheezes.

  “You seemed to keep up with them just fine.” Sweat glistens over his arms. I have to bite my tongue to keep from licking him.

  “Last night left me feeling pretty damn energized.”

  He pins me with a stare that’s knowing and sneaky. Behind his cool facade, he’s thinking of our naughty phone antics from last night, and it has me in a tizzy.

  “I’ve got to get back to work. But no work for you. You, Ms. Echavarre, will be heading back to the office. Your recovery comes first.”

  “I think I’d rather stay and watch you.” My knees wobble when I say it.

  He winks at me. “Last night you were all about listening. Today you want to watch. We’re developing quite a kink early on.”

  “Call it date number four if that makes you feel better.” I keep my voice low enough so no one else can hear.

  His face twists. “It might have to be. I’ve got plans tonight. I really want to see you, but maybe tomorrow?”

  Disappointment hits, but I say it’s fine.

  “Trust me, I’d rather spend time with you. I just can’t get out of it.”

  Lynn returns with the family, who tell us thank you once more. Each of the kids dons the tiny hard hat included in their gift bags.

  We wave good-bye to them as Kip from Purchasing walks up to Tate. “You’re a champion, man. Tiring out three kiddos is impressive. I should have you over to entertain my crew. What’s your secret?”

  Tate mumbles something about weekly rugby matches at Memorial Park, rock climbing, and weight lifting. Kip’s impressed whistle follows.

  Lynn jogs up to me. “I think that went wonderfully, don’t you? The family is so excited about their home. And Tate! Who knew he’s so good with kids?”

  I sneak another glance at him. I have to plant my feet on the ground to keep from lunging over and licking him.

  “He’s been in a great mood lately, don’t you think?” Lynn says. “Such a positive influence on this project.”

  She steps away before asking the volunteers to gather around for a progress update. As she runs down the worksite to-do list, I’m left alone to bask in my bliss bubble. Tate is happy, and it shows. And I’m the reason.

  He trots up to me. “Did you get any photos from the far end of the worksite?”

  I shake my head.

  “Come on.”

  He leads me to the back of the unfinished house, behind a pile of lumber. Someone’s truck is parked right next to it. It and the pile of wood create a tiny secluded spot in the middle of a bustling worksite. With everyone else gathered at the front of the house, all we hear are soft muffled voices. If I close my eyes, the hollow sound reminds me of the lava tubes I explored as a kid on the Big Island.

  Tate turns me so my back is to the wall. He grips my waist; I press my hands against his shoulders.

  “I needed a moment in private. With my girlfriend.” His lips shift into a half smile. “Hope you don’t mind.”

  A rush of warmth floods my cheeks, and he inches closer to my face. When his lips hit mine, it’s an electric shock. His mouth parts, opening my lips, his tongue slides in, and I can’t breathe. His trademark clean taste fills my mouth, and I moan. I try to keep up with his heavy and urgent rhythm, but I can’t. His hands are a soft clamp over mine, pulling my body against his. Thankfully, no one can see us, because this kiss is pure pornographic lust.

  He pulls away after what feels like a solid minute, though I can’t be sure. I’m so dizzy after that soul-shaking kiss that I sway a bit. He steadies me with his hands, which are now circling my rib cage.

  “I thought about you all last night,” he whispers. “In the bathtub, wet, naked.”

  The low hum radiating from the base of his throat makes me grin like the Cheshire cat. I nibble his bottom lip. “You should have come over. It would have been a nice surprise.”

  “I am not a smart man.”

  Again he captures me in a kiss that leaves me breathless. When I come up for air, he’s gasping as well.

  “Did you make yourself come again after we hung up?”

  I shake my head, too dizzy to speak.

  “Why not?” He studies me with pleasure-drunk eyes, his lids halfway closed.

  I lean into the hard bulge at the front of his pants. With my hand over his chest, I steady myself. If I weren’t holding on to him, I’d be a puddle on the ground. The truth dances on the tip of my tongue, waiting for me to be brave enough to say it.

  “I wanted you instead.”

  One of his hands stays at my waist; the other glides up my arm and stops on my face. His forehead falls against mine. Our stares lock. In an instant, my throat dries up.

  “I’d love to make you come, Emmie.”

  He presses his lips to mine but leaves out his tongue. I miss the soft, clean wetness already. Even without the kiss, I’m rendered weak. How he manages to constantly floor me with sexy comments, I’ll never know.

  “You only want me for my body? How shallow.”

  His hands tighten around my waist. It almost feels like he’s holding me steady just so he can hypnotize me with the storm brewing in his stare. There’s no way I’ll ever tire of looking into those eyes.

  “Hardly. I want you for so many other reasons. Your smile, your laugh, your thoughtfulness. Your strength and swe
etness. The way you make me feel at ease every single time I’m around you. You tick all my boxes. There’s no one in the world like you, Emmie.”

  I breathe, but it doesn’t feel like any oxygen is making it inside my body. I’m floored once more, but this time it’s the obvious affection in his face, the way it laces all the words he speaks.

  “We’d better head back,” he says.

  We join the rest of the Nuts & Bolts crew. Lynn lends a few final remarks, and the crowd disperses. I mill around the house snapping progress photos for another press package I’m working on. When I near the far edge, I hear Kip’s laughter echoing around the corner.

  “I hear ya, Tate. Good luck at the rugby game tonight.”

  With Kip’s perfectly timed words, the most brilliant idea pops into my head.

  twenty

  Images of Tate from earlier today bounce around my head while I walk along my evening jogging route. The way he played and joked with those kids all the while decked out in sexy contractor cosplay gave me a whole new fantasy to obsess over.

  But it’s his words doing me in. Maybe he missed a chance to surprise me last night, but I’m not missing my chance to surprise him. Six words loop inside my head, making it impossible to focus on anything else.

  I’d love to make you come.

  It’s so Neanderthal of me, but I can’t help it. Tate brings out both the sentimental part of me and the cavewoman part that wants to be taken against a wall. Every time his low, velvety voice repeats those words in the privacy of my mind, there’s a starburst at the bottom of my gut. Fire engulfs my cheeks.

  Every minute spent with Tate makes me want a hundred more. Every time he says something sweet, I want to hear it over and over. I’ve never been this level of smitten in any prior relationship.

  Each footstep is a struggle to stay on course. I want to sprint instead, but I manage to keep walking until I reach the end of the street. My brain orders me to keep a slow pace, but my legs tell it to go to hell. I blame restless leg syndrome. I blame the boredom brought on by doctor’s orders to take it easy. I blame Tate’s pillowy lips that must be laced with crack.

  I continue speed walking, take a hard left, and pick up the pace. The end of my route is only a mile from where his game is. I’ll surprise him with a hello, a hug, maybe a kiss, and then be on my way.

  In exactly fourteen minutes and forty-seven seconds, I reach Memorial Park and spot a group of men milling around a huge field. I discreetly mosey around the edge of what I assume is the perimeter of their game. There are no markings, just plain grass. When I’m about twenty feet away, I stop and watch.

  Even in the chaotic crowd of rugby players, it’s easy to spot Tate. The white-blond curls peeking out of his scrum cap give him away. Currently, his arms are interlocked with a dark-haired guy who’s shorter and stockier than he is. After a bit of violent tussling, Tate shoves him away using his shoulder. He takes off in a full sprint, tackling the guy with the ball. The spot between my legs aches as I observe my boyfriend. He’s sweat drenched, grass stained, and fueled by testosterone. Everything about the way he moves is carnal and masculine. It is divine to watch.

  The game ends, and he chats with his doctor friend, Brendan, who assisted during my surgery. They high-five a few teammates. The longer I stand on my own, the sillier I feel. This is clearly male bonding time, and I’d be intruding, even if it were to just say hello.

  Twisting my head, I scan the park in search of a discreet path to walk away. I spot Tate chugging water before toweling off, then he begins to walk in my direction. I dart the opposite way, pausing behind a tree, hoping he can’t see me. The sun is setting soon, meaning it will be dark before I make it back to my place. I cross a nearby field, but then I hear Tate call my name. And I thought I was so slick.

  “Emmie, I know that’s you,” he hollers.

  I spin around, wondering if my face is as beet red as it feels.

  “Oh, hi,” I say, as if I’m shocked to see him.

  “What are you doing here?” The sweat on his body shines bright, making him appear like a chiseled Roman statue.

  “I was out for a power walk and happened to pass by. Thought I’d say hello,” I say quickly.

  “Power walk, eh? So that’s why you’re so red.” His breath steadies.

  That’s right, Tate. I’m red because I was walking in the late summer heat. It’s not because I’m ogling your sculpted physique, which is showcased exquisitely in a sweat-soaked white T-shirt.

  “I lied. I wanted to surprise you.”

  Tate gives my body a visual once-over. I feel on display, but in the best possible way.

  “Damn, do I love surprises from my girlfriend.”

  Giddiness pools at the bottom of my throat. I have the sudden urge to giggle like a schoolgirl. Instead, I beam at him.

  He wipes the sweat off his face with his upper arm, careful to avoid a small cut on his brow. “I like your outfit.”

  I’m wearing the rattiest tank top I own over a highlighter-yellow sports bra and the same yoga pants I wore at the worksite today. Based on the whistles and car honks I received during my stroll this evening, I look positively indecent.

  Brendan waves and walks up to us. “Hey. Emmie, right?” he says with a smile. “Look at you out and about. You’re looking great. How do you feel?”

  “Tons better. Thanks again for all you did when I was in the hospital.”

  He nods. “Glad you’re recovering well. Did you catch any of our game?”

  “The last bit, yeah. How’d you guys do? Sorry, I’m a rugby noob and I had no idea what I was watching.”

  The two of them laugh. “We won thanks to Tate.” Brendan gestures at him with his thumb just as Tate looks away at the other side of the field. “He stopped the other team from scoring at the end with a killer tackle.”

  “Way to go,” I say. Tate smirks at the ground.

  “Well, I’ll leave you two, then.” Brendan grabs his car keys out of his pocket and walks past me. “Do me a favor, Emmie, will you? Tell Tate to reconsider about this weekend. And don’t take no for an answer.”

  Tate’s face slips into twisted frustration.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Brendan pats me on the back and walks off. We’re left standing across from each other again.

  “What’s this weekend?”

  He crosses his arms and purses his lips like he’s eaten something sour. “I’ll tell you once we get to my place.”

  He wraps an arm around my waist and walks. His body is still hot from all that glorious physical exertion minutes ago. I bite back a cheesy grin and relax into his hold. The sour scent of sweat laces his usual evergreen spice. I breathe deeply, giving his chest a quick nuzzle. This surprise walk to his place is way, way better than my surprise.

  “You smell so damn good. Like a man’s man. Rugged and sweaty.”

  He lets out a low laugh. Two blocks later, he leads me to a brick duplex and lets go of me to unlock the door. The places on my waist where he touched me tingle.

  It’s a decidedly bachelor dwelling. In the living room is a faux-leather sectional and a massive flat-screen. There’s a beat-up wooden coffee table in the middle. No dining table, just a couple of wooden stools sitting by a counter that juts out from the open wall, which divides the living room from the kitchen.

  “Nice place,” I say, walking around the living room.

  “Have a seat.” He gestures to the couch and walks to the kitchen sink. “Water?”

  “Yes, please.” I hover over his sectional, not wanting to press my sweaty self on it. Instead of sitting, I walk to the kitchen. “How long have you lived here?”

  “A couple years.”

  “Really? It doesn’t look like it. There’s not much to it.” Rock climbing shoes, a harness, and a bag of chalk litter the floor of what I assume is the di
ning room.

  He hands me a glass of water, and I chug half of it. “What a rude thing to say.” He winks, then raises an eyebrow. The throbbing between my legs commences.

  “I didn’t know you lived in a duplex too. Yours is nicer than mine, though. More modern. Mine looks like a tiny red barn from the outside.”

  He drains his glass of water in two quick swallows and turns around to refill it. The back muscles poking through his wet shirt are a tractor beam for my eyes. It is physically impossible to look away. Instead I force myself to finish my water.

  “I lived here with Natalie until she moved out about a year ago.”

  “Did she take all of the furniture with her when she left?” I gesture to the sparsely furnished space.

  “Precisely why it looks like this.” He waves his hand around the room. “She started dating the guy who owns this building. They hit it off, it got serious, and he asked her to move in with him.”

  I’m floored by how many random things we have in common. We both have sisters who lived with us. We both live in duplexes. We’re both terrible decorators.

  He leans against the counter and gazes at me. I try to brush away a chunk of sweaty hair that’s fallen over my forehead, but he stretches out his arm to take care of it for me. He sweeps his hand down my cheek and holds my chin with his thumb.

  “What’s going on this weekend?” I ask.

  “Nothing major.”

  I trace my finger along the tight muscles of his jawline. “This tells me different.” I lightly press the skin around the fresh cut on his forehead. “Let me clean this for you.”

  He directs me to a nearby drawer, and I grab peroxide and Band-Aids. I dab a soaked paper towel against the cut, taking care to blow on it to ease the burn. To my surprise, he smiles when I secure a Band-Aid over the cut.

  “You didn’t jerk away this time.” I remind him of how he recoiled when I pointed out that speck of paper in his hair all those weeks ago.

  “I’m much happier, more relaxed these days. Thanks to you.” A kiss on my cheek seals his compliment.