Even Wanda sounds crabby right now. I need a break.
“Hey, Locke,” I call across the space between us.
He makes a soft sound of acknowledgment and glances up quickly.
“You hungry? My stomach’s about to digest my kidneys.”
Eww. Nice, Greer.
I make a face at myself, but Locke just shakes his head and drops his gaze back to his desk. “I’ve got to catch up on a few things I missed while I was out, so I’m just going to eat at my desk.”
He made a similar excuse yesterday.
What the hell, Lachlan? I struggle to keep my face composed, and for the first time, I question our desk position. There’s nowhere to hide from his scrutiny.
Not that he’s looking. In fact, he’s doing everything he can to avoid my eyes.
I just don’t get it. It’s like things were fine—good, even—at Thanksgiving. There was the flirting—it was flirting, right?—there was a hug in Locke’s car before he dropped me back off at home. There’s was a thanks and an I had a great time and an I’m thankful for you, too, you know.
There was a pregnant pause before I reached for the door and slipped out into the night.
For a blissful second I let myself believe I deserved all that happiness—that I deserved to have Locke the way I really wanted. And now there’s this…silence. It’s like I’m sending feelings into a cave but there’s no echo back.
“You sure?” I venture. “It’s teriyaki.”
Locke will crawl up Mount Rainier on his knees for teriyaki if it’s promised at the top.
He shakes his head with a tight smile. “I’m good, Greer.”
O-kay.
I push back from my desk with tense shoulders, standing so abruptly that my rolling chair flies backward and crashes into the wall beside me.
Damien glances over his shoulder at us, and I feel my cheeks redden.
Crap.
I grab my purse and shuffle to the cafeteria downstairs, where I inhale chicken teriyaki and a pound of rice drenched in soy sauce, trying to stuff my feelings down my throat along with the food. By the time I finish eating, there’s a knot in my stomach that’s only half due to the meal.
Something’s changed between me and Locke, only not for the better. Everything I worried about when he first suggested this plan is starting to come true.
I’m lying on my back on my living room carpet, contemplating where I’ve gone wrong in life, when Molly walks into the apartment and finds me sprawled beside the marble-topped coffee table we found at Goodwill six months ago. The minute she and I spotted it lurking between a wicker settee and a set of squat IKEA drawers with the bottom particleboard shelf sagging in the middle, we knew it had to come home with us. The table was a steal, and one of those rare finds that makes thrift shopping almost worth it, but we didn’t have a way to bring it home with us, so we decided to carry it.
That was before we realized exactly how heavy marble is when you try to drag it three giant blocks up one of Seattle’s infamous hills. We must have had an adrenaline burst to be able to do it, like one of those moms who lifts a car off her trapped kid or whatever, because now I cannot, for the life of me, budge the damn table.
Basically, I’ll be living with this thing until I die.
Molly drops her purse onto the table and shrugs out of her coat. “Bad day at work?”
I flash her a sardonic smile. “How’d you guess?”
The thing is, I don’t normally have bad days at work. I love what I do, and even when things get rough, Locke has always been there to buoy me up. Only now he’s part of the problem.
Molly grins. “You, on the floor.”
“For the record, I’ll have you know I just exercised. Fifty pushups and fifty crunches. In case you were wondering, my abs have abs now.”
My friend’s incredulous laugh fills the space. “I’m sorry, did you say you just exercised? You, Greer Lively, who owns fifteen pairs of sweatpants and takes your bra off as soon as you get home.”
It’s a sign of how desperate I am that exercise actually sounded like a solution instead of a problem, but I won’t admit that to Molly. She tries to get me to drink kale smoothies and do yoga with her at least once a week. Agreeing with her is only going to encourage her.
“A girl has to stay comfortable,” I grumble instead. “And any self-respecting woman who loves her boobs must free them as soon as possible.”
“Point taken.”
I climb to my feet and glance through the living room window. Outside, dark clouds scuttle over a darker sky, and the buildings across the street look damp with fresh rain. Nighttime in December falls early, but the streetlights blaze like an invitation, and my body buzzes with excess energy. “Want to, like, go for a walk or something?”
Molly’s eyes widen, and a quick smile darts over her lips. “Maybe walk to dinner at Bizzarro?”
“You know the way to my heart.”
“Speaking of which…” I groan, and Molly shoots me a sympathetic look as she puts her coat back on. “I’m not saying anything’s wrong, but you’ve seemed a little off this week. And then there’s the exercise. Everything okay?”
“I don’t know.” My eyes prickle with tears, and I pad toward the front door to buy myself a second to get my shit together. My roommate follows quietly behind me, giving me a chance to slide on my shoes and coat before we push out into the brisk December air.
We walk side by side for half a block past storefronts already decorated in Christmas lights before I speak again. Somehow it’s easier to spill my guts when I’m not looking my friend in the eye. “It’s just, Locke’s been weird ever since Thanksgiving.” My voice sounds thick, but I’ll chalk it up to the cold.
“He’s been weird how?” Molly asks.
“He’s really quiet, and he keeps making excuses for not grabbing food with me. Just…off.” Saying it out loud makes me realize how stupid it sounds, but it doesn’t feel stupid.
“I’m sure you’re fine, Greer. Maybe he’s just busy.”
I sigh and jam my hands in the pockets of my coat. “That’s what he said.”
“See? There you go.”
I nod along with her, but it still doesn’t sit right. “What if I did something wrong?” I continue. “I mean, I thought his family liked me, but what if I crossed a line I didn’t know about?” At last I get to the heart of it, a tiny whisper that’s almost swallowed by the street noise. “I don’t want to lose him.”
Molly stops dead on the sidewalk and grabs my shoulders so I face her. “Greer, you’re not going to lose him.” Her minty breath falls on my face, and her familiar features seem like safety. “Anyway, Locke’s your friend. And I saw the way he looked at you on Thanksgiving. That man is not going anywhere.”
How did he look at me? I want to ask, but it’s a dangerous question. I’m standing on the border of truth and fantasy, and it could be so easy to interpret the answer wrong and start living in a dreamland.
I’ve already messed everything up by pretending with him, because it was the tiniest glimpse into what a relationship with him could be, and now I know. I know that I like the feeling of being with him. Now that I’ve tasted what it could be like, I know I’ll always want more.
“Dinner or dinner?” I say instead of asking Molly anything more about Locke. I hurry down the street without saying another word about him.
I’m a coward, but I’m also not a fool.
10
Locke
I know, by now, that Greer is habitually late, but she’s on the cusp of call-in-sick territory on Thursday morning when I hear the clomp of shoes on the tile hallway outside the open office. My eyes are trained on my computer, skimming through my morning emails, but my heart still lurches in my chest at the noise. It’s been too long since I really looked at her, and my body aches like an addict begging for a fix.
These last few days of trying to keep my heart in line have gotten me nowhere, and even by staying away from her, I can’t focu
s on work. If I keep this up, David and Curt will probably withdraw the job offer, anyway. So I give in. I lift my eyes as the carpet in our office dampens the sound of Greer’s footsteps and then do the fucking double take of my life.
Those clomping shoes are black leather booties with four-inch heels, and they make Greer’s legs look a million miles long. Not to mention they do something gorgeous to her ass, which curves under a simple, black, fit-and-flare dress. The dark fabric offsets her golden hair, which waves around her shoulders and wafts the faintest traces of shampoo and perfume.
My mouth goes dry.
What the hell was I thinking before? The only thing this trial run of absence did was show me what I already knew—my life without Greer in it is flat and dull.
I’ve missed her.
Greer pulls her laptop out of her shoulder bag and arranges it on her desk, then takes a seat across from me.
Say something, Locke.
“You’re looking…” Sexy. Edible. I start again. “You’re looking formal today.”
She looks almost startled by my voice, and I realize I’ve done too good a job of staying away from her.
“Formal. Yeah.” Greer’s cheeks go pink and she doesn’t meet my eye. “I’ve got a presentation with Damien and Curt today.”
“On the bot project? The milestone review for Wanda?”
She finally meets my eye. “You remembered?” Soft, peachy eyeshadow highlights her blue eyes, and mascara makes them look wide and deep. Like something to fall into.
“Of course I did.”
For the first time, she smiles. It’s a tentative smile, but it makes me feel hopeful. Maybe I didn’t damage us after all.
“Truth be told, I’m in great shape,” Greer says. “Our data’s great, and I’ve gone over this damn speech about a hundred times. I’m just feeling a little pukey about it. There’s a reason I wrote screenplays instead of acting in them.”
I wince. “What time’s the meeting?”
“Eleven.”
I nod. I can clear my schedule for eleven. I open my mouth and offer without thinking. “Want another friendly face to sit in on the presentation? For good luck?”
Greer’s mouth parts, and her eyes fill with gratitude. “You’d do that?” she whispers.
“Yeah, Greer, I’d do that. And then I’ll take you to lunch afterward to celebrate how awesome you’ve done.”
She rolls her eyes, but this time her smile is real. “Are you buying?” she teases.
“I think it’s only fair.”
Her cheeks flush, and she nods. “Then I accept.”
“Speaking of which.” I rustle around in my desk and produce a white cardboard box, which I hand across the table to her.
“What’s this?”
“A souvenir from San Francisco. Forgot to give it to you earlier.”
I hold my breath as she bites her bottom lip and opens the cardboard box carefully. The business card holder falls into her hands, a Golden Gate Bridge that pins a few cards in the grip of its trademark rails.
“It’s a little silly,” I warn.
“No,” she breathes. “It’s perfect.” Her voice is light, and her eyes shine as she looks up at me. “You are definitely trying to distract me from my meeting.”
“Is it working?”
She grins in a way that makes me grin too. “It might be.”
Maybe, just maybe, I can get us back on track.
Greer wraps her lips around a forkful of pasta and closes her eyes with a contented hum of approval. She chews with a half smile on her mouth, and I can’t keep my eyes from her lips. Watching this girl eat is like watching a Carl’s junior commercial—so sexy it’s hard to look away.
When she finally swallows, she opens her eyes and smiles. “I know it’s not the popular opinion, but the food in the caf really isn’t half bad.”
We’re at the dining hall on the first floor of WanderWell’s headquarters, and the prospect of my salad bar salad pales in comparison to how much she’s enjoying her pasta.
“Well, I’m glad it lives up to your exacting palate.”
“Only the best,” Greer agrees. “Thanks again for bringing me.”
“Well deserved. The presentation was great.”
She ducks her head. “I just wish Damien hadn’t started flapping his lips at the end.” She lowers her fork with a frown. “It was like he had to ask me something just to ask me something, you know? To look like he was in charge.”
I lean forward, and my knees knock into hers under the table. “You know the only reason a guy does that kind of posturing?” I ask. “Because he feels threatened.”
She giggles, and the sound is a damned delight. “By me?”
“Yeah, Greer. Because you’re smart and strong and kicking ass at this job. He’s the new guy in the room, and there’s a lot to live up to.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Are you sucking up to me?”
I spread my hands and grin. “Why would I do that?”
She gives me a look that says she knows I’m full of shit. Some of the things I like best about Greer are that she can read me with a look and that she doesn’t pull punches. Most of the time, those things works in my favor.
This time, though, I rake my hands through my hair and sigh. “I know I’ve been kind of an ass the last few days, and I’m sorry. There’s been a lot on my mind.”
She pauses like she’s waiting for an explanation but is sensitive enough not to pry. I can’t tell her about the job offer that might not be a job offer, about me trying to picture my life without her in it, but I want to give her something. So I give her what I can.
“Sometimes being around family is weird for me.”
“Exactly why I don’t go home for the holidays.”
I snort out a laugh. “Yeah, well, it’s harder to make excuses when you only live twenty minutes away.”
She tilts her head, a concession. “You looked like you did fine to me. You’re like the prodigal son who can do no wrong.”
I feel my mouth twist. “Not quite. Ever since my dad died, I’ve put a lot of pressure on myself.”
“To do what?”
Excellent question. “I don’t know.” I shrug. “To fill in for him. To do more. Be more.”
“But, Locke, you are so amazing. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone.”
It takes me a second to process the compliment, to let myself hear the sound of her voice telling me how good I am. It takes me another second to compose myself after, so I don’t accidentally show how much it means to me.
“Thanks,” is what I say, my voice scraping and dry. Then I clear my throat and try to lighten the mood. “In other news, getting old sucks, and my body’s been acting up on me. So I’m working through that.”
A delicate crease forms between her eyebrows. “Acting up how?” Then her frown flips into a grin. “Getting hair in weird places?”
I burst into a startled laugh. “Not quite.” I shake my head. “Traveling was just rough on my stomach.”
Greer nods, considering. “Maybe you have a food intolerance. Or sensitivity, or whatever.” She shrugs a beautiful, curvy shoulder. “With the way our food supply has consolidated over the years, more and more people are finding out they have issues. Not to spout ‘our food’s all contaminated’ conspiracy theories, or anything, but I hear about them all the time from my roommate. Maybe there’s a simple explanation.”
I gesture at her with a forkful of lettuce. “You might have a point.”
“Why don’t you do one of those mail-in food intolerance tests? Maybe you can get some answers.”
“What would I do without you?” It takes me a second to realize I’ve said it out loud, but Greer rolls with it like I haven’t just confessed how much she means to me.
She reaches across the table and pats my hand. I know she means it in a teasing way, but the touch sends a jolt of electricity through my body. I want to twist my fingers through hers and hold on tight, but when she s
lides her hand away, I let her go.
“You’d be very, very sad,” she says.
I nod because it’s true. It’s the fucking dilemma of my life, but until I know more about this job, I’m not going to waste the minutes I have left.
I lean back in my chair, trying to be casual even though my palms start to sweat and I feel like a teenager asking a pretty girl to a school dance. “You around tonight?”
Greer squints at me, but a smile flickers on her lips, and I can see in her eyes that she’s going to say yes. “Maybe,” she says. “Why?”
11
Greer
I’m the first to tell you that I’m a grandma when it comes to my bedtime—ahem, my beauty sleep—so I’m as surprised as anyone to be leaving my apartment at eleven o’clock on a Thursday night rather than returning to it. But when Lachlan Mills calls, I come.
God, even saying that in my mind sounds so sexual.
I wish.
I’ve swapped my daytime dress for a pair of dark, tight-fitting jeans and a cream-colored boatneck cashmere sweater that drapes off my shoulders and highlights my collarbones. When I step through the doors of Elliott Bay Bookstore in Capitol Hill and sweep my eyes over the late-night crowd, I can tell I’ve made the right choice. The outfit is cozy but sexy, and just literary enough to blend in with the sea of bookstore attendees here for a midnight book release.
I’ve never even heard of the author, but that’s not what matters. What matters is Locke parting the crowd of plaid-wearing, bearded, hipster dudes and winter-pale waifs to smile at me. What matters is the way his eyes drop to my mouth, making my stomach flutter with nerves and causing heat to spread through my chest. Thanksgiving with his family was part of our deal. Tonight is something more—something that feels suspiciously like a date.
Molly’s I told you so rings loud in my ears as Locke approaches me in the fiction section, but in this case, I’m happy to be wrong. I don’t know what snapped him out of his funk this week, but if we’re here, together, I’ll eat my words.
The Fake Date Agreement (Awkward Arrangements Book 1) Page 6
