Faking it for Christmas

Chapter 4

Dawson

Why did I say I was her boyfriend?

I haven't got a clue.

I didn’t think about it. I didn’t weigh the pros and cons. Didn’t run the math like I usually do before opening my mouth.

It just came out.

“Dawson Reese, I am Grace’s boyfriend.”

The last thing that I thought would come of my returning her phone would be me pretending to be her boyfriend to get her out of an awkward situation with some guy. Okay, I don't even know why I offered to return the phone either. Maria was the one who found it after she left. She was going to leave, try and catch up with her friend, when I opened my mouth and said I would take it to her.

Maria had eyed me like she could see inside my head, and right now I would be happy to know what she saw when she did, because I am not sure what has come over me tonight.

This guy seems nice enough. I don't get creeper vibes from him at all. He seems like the socially awkward kid from high school who always had his head in a book and probably didn't see his first set of boobs until he was twenty-one.

Okay, maybe that was a little harsh.

He is probably the exact kind of guy that someone like Grace would choose to be with. Would want to be with.

But from the panicked look on her face when I first spotted the two of them, her face said that she wanted nothing to do with the guy.

“Parker Adams,” the guy says, shaking my hand in return.

His hand is soft, a stark contrast to my rough and calloused hand.

“Nice to meet you,” I say, pulling Grace to my side a little closer when the wind picks up, and I feel her body shiver. “You staying nearby?”

His gaze flickers to the dark-haired woman at my side, and he swallows hard like he is terrified of answering my question.

“Well, it looks like my original plan is out of the question now,” his cheeks turn pink as he looks away and refuses to meet my eyes again.

Oh, sh*t, he was actually going to stay with her. Grace lifts her head, and her blue eyes meet mine, and I can see the panic in them clearly. His staying with her is clearly the last thing that she wants right now. She would rather stay under my arm than have to allow him inside her apartment.

I wink at her before turning my attention back to the man who is now shuffling uncomfortably on his feet.

“Sorry, my man, but uh…we kind of have plans for the evening.”

I don't need to spell it out for him; he noticeably catches on to what I was implying by the way his face burns bright red. Grace is also shocked by my choice of diversion tactic as a strangled sound comes from her throat.

“Oh yeah, no problem. I saw a hotel just around the corner. I'm sure I can find something there,” Parker mutters, no longer making eye contact with either of us. He shifts awkwardly, like he is not sure if it is okay for him to leave yet, then he clears his throat. “Well… I’ll let you two get back to your night.”

"Keep your head on a swivel out here, man," I tell him, keeping my tone even but firm. “Late nights in this part of town aren’t always friendly.”

I honestly haven't got a clue, and I am doing nothing but talking out of my ass at this point. He nods quickly, like he’s been given an order, and turns to walk away. I almost relax—until he pivots back, hesitation written all over him.

“Oh—uh, one more thing,” Parker says, his eyes flicking between Grace and me. “Will you be joining us tomorrow? On the trip to Willow Creek?”

I am not fully sure what he is talking about, but I answer him quickly without hesitating like I do. “Of course, we haven't stopped talking about it since I got in. Isn't that right, Grace?”

Grace nods and smiles in return.

“Okay, well, we need to be on the road by six in the morning. There is a snowstorm that is supposed to intensify around noon, so it's best to get there early so we're not driving in it,” Parker says while he rubs his hands together, probably trying to warm them up a little.

I nod. “We will be ready. See you in the morning.”

I didn’t wait for him to say anything else. I turned to her and gestured for Grace to lead the way. There are several apartment buildings around us, and I don’t have a clue which one is hers. She makes quick work of crossing the street, moving just a few steps behind him, but Parker peels off toward the corner of the building while she heads for the front door.

I scan the area automatically—a habit I can’t shake. The shadows stretch long across the sidewalk, and the hum of a streetlight buzzing overhead fills the nighttime silence. Grace punches in her security code on the keypad, and the electric buzzing of the lock sounds loudly as she pulls the door open and steps inside.

Warmth replaces the brisk bite of the cold instantly. The air in the lobby smells faintly of old carpet and cinnamon from someone’s candle down the hall, or maybe it's just that holiday potpourri stuff. Grace is entirely silent as she moves down the long hallway, her boots are soft against the old, carpeted floor. We pass several doors on both sides of the hall before she comes to a stop in front of the third one on the left.

She pulls a set of keys from her pocket and fumbles with them for a moment before getting the right one in the lock and pushing the door open. Once we are inside her apartment, she turns on me in a second.

“What—why—how—why did you SAY that?!” She whisper-yells, which somehow makes it even more dramatic. Her hands are flailing around her, wild arcs in the air, and I have to fight the urge to catch them before she manages to smack herself in the face.

“Which part?” I ask, teasing, because she’s so flustered right now it’s almost… endearing.

She huffs, annoyance written all over her. That was clearly not the right answer based on the way she narrows her eyes at me.

“All of it. About you being my boyfriend and that we had plans for the night?” She puts her fingers in air quotes, her brow raised like she was daring me to explain what I meant when she damn well knew.

I lifted a shoulder. “Seemed like the cleanest option.”

“Cleanest option?” she repeats, scandalized. “You told him we’re dating. You told him we’re spending Christmas together.”

I lean back against the wall, calm. “Would you have liked for me to leave you there? Because you looked exactly like I would expect a deer in headlights to look, the second he wrapped his arms around you.”

Her breath catches. “How long were you watching?”

“Long enough to see you tense up and want to bolt into oncoming traffic at the first available opportunity.” My voice softens, just a fraction. “Sorry, I tried to help.”

“Help?” she squeaks, her voice pitching higher than I think she meant. Her hands fly up, fingers tangling in her hair before she drops them again to her side. “What am I supposed to say when he shows up in the morning, and I'm alone? What do I tell my parents when we get there, because I just know he will tell them all about how distraught I am that my boyfriend and I broke up right at Christmas.”

She presses her hands to her face, letting out a muffled groan as she turns and faces the other side of the room. “I cannot believe this is happening.”

She’s pacing now, quick strides down the narrow hall that leads deeper into her apartment. Her boot clicks against the hardwood flooring, her shoulders are tight, and her arms fold and unfold like she doesn’t know what to do with them.

I reach out when she gets close, catching her wrist as she passes and halting her manic circuit. “Hey,” I say, softer than I think I have ever spoken. “I meant it. I’ll go with you tomorrow. It’s one day, not that big of a deal. We will pretend to be a couple in love, and you save face. It’s that easy.”

"Easy? I don't even know you. For all I know, you could be a serial killer."

"Hey, this serial killer just saved you. A thank you would be nice."

She shakes her head while pulling her arms free from my grasp, and resumes her pacing; her movements are sharper this time. “It’s also not that easy, it's two weeks, Reese. Not one day. And my mother is a bloodhound and can smell a lie from a mile away when it comes to relationships. She’ll know this isn’t real the moment she sees my face, let alone the fact that we know nothing about one another.” She stops abruptly, spinning back toward me, eyes flashing. “And what about you?”

Her gaze pins me from across the room, demanding.

“Plus, won’t your family want you there for the holidays?”

Inwardly, I flinch. The question lands far harder than she knows. My family—want me there? They would, if they weren’t too busy chasing their next high to care about their son.

Do I tell her that? No.

It’s not her trauma to carry. It’s mine.

Outwardly, I stay still as stone, arms loose at my sides, and my face unreadable.

“No,” I say, keeping my tone even, stripping any of the old anger out of it that used to accompany any conversation that involved my family. “They won’t care. We can make this look real enough to fool your parents for the time being. Then afterwards, you can just say something happened, and we broke up.”

Her lips part, like she wants to argue, but nothing comes out. Instead, she presses her palms to her temples, groaning softly. Finally, she drops her hands and looks at me again. There’s still worry in her eyes, but underneath it, there is something else. Curiosity. Doubt. Maybe even the faintest spark of hope that this might work.

“You really think it can work?” she whispers.

“We make it work.”

I watched her as the restless pacing finally stilled and the fight in her voice dimmed to something closer to exhaustion. I push off the wall and close the distance between us by a step. Not too close. I leave just enough space between us that she feels the steadiness I’m offering.

“Get some sleep, Grace,” I add, my voice low. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day from the sounds of it, and you’ll need it. We can figure out all the details in the morning.”

She sighs, finally conceding and nods once. The tension in the air doesn’t vanish—but it lingers, heavy and unspoken. She looks up at me, and I would be lying if I said that there was no way I could get lost in her blue eyes. That something, that warmth that I felt when she first walked into that bar with Maria, didn't affect me.

I would be lying even more if I said that when she reached up, that for some stupid reason my pulse didn't pick up. Because that is precisely what it did. It skipped a full beat when she pressed her pointer finger into the center of my chest.

“Just so you know—I’m not having s*x with you.”

I tilt my head to the side and meet her gaze once again, and my mouth curves, just barely at the edges.

“Wasn’t thinkin’ about s*x. Not until you brought it up again.”