Faking It

Chapter 6

I stepped out of the office building with Logan and three of our friends—Travis, Mikey, and John—and loosened my tie. The sun was setting, which immediately cooled the desert air, and the decrease in temperature felt good on my neck.

“Cigarette?” Logan offered. Normally, I wasn’t a smoker, but my nerves were frayed after the conversation with my dad earlier.

“Sure,” I took one from him and the lighter, lit it behind a cupped hand, and gave him back the lighter. He lit one for himself and we walked quietly side-by-side down the sidewalk towards the bar while the three others bantered.

“I’m not trying to pry, man, but if you need to talk about something, you know I’m here.”

I looked at him sideways. We had known each other for so long that it was almost eerie how well we could read each other.

“I know, man. Thank you,” I smiled at him and bumped his shoulder against my own.

The bar was thankfully not yet full of the Friday night crowd, although I knew it would start to fill within the next hour. I stopped in the doorway and almost audibly groaned, though, when I saw William Vainer, the sniveling urchin with whom my dad had done business with several times throughout his career. The man was vile—he was the corporate world’s version of a high school girl’s frenemy, and he was constantly conniving against my father, although my dad would always say “you sometimes have to rub elbows with guys you don’t like if they are powerful.” When I took over the company, I knew, I would cut all ties with him and his associates.

He had clearly already been hitting the drink hard, and I could tell by the expressions of the bartenders that they were not looking forward to a night of dealing with him. I would have loved to escort the man out myself, but he and my father were co-investors in the place, which gave him the freedom to act how he wanted.

“f**k, man. Do you want to go somewhere else?” Logan nudged my elbow, seeing Vainer at the same time I did.

“No, it’s okay. I’m not going to let him deter me from my own bar.”

One of the bartenders saw us enter and called us over to a group of seats at the bar. He was clearly relieved to see us, probably because we had acted as a buffer for Vainer more than a few times, a privilege not afforded to the staff members.

We got a round and chatted at the bar, talking with Matthew, the bartender. I kept an eye on Vainer, who was leering at each girl that walked into the place, licking his wet lips and making what could only be inappropriate comments to his friends, based on their reactions.

After two drinks, the sun had fully set and the streetlights came on. The bar started to collect more patrons and we decided to step outside for another smoke—Logan and the others became fiends for them, especially when they were drunk or stressed. I accepted another one and stood quietly, thinking about the conversation I’d had with my father, listening vacantly to the other guys banter.

My gaze had fallen out of focus on a point on the pavement, the lull of their conversation had become a quiet buzz, and my mind was swirling with ways to get out of my lie without revealing myself as a liar. I distantly heard the clacking of heels, and looked up to see the figure of a woman silhouetted by the warm glow of the lights from the window. She had been looking at the pavement, too, but she looked up, almost reflexively, the moment I looked at her.

I was stunned by her beauty and her piercing eyes. Even through the dark, I could see how icy blue they were, reflected in the streetlights. She wore a tight black dress with a deep neckline and sleeves that covered her upper arms and revealed her dainty forearms. Her breasts rounded from the top of the neckline and she wore a dainty gold necklace and matching drop earrings that fell just below the curve of her jaw. She had gorgeous blonde hair that, illuminated in the light, looked like a halo over her head.

She held my gaze, her lips slightly parted. Being the subject of her attention sent a shiver over me. I became aware of my slouch and stood up, gaining a few inches. I saw that she had looked away at that point, though, and I had felt a flutter of disappointment before I realized that Logan was nudging me and saying my name. I watched her slip through the door and out of sight.

“What, did you fall in love or something there, bud?” Logan joked and the other guys laughed. I gave a half-hearted smile.

“No, I was just zoning out.”

I struggled to focus on the conversation, the effects of the alcohol and nicotine heightened by the sudden rush of adrenaline that flooded my system when I saw her.

Sophia, My mind lulled before I could stop it. I have to talk to her.

My thoughts of this woman offered, at least, a merciful escape from the anxious recalling of the conversation with my father. I strained to look at the diners through the window, but it only revealed the restaurant side of the building, which left me to conclude that she must be at the bar.

She had come alone, probably meeting someone, I conjectured, so I watched each person that entered, scrutinizing them for some hint that they were here for her. No one arrived singly, but I thought that she could perhaps be meeting multiple friends, maybe a few girls or even a couple. It was impossible to know.

“Hey, I think we are going to head over to Mulligan’s for a few, Nathan. You coming?”

“Nah,” I said absently, without even turning to look at them, “I’m getting pretty tired, I think I’ll head in early tonight.”

I turned back to them to assure them that I would be fine. Logan gave me a strange look, but decided against saying anything and instead patted my arm.

“Get home safe, boss.”

“Will do.”

They crushed the butts of their cigarettes under their shoes and headed down the block, towards the pulsing heart of the city. I put out my cigarette as well, watching their backs until they rounded the corner. I shook myself off for a minute, trying to gather courage. I hoped that she hadn’t met up with someone, wasn’t chatting with a group of friends. I hoped that she was sitting at the bar, sipping her drink alone, and would want to talk to me.

I opened the large front doors and was immediately met by the stares of a few of the patrons—I was used to the looks at this point. I frequented The Stallion enough to be known to many of the regulars, and being the son of one of the owners came with both privileges and scrutiny—I had eyes on me at all times.

I scanned the bar for her black dress and golden hair, and when I found her, my blood ran cold.

She was cornered on her bar stool by Vainer, whose little fat body was leaning towards her, despite her shifting to get away from him. She looked around nervously, imploring silently for help, but her gaze went unnoticed. I heard her try to turn him down, but he pressed her.

“I would just like to finish my drink in peace, please,” I heard her say. Her voice was becoming shaky and it was clear that she was physically uncomfortable. My vision flashed white with anger and I felt warmth creeping up the back of my neck. I suddenly felt fiercely protective of this woman who I had never spoken to. I had to restrain myself from punching him directly in the mouth, sending him flying back to the table with his sneering friends.

I covered the distance between us in three long steps and inserted myself behind her. The faint smell of perfume lifted from her hair, which fell down her back. Before he realized that I was there, Vainer was pressing her for her name.

“She said she wasn’t interested, Vainer. Move it along, now,” as I spoke, I became aware of how my voice thundered through my ribcage. A few of the people at the bar turned to look at me with astonishment.

He tried to rebuttal, but I could barely hear his whining voice because the girl had turned to look at me, her big doe eyes wet with fear and appreciation. When she moved, the soft tips of her hair brushed against my hand. I wanted to run my fingers through it.

I pulled myself back to the situation at hand near the end of his little soliloquy about me trying to keep the girls at this bar away from him. My response was both a reaction to the instinct to protect her, to announce her as my own, as much as it was my need to touch her. I rested my fingers on her warm, soft neck. I was sure to be gentle, my touch almost imperceptible, but I felt her shoulders release with what I could only imagine was relief.

“This is my girlfriend, Sophia,” the words raced out of my mouth before I knew what I was saying. I don’t remember what else I said, or what he said in response, but I remember his defensive stance, his contorted face, the way that he staggered backwards as if he had been slapped. His neck grew red and a rage glimmered behind his eyes. Like my father, I could tell that he was not convinced.

I held my hand out, knowing that she would take it. Her eyes remained locked on my face, her expression lingering somewhere between gratefulness, confusion, and awe. I helped her off of her stool and led her out of the bar, ignoring the blatant stares we gathered because I was focused on keeping my grip firm on her warm hand.

Outside, the courage fueled by a personal vendetta evaporated and I was suddenly left without words in her presence. I dropped her hand and fought the urge to grab it again, to touch her at all.

I was relieved when she broke the silence, thanking me. She made a joke about wanting to throw her drink in his face and I smiled at the thought of it, his eyes burning from the alcohol and his indignant roar.

I hesitated to introduce myself—she had heard my last name from Vainer, and if she hadn’t put who I was together yet, she certainly would after my first name. Nathan Pierce was a household name in the area.

“I’m Nathan,” I said finally, searching her face for any sign of realization. There was, amazingly, no response. Either she truly had no idea who I was, or she had a badass poker face. I realized with a short self-reproach that she probably wasn’t from the area, and that not everyone in the country knew my name, of course. My ego was getting the better of me.

I asked her name—saying that I assumed it wasn’t actually Sophia.

“No, it’s not—it’s May,” she said. My heart skipped at the sound of her saying her own name for some reason. It was so simple, almost precious. I noticed for the first time the hint of an accent, probably Southern, in the way that she lingered on the “ay” sound just a millisecond longer. She asked if I thought she looked like Sophia.

Good work, are you going to tell her “no, it’s just the name of my fake girlfriend?” I thought to myself. I did my best to brush it off, complimenting how well her actual name fit her, which it did. I could think of no better name for her, really. She told me it had been her grandmother’s name, which warmed something within my chest.

She glanced down the sidewalk, towards the parking lot where I assumed she had parked her car. The sudden realization that she was free of that man now, and she could thank me and walk off, and that I could never see her again, took the breath away from me for a second.

Immediately, I suggested a drink. I had never felt the urge to be in the presence of anyone so keenly. She was beautiful, of course, but there was something in the way she held herself, something in her blissful ignorance of who I was, of who anyone in this city was. Why was she here? Was she just visiting? Was she going to be here long? I had a thirst for answers and I needed an opportunity to get them.

She hesitated again, clearly weighing the options in her mind. I knew what she was thinking—a single girl in a city she was unfamiliar with, propositioned by a man she did not know—and I was not offended by her calculation.

Something clicked in her brain, though, which appeared to make the decision easier. She agreed to a drink.