Fake Fiancée(29)

I cringed. Fuck. I’d never hit Sunny. I’d never hit Bianca no matter how many times she’d egged me on.

She continued. “I’ve quite enjoyed the pics you’ve posted of you and her. She looks good next to you—a tall blonde. Nice choice,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone as if I’d picked her out at the Girlfriend Store.

Which wasn’t too far off from the truth.

I wondered what I would have done if she’d said Sunny was bad for my image.

She ran through a list of things I shouldn’t do, which in college-boy terms pretty much meant not drinking, using drugs, or getting in fights. In other words, don’t be a shithead. I agreed. Easily.

She also suggested I get a haircut, and I refused. After I explained why I’d let it grow out, she smiled and scribbled it down. “Great material,” she said.

Her attention to my personal life was enough to make me jumpy. Hell, I was no saint. Obviously. But they sure expected me to be.

After exchanging times and dates for another meeting in a week, the session was adjourned.

I let out a sigh of relief and turned to open the door for her but stopped at her next words.

“Of course, it’s hardly my business what your future plans are, but if you have an inkling that Sunny is going to be in your future, perhaps this might be the perfect opportunity to take it a step further. Like an engagement?” Her voice was hopeful.

I had suggested the very same thing way back in the beginning when I’d first met Sunny, but when she nixed it I let it go.

Millicent bit back a smile. “You should see your face. You went white—which means, I guess, that a wedding is off the table.”

“Uh, yeah.”

Disappointment showed on her face and her shoulders slumped. “Oh well, it was worth a shot. People love a good romance, and you two are beautiful together.” She made a pffft noise. “Ignore me. Wishful thinking on my part.”

But I couldn’t ignore her.

Her words lingered long after I’d left that office. They’d replayed in my head a thousand times before I’d even driven home.

A wedding . . . people love it.

My gut had been telling me the same thing since I’d first met Sunny and suggested the fiancée thing. I headed home, changed into some athletic shorts and a tank, and went for a run. I ran all the way to the football field and just stood there on the fifty-yard line looking up at the stadium.

I was on a precipice and everything I’d ever wanted dangled right under my nose.

What was I willing to do to get it?





Sunny

I WAS FEELING DEAD ON my feet as I stood at the sink doing dishes after I got home from the library study group. It was past ten and I still had homework to do, but my mood was good despite being tired. Mimi was feeling well after a check-up at the doctor for her flu shot, and I’d aced a quiz in A&P that morning. Studying with Max had helped—which was surprising considering how distracting he was. I washed another glass and set it on a towel to drain.

We’d gone to the Student Center yesterday—just to be seen. He’d paraded me around, right through throngs of girls ogling him and even some guys. We shopped in the Tiger Bookstore, and when the checkout girl had flirted with him, he’d completely ignored her. He’d only had eyes for me.

But it wasn’t real.

Maybe he was already sleeping with someone on the side.

He was a virile guy. And gorgeous. I couldn’t imagine him not getting laid left and right.

A creaking noise came from the small back porch adjacent to the kitchen. I stopped washing and turned my gaze there, peering through the small window over the sink. It normally had a clear view of the porch, but it was dark and I didn’t have a light out there.

There had been a cat out there one night in the neighbor’s yard eating from their dog’s dish. Maybe it had ventured to my back porch.

I headed over to the table to go through my backpack and work on my notes.

The sound came again, a scratching sound. Chills ran down my spine. Immediately my eyes went to the door to make sure it was locked. It was.

But was the front?

I dashed through the house in my socks, nearly slipping in the hallway when I collided with the entry table that had come with the house.

It wasn’t.

Crap.

I flipped the deadbolt and went back to the kitchen, heart thundering. There’d been some recent muggings close to campus, but that was several blocks from here, yet unease lingered. What if someone had been watching me at the window the entire time? What if they knew I lived alone?

I turned off the inside light, and with my phone in hand I peeked out the window again, this time squinting and taking in every single detail I might have missed before. I saw my blue garbage can, sitting where it normally does until pick-up day on Friday. There was an old washing machine out there that the landlord had yet to carry off. It wasn’t worth much judging by the rust. Neither were the dead houseplants I’d set out when I moved in. A white cat was next door, eating out of the neighbor’s dog dish. And there you go. That was the culprit . . .

My eyes went further out, and that’s when I saw it—something white hanging on one of the porch posts. A note? Probably something the landlord left. I had sent him an email earlier that I was going to repaint the kitchen next. He’d mentioned something about giving me a check for paint.