Faking It (Losing It, #2)(15)

I eyed him, knowing there was more that he wasn’t saying, but I let him keep his secrets. I certainly had mine.

“Stop looking at me like that, Winston. I’m not going to be your rebound either.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not drunk enough for those kinds of jokes.”

“Well, that’s something we should remedy!”

We moved toward the bar, but a blond girl stepped in my way. She was pretty—light curls, pink cheeks, and a low-cut top. She appeared to have had way too much to drink. She leaned forward to say something, but stumbled into me instead. I caught her around the waist and steadied her. One of her hands went around my bicep, and she giggled.

“I’m so sorry!”

She didn’t let go of my arm of our senior yearS drink even once I’d righted her. She looked up at me through long lashes.

She was attractive for sure, but I kept waiting for something more to hit me. I waited for the electric zing of attraction, the pull in my chest, the pump of blood.

Nothing. Nada.

She asked me the usual questions, and I made small talk, but I could have been talking to a wall for all the impression it made on me. I could make a move on a girl like her. I could forget about serious relationships and just spend the night with a pretty blonde, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t make me feel any better. It certainly wouldn’t fix anything. Plus, talking to this girl felt like work, and tonight I wanted something effortless.

I kept looking toward the bar, wishing I could take another drink. Maybe if I was drunker, I would loosen up and get out of my head.

The girl, Cammie, was saying something about how funny I was. I didn’t even remember what I’d said to her.

I felt an elbow in my back and Milo said, “Here’s your chance to avoid a lifetime of premature ejaculation”

I threw a glare over my shoulder. “Can you not say that in public please?”

“Don’t be ashamed, hermano. It happens to lots of guys.”

I shoved him, but we were both laughing.

When I looked back at Cammie, she seemed to know that my attention was waning. She leaned closer and reached a bold hand into the pocket of my jeans, and came back with my cell phone. Her smoky eyes met mine before she entered her number into my phone’s memory. I marked one thing off the night’s checklist without even really trying. I smiled politely at the blonde and said good-e of tbyhe songs by th





8

Max

Even though smoking was allowed only outside Trestle, there always seemed to be clouds of it inside the bar. Amber light fractured through the haze. That, combined with the drinking, laughing patrons below me made the whole night feel surreal. The music vibrated everything. I could feel the pulse of it in the platform below me, up through my heels, and into my legs.

As I danced I kept my eyes focused upward and away from the patrons. It wasn’t that I was ashamed. I wasn’t a stripper or anything. The dancers at Trestle were {  font-size: 0.83em;  font-style: italic;  font-weight: normal;  margin-top: 16px;  margin-bottom: it">FINDING ITjust for atmosphere. We stayed clothed. I think I wore less clothing than anyone, but that was because I split my shift between dancing and bartending, and the less clothing, the more tip.

But there was nothing more awkward than making eye contact with someone below. Sam was careful to keep the bar as pervert-free as possible, but the way we were framed up here on pedestals with soft glowing light could turn just about any guy into a creeper.

Normally I tried to lose myself in the music and just dance for me. It made the time go by faster. But tonight, my mind was so full of the day’s events that I just couldn’t seem to turn my brain off. I took two shots before my shift started to try to remedy the problem, but so far nothing had changed.

I took turns staring at various places on the wall and ceiling to pass the time. I caught Spencer’s eye over at his table in the corner. He smirked at me, waggled his eyebrows, and licked his lips.

I pretended to gag.

He shook his head and went back to scratching away at the lyrics in his journal.

This afternoon was forgotten . . . for now at least.

I smiled, swished my frilly skirt, and glanced at the front entrance as the door swung open. Another cloud of smoke rolled in through the door. Like he was stepping out of the fog, Cade appeared. My twenty-four-hour, pretend-we-met-in-a-library, mom-hugging, golden-boy-boyfriend.

He looked good.

Too good.

He laughed, and people stopped midconversation just to stare, like he was a celebrity. Dark hair tumbled down into his eyes, and he pushed it back. He had the kind of hair that just begged to be touched. He was with someone, a Hispanic guy, and he was smiling so big that his teeth were like little pearls in the dark room. He’d seemed like a pretty smiley guy when we met this morning, but only by seeing this smile in comparison did I realize how faked it had all been. He had these perfect dimples that softened the hard line of his jaw, and his eyes crinkled slightly. He laughed again, and I saw at least three girls maneuver closer to him.

One of the braver girls broke off from her friends, and stepped right up to him. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, and it was too dark to read their lips.

Not that I even knew how to read lips.

She looked exactly how I pictured his type of girl. Blond, perky, and nauseating.

The complete opposite of me.