One Week Girlfriend (One Week Girlfriend, #1)(4)

“You better. Or I’ll be calling you and begging you to come home.” The smirk is back. “I might call you a broke bitch again and you’ll get so mad, you have to come here just to kick my ass.”

That’s it. Reaching for him, I start tickling his sides, my fingers digging into his ribs, the sound of his laughter filling me with happiness. “Stop,” he pants between fits of laughter. “Get off me!”

I can almost forget how crappy our life is in this one single, silly moment.

Almost.



Drew



“You’re bringing someone home.” My dad puts his hand over the receiver but I can still hear him. “Adele, Drew is bringing someone home for Thanksgiving.”

I wince. No way did I want my dad to blab to my stepmom, especially when I’m still on the phone with him. She’d find out sooner or later but I hoped for later.

“What’s her name?” I hear her voice. She doesn’t sound pleased. That makes everything inside me clench up.

“Fable,” I tell my dad without being prompted.

My dad is quiet for so long I think he’s hung up, but then I hear Adele whispering in the background. “Well, Andy? What’s her name?”

She sounds like a jealous shrew. She probably is.

“Is that a nickname or what?” my dad asks me.

“It’s her real name.” I have no explanation for it either. Hell, I hardly know Fable Maguire. She’s a townie. She’s twenty years old, she has a little brother and she works at a bar.

Fable also has pretty pale blonde hair, green eyes and nice tits. But I’m not going to tell my dad that. I’m sure he’ll figure it out on his own.

Muffled tones come across again and I know he’s telling Adele Fable’s name. I hear her laugh. She’s such a bitch. I hate Adele. My mom died when I was like two. I don’t remember her and I wish I did. My dad started dating Adele when I was eight and married her when I was eleven.

Adele is really the only mom I’ve ever had, and I don’t want her. She knows it too.

“Well, bring your little Fable to stay with us, she’s more than welcome.” Dad pauses, and I tense up, afraid of what he might ask next. “You’re not one to have a steady girlfriend.”

“This one’s different.” More like the opposite of any girl they expect me to be with. In my eyes, this makes Fable just about as perfect as can be.

“Are you in love with her?” Dad lowers his voice. “Adele wants to know.”

Anger boils inside me. Like it’s any of her business. “I don’t know. What’s love anyway?”

“You sound like a complete cynic.”

Learning from the best did that to a person. My dad’s pretty standoffish. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen him kiss or hug Adele. He certainly doesn’t kiss or hug me, not that I’d let him.

“Yeah well, we’ve been dating for a while, but I don’t know.” I shrug, remember he can’t see me and I feel like an idiot.

“You’ve never mentioned her before.”

“What is this, the third degree?” I’m starting to sweat only because I’m lying. I haven’t talked to Fable all day and it’s Thursday night. We leave Saturday afternoon. We need to get together and get our stories straight, though I suppose we’ll have plenty of time during the four hour drive to get the details hammered in.

My throat goes dry at the idea of being with Fable in my truck alone for four hours. What will we talk about? I don’t know her and I’m going to take her to my dad’s house and pretend that we’re together. We have to act like we’re a real couple.

What the hell did I set myself up for?

“I’m just curious. We’ll find out all the details when you two get here, I’m sure. Saturday night, right?”

“Yeah.” I swallow hard. “Saturday night.”

“We should be out at yet another country club function. You still have your key?”

“I do.” Damn it, I really don’t want to go back. Bad shit happened there. I’ve avoided that place like the plague for a while now. We’ve gone out of town for the holidays the last couple of years, spending Thanksgiving or Christmas in Hawaii at my dad’s timeshare. Or I stay at school because of football practice or whatever lie I can come up with that keeps me away from them for a little bit longer.

Tough life, I know. From the outside, my family looks perfect. Well, as perfect as a family can be with one dead mother and one dead sister. A f*cked up stepmother and a cold as hell father.

Yeah. Real perfect.

That my dad insisted I come home this Thanksgiving sucks. Last time we talked, he told me he’s tired of all of us avoiding the house during the holidays. We need to make new memories.

I don’t want to make any memories. Not there. Not with Adele.

“We’ll see you then.” I can hear my dad walking, his feet echoing against the tile floor, as if he was getting out of earshot of Adele. “This Thanksgiving will be good, son. You’ll see. The weather’s supposed to be nice and your mother seems much healthier.”

“She’s not my mother,” I say through clenched teeth.

“What?”

“Adele’s not my mom.”