One Week Girlfriend (One Week Girlfriend, #1)(5)

“She’s the only mother you’ve ever really had.” Great. Now he’s offended. “Why can’t you just accept her? My God, she’s been part of your life for so long.”

The most f*cked up part of my life, not that I can reveal that to my dad. If he didn’t figure everything out then, he sure as hell couldn’t conceive of it now.

“I don’t like how easily you forget my real mom. I don’t ever want to forget her,” I say vehemently.

He remains silent for a while and I stare out the window but see nothing. It’s dark, raining lightly and the wind is at it again, whipping the bare branches of the trees that dot the open courtyard of the apartment complex I live in back and forth. I can see them swaying in the darkness.

People think my life is so amazing. It’s f*cking not. I study hard and play harder because it helps me forget. I have friends, but not really. Most of the time, I’m alone. Like now. I’m sitting in my room in the dark. Talking to my dad and wishing like hell I could tell him the truth.

But I can’t. I’m trapped. I need a buffer to get me through what could end up being one of the worst weeks of my life. Thank God for Fable. She has no clue how much she’s helping me.

She can never know either.





* Chapter Three *



Travel Day (doesn’t count)



Only a fool trips on what’s behind him. – Unknown



Fable



His truck is nice. Like, the newest vehicle I’ve ever had the privilege to ride in. He looks good in it too, as much as I hate to admit that, even to myself. But the dark blue Toyota Tacoma fits him perfectly.

Everything about Drew is perfect. The way he dresses—his ass looks great in those jeans and I’m not even going to mention how that black T-shirt he’s wearing clings to all his chest muscles. How he behaves—always polite, always looks me in the eye and doesn’t make rude comments about my boobs or my ass. And the sound of his voice—deep and sexy, the sort of voice I wouldn’t mind just sitting around listening to while he talks all day. He’s got perfection down pat.

He called me yesterday before I went to work to go over a few minor things. What time he would pick me up, how we needed to draw up a plan on the drive to his parents’ house.

Then I threw it out there. The money. How was I supposed to get my payment? I felt sorta whorish, asking for it point blank like that, but I had to. I wanted that check before I left town so I could leave some money for Owen in case of an emergency.

So I met Drew downtown by my bank fifteen minutes to closing and before I headed to the bar. We chatted for a few minutes, nothing major, and then he handed over the check. He was all nonchalant and stuff, like a guy gives a girl a three thousand dollar check every damn day of his life.

The check was written out of his personal bank account. Signed by him and everything. He has sloppy handwriting. I couldn’t really read his signature. And his name is Andrew D. Callahan.

As I walked into the bank by myself and approached the teller, I wondered what that D stood for.

Now here I sit in Andrew D. Callahan’s truck, the engine purring smoothly and not chugging and choking as if it might die at any moment like my mom’s crappy ’91 Honda. I told my mom the same nanny story that I gave Owen. Told my boss at La Salle’s the same thing too. Considering my leaving is during a slow time for business, my boss was fine with it. He knows our financial situation is in the toilet and he was happy I found such a short, high paying job.

My mom hardly acknowledged me when I said I was leaving.

I really don’t know what I did to make her hate me so much. Well. Hate is a strong word. That means she actually feels something toward me. She’s so indifferent, it’s like I don’t matter to her. At all.

“Four hours, huh?” My voice breaks the silence and startles him. I saw it in the way he jumped in his seat. Big bad football player scared of me?

Weird.

“Yeah, four hours.” He drums his fingers against the steering wheel, drawing my attention to them. They’re long, his nails are blunt with no dirt beneath them. Strong, clean hands with wide palms. They look…kind.

Scowling, I shake my head. I’m thinking stupid when I need to think clear.

“I’ve never been to Carmel before.” I’m trying to make conversation because the thought of driving this long and not talking sort of freaks me out.

“It’s pretty. Expensive.” He shrugs, turning my attention to his shoulders. He’s wearing a blue and dark gray flannel shirt over a black T-shirt and it’s a good look for him.

God. I turn away, keep my eyes glued on the window as the scenery passes by. I need to stop looking at him. He’s distracting as hell.

“So, we probably need to come up with some sort of story, right?” I sneak a glance at him like I can’t help myself. With my luck, this four hour car ride is gonna fly and then the next thing I know, I’m coming face to face with his polished parents and I won’t know what to say.

In other words, I need as much time as I can get to come up with a thorough plan with Drew so we sound like a real couple.

“Yeah. A history would be good.” He nods, never taking his eyes off the road.

Which is a good thing, I tell myself. He’s a safe driver, aware of everything going on around him.