The Decoy Girlfriend(45)
She seems to have people in her life. Family in LA. Does she really think she has to struggle alone?
Her expressive face shutters. “It’s your turn,” she says in lieu of an answer.
She doesn’t owe him one, so Taft doesn’t push, understanding that maybe she’s said more than she intended to. It makes his heart race, knowing that he has that effect on her.
Reciprocating her honesty, he says, “I don’t really know how to talk to my dad.” A micro-expression of sympathy flits over her face. “I know he was disappointed that I chose acting. He never really came out and said it, but . . . My older brothers are all pretty macho straight dudes. They’re the sons he knows how to talk to, all cut from the same cloth. I know he loves me, but sometimes I can’t shake the feeling that he would have preferred if I’d failed out here and had to go home to be an assistant coach or something.”
“You deserve to know he’s proud of you,” she says quietly. “But your mom? She’s supportive?”
“Of everything I’ve ever wanted,” he says without needing to think about it. “So it’s not like I have it bad or anything. It would be nice if he watched something of mine and said he enjoyed it. I don’t know.”
She levels a You do know look at him. “I’ve watched everything you’ve ever been in. Not in a creepy way, I swear! I was literally a teenager, and you happened to act in all the shows I loved. Your characters have always been my favorites.”
His heart swells. “Yeah?”
Suddenly, she can’t meet his gaze. “Yeah.”
“I cling to things too hard,” he says after a centuries-long moment. “People, too. I put them first, and I don’t always get it back. Instead of cutting my losses, I hold on tighter.”
Other than Mandi, I don’t think I have any real friends is what he doesn’t allow himself to say. Are you and I friends? is even more humiliating.
How do you ask the girl you’re (fake) dating if she wants to be friends with you for real?
Freya frowns. “What you want out of a relationship—romantic or platonic—doesn’t matter any less than what the other person wants.”
No one has ever told him that before. He isn’t sure he agrees, but she says it with such confidence that he really, really wants to.
A sharp bark breaks into his reverie.
Freya’s eyes are wide. “Why did that sound like it came from our house?”
“Uh, about that.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Mandi did say my place had enough room for two more, remember?”
Her eyebrows furrow. “Yeah, me and yo— Nooooo,” she breathes, realization crashing into her eyes. “Hen?”
“He’s in the backyard. He’s a good boy, but he’s probably missing Mandi. She brought him by an hour ago. I’ll bring him in so you can take him for a walk and get acquainted.”
“I—a walk—alone—with him?” She sputters. “Taft, wait!”
He halts halfway in getting up.
“Mandi’s dog hates me,” she says flatly.
“No, he doesn’t. He just doesn’t know you yet. Give him some time to—”
“I understand why she left me her boyfriend and her wardrobe, but I draw the line at inheriting her pet, too!”
In response to Freya’s high pitch, Henry barks again with twice the gusto.
“He’s a German wirehaired pointer,” says Taft. “Generally speaking, as a breed it does takes a while for them to warm up. Hell, Sir Henry didn’t even like me much at first.”
She shakes her head, still unconvinced. There’s a mutinous set to her mouth.
“You’re the girl who walked into a nightclub wearing a fuck-me dress like there was no doubt you belonged there,” he reminds her. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of a standoffish dog?”
She stares at him. “So . . . Secret number four. I have a healthy respect for dogs.”
Shit. That’s code for scared of dogs.
“Okay. Well, we’re going to have to do something about that.” Taft gets up, aware her eyes follow him as he heads for the rattan side table by the front door where some of Hen’s stuff is stowed in a drawer. “It’s going to look weird if you don’t spend time with him.”
“I can’t take him for a walk,” she says as she follows him to the foyer. When she crosses her arms, Taft is treated to a lovely view of her pushed-out breasts. “I have work to do.”
“Babe, you have to remember that you have two men in your life now,” he says, trying not to laugh as he rummages around.
The endearment just slips out, but it feels right. He wonders what she might reciprocate with if she was in an affectionate mood, if she has a favorite already or needs to try each one on for size. He can’t wait to find out.
“Cut the crap, Bamber,” Freya grumbles.
“Funny you should say that . . .” He turns around with the leash in one hand and a blue plastic baggie in the other.
She zeroes in on the baggie, wrinkling her nose. “Aww, babe,” she says in a Splenda-sweet simper, batting her thick black lashes at him. “You are so full of shit.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN