The Real Deal

For the first time, she balks. She opens her mouth, but only says, “Um…”

“Don’t judge me and don’t judge us, unless you’ve lived my life and faced our choices. I’m not saying I made the best choices. But I made the ones that worked for me, and for us. We didn’t have what you have. So we made our own way. We played the angles, we conned frat guys in arm wrestling, we swindled clerks to make bigger change, and we tricked people into thinking we had an apartment to rent them. Oh yeah, we also told men who were easy prey that Heath’s girlfriend was jailbait after she picked them up, so we got money out of assholes that way by promising we wouldn’t tell on them. So there you go. That’s who I am. The guy who put himself through school thanks to grifting. While we’re at it, here’s one more thing,” I say, my voice hardening as I spill all to her on the street corner near an ice cream shop. “I made fake IDs when I was nineteen and got tagged and went to jail for two weeks. That was fun. I had to spend my days in a jail cell with no shoelaces, so I wouldn’t turn shoelaces into a weapon. I know I told you I never went to prison, and that’s true. Prison is long-term, so I went to jail instead. But go ahead and judge me. Because I’m sure you know exactly what you’d do if you were left with nothing.”

April’s hand covers her mouth, and a tear slips down her cheek. I feel like a bigger asshole now that she’s crying.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry you went through all that,” she says, her tone the soft one I’ve heard many times already, the one I’ve come to love. She drops her hand. “But you can’t just dump that all on me like this and expect me not to be surprised. I need a little time to process all this.”

“Yeah, most people do. The last girlfriend I had walked away when she learned.”

Her voice hardens again. “Don’t lump me with other people. I’m not her.”

I stab my index finger against my sternum. “And I’m not the married asshole who lied about being with someone. I’ve been as honest as I possibly could be with you. The only thing I lied to you about was being an actor, but everything else I’ve told you has been the truth. There are things I’ve held back, but I was going to tell you tonight. Because I’m crazy for you. And I want you to know who I am and what I’ve done.”

She takes a deep breath, straightens her shoulders, and nods. I dare to breathe a small sigh of relief, because it feels as though we might be making progress. “I might not have the moral high ground. After all, I basically hired you to lie to everybody, so I’m not pure. But the thing is,” she says, her voice calm and certain, “I didn’t lie to you about anything, especially my feelings for you. And I asked you to be straight with me when it was just the two of us. We agreed to pretend with others, but be honest when it was only us.”

“I have been honest with you.”

“But you haven’t,” she says insistently. “We’ve talked repeatedly about your career. I asked you so many questions about being an actor, and everything you said was untrue.”

“It’s just one thing,” I say, desperation thick in my voice. “Can’t you see that it didn’t make any sense for me to tell you? It’s just not something I’ve shared?”

Her eyes float closed for a brief moment, and when she opens them, they shine with the threat of tears. “But see, I thought we were different. I thought you could tell me the truth. I thought you could be honest with me in a way that you weren’t able to with others, because I thought we were real. But now I feel like I have been played.”

“I didn’t play you.”

She holds up a hand. “I need to clear my head. I’m going to take a walk, and I don’t want you coming after me.”

I swallow and stuff my hands into my pockets. The least I can do is respect her wishes. “Okay.”

She turns on her heel and walks down the street toward the water.

A minute later, Heath’s hand is on my shoulder. Instinct kicks in. I turn around and shove him. “Thanks a lot.”

He stumbles. “What the hell?”

“You ruined it for me.”

“You messed it up yourself.”

I shove him again. This is how we communicate. We’ve always been physical. Lacey licks her ice cream cone as she watches us lazily.

Heath lunges for me, wrapping his arm around my neck, getting me in a headlock. “You stupid idiot!” he barks. “Just tell a woman the truth. Watch this: Hey, Lacey. I love you.”

“Love you, too, babe.”

“Now, say it to me, dipshit.”

“Never.”

“I’ll let you hit me if you do.”

He taught me how to throw a punch. He taught me how to win a fight. It was a necessary skill in our line of work. From this position, I have access to his belly, so I swing my fist into his stomach.

“Oof,” he says. But then he straightens. “Love you.”

“Love you.”

He lets go of my head and fixes me with a serious stare. “But I believe you need to do some explaining to me now.”

I roll my eyes. “Is there anyone who doesn’t want an explanation from me?”

He drops his big hand on my shoulder once more, ignoring my sarcasm. “Why did I hear the name Addison when you were talking to April?”

The first rule of conning is to have an answer for everything.

When my lips part and no sound comes, Heath nods. “That’s what I thought. Now, fess up.”





Chapter Thirty-nine

April

When the noise hits my ears, I glance behind me. What the hell? I squint. Theo is shoving his brother, and now Heath has Theo in a headlock, and then Theo slams his fist into his brother’s gut.

I flinch. That must hurt.

Meanwhile, Lacey’s licking an ice cream cone.

“I can’t believe this,” I mutter, and I flash back to the ad.

5. Start a fistfight with any of the other guests, including but not limited to your mom, your dad, your sister, your brother, and/or any of the guys. (Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. That stint at County taught me excellent fight skills.)

I fling up my hands. I can’t even deal with this anymore. It doesn’t matter that the à la carte options in his ad are coming true once more. None of this matters.

All that matters is that I can get out before I’m in too deep.

I don’t head home right away. As twilight wraps its navy blue arms around this sleepy town, I walk to the water’s edge. Boats bob and sway in low tide, and I lean against the wooden railing of the dock. I stare at the dusky sky. I tell myself it’s good that it worked out this way. That I figured out his jam before I was too far gone.

A drop of water falls onto the wood by my hands.

Oh.

That’s not water.

That’s a stupid tear having the audacity to spill from my eyes. I swipe at my cheek, wiping away the evidence. I won’t cry anymore. Yes, I might feel unbelievably foolish. But I need to remember that I learned the truth before it could hurt.

Another salty tear falls.

Who made all these dumb tears leak from my eyes? Stop. Just stop.

I draw a deep breath, telling myself to stay strong. After hunting around in my purse, I find a tissue and I dab at my eyes. There.

I try to distract myself, so I check my phone and scroll through email. I squeak. “Oh!”

There’s a note from Sporting World. With everything happening at the reunion, I’d nearly forgotten about the job. The subject line is vague. It’s simply “Hello.” My fingers shake as I open the email.

I hope this note finds you well. My team and I are suitably impressed with your portfolio, and we hope you’re available in two months for our shoot. Along those lines, would you be able to join us for a lunch meeting next week to discuss details?

I shriek. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!”

A sob wrenches through me, tumbling out my mouth. My emotions apparently work on only one setting tonight—through the roof. I’m crying happy tears at the dock, but soon enough, they turn sad when I stupidly realize there’s one person I want to share this good news with.