So what does she like to do besides hang out at the beach? I know nothing about this girl. What I do know, I don’t much understand. We’re complete and total opposites in pretty much every way.
“What do you like to do then? During your off time?” She stares at me strangely and I feel like an idiot. “You know, like hobbies or whatever.”
She bursts out laughing. “I don’t have time for hobbies. I used to like to read.”
“Used to?”
“I’m too busy.” She shrugs. “Working, taking care of my brother, cleaning up around our place, I always end up totally exhausted and when I fall into bed, I’m already asleep.” Her gaze cuts away from mine.
“Same here.” I keep myself busy on purpose. My class load is heavy, though I have no idea what I want to do with my life beyond football. Hell, I know my coach is mad I didn’t stay around campus so I can practice and that still makes me feel guilty. There’s a big game coming up and I need to be at peak performance.
“Really?” She sounds shocked.
I nod. “It’s easier that way, don’t you think? Staying so busy nothing can bother you.”
She studies me for a while, her gaze narrowed. Perceptive. As if those dark green eyes can reach directly inside me and examine all my hidden secrets.
I don’t like it.
“There you are.” I turn to see my dad coming out of the restaurant, his irritation obvious. He glances at Fable and his jaw hardens. “I thought we weren’t finished with our conversation,” he says pointedly.
“Oh, I am so sorry, I thought you two were done.” Fable steps right in like a good little girlfriend, slinging her arm through mine and nestling that hot body close. Her breasts press against my side and she gazes up at me adoringly. “I need Drew’s help. I can’t make up my mind which pair of shoes I want to buy.”
She’s good. Not two minutes ago she’s complaining about how she hates shopping and now she’s the simpering girlfriend who can’t make a shopping decision without my input.
“I assume they’re for tonight then?” Dad asks.
“What’s going on tonight?” Great. I don’t want to put on a show for anyone. Bad enough we have to fake this for my dad and Adele. It’ll feel like the grand performance if we take this public.
“A special early Thanksgiving dinner at the country club. I told you about it the night you arrived.”
No way do I want to go. Sounds like a special sort of hell. “I don’t know…”
“I insist,” Dad interrupts, wearing that expression that says no arguments allowed.
“Sounds fun.” Fable tightens her arm around mine but I hear the tension in her voice. Tonight sounds like a special sort of hell for her too. “What should I wear?”
“Something semi-formal. Cocktail casual.” Dad beams, like he knows he’s making Fable uncomfortable and confused and that’s so fucked up. “I’m sure you have a pretty dress somewhere in your bag of tricks.”
“Dad.” I’m pissed at the way he talks to her, but how do I stand up to him? I never really have before because shit. He’s my father. He’s all I have in this world.
He ignores me, no surprise. “Adele will want the two of you home by five to ensure we’ll all be ready in plenty of time before we have to leave.” Dad glances at his watch. “I have a meeting with a client in thirty minutes. I’ll see you two later.”
We watch him walk away in silence, Fable still snug at my side until he’s gone. She slowly pulls away and I immediately miss her.
Stupid.
“I have nothing to wear for some fancy cocktail party dinner thing.” She sounds stressed out. “You didn’t tell me to pack anything like that.”
I should’ve. I’m an idiot for forgetting. My plan was so last minute, I forgot all sorts of shit. “I’ll buy you something,” I offer. “Let’s go look around. We have time.”
She shakes her head. “No way. You’ve spent too much money on me already. I’m not about to have you buy me some expensive cocktail dress for a one time only event. I’m not playing Pretty Woman here.”
Funny thing is, we sort of are. I’ve seen the damn movie—who hasn’t? I’m pretty sure Richard Gere’s character paid Julia Roberts AKA the prostitute three thousand dollars for her to pretend to be his girlfriend. Bought her a bunch of clothes too.
The similarities are undeniably there.
“I don’t mind.” I grab her hand and give it a squeeze. She’s watching me with a funny look on her face, like she can’t believe I voluntarily touched her without anyone around to see us, but fuck it.
I need her to know that not only is she helping me, but I want to help her too. I don’t want her to be uncomfortable. I don’t want my parents to put her down or make her worry she won’t fit in. It’s bad enough we both know she definitely doesn’t fit in.
But I don’t feel like I fit in here either. On the outside I might, but on the inside? Not at all. No one knows the shit I’ve gone through.
I plan on keeping it that way.