She looked around, like she was afraid she might see someone she’d already shagged. “You want me to bare my soul to one of these college kids?”
“Doesn’t have to be a college kid.” A few tables over, I noticed an older guy and hoped maybe she’d agree to call the whole challenge null and void due to lack of opportunity. “What about that guy over there?”
She pressed her full lips together, making me envious of her natural voluptuous beauty. “Not in a million years. He reminds me of my dad.” She shuddered but didn’t let it go. “No. If we’re both doing this, let’s do it together.”
That’s when my eyes landed on more age-appropriate targets. How had I failed to see them before? “What about those two guys by the bar?”
Chelsea spun in the direction I was facing with a wicked twist to her mouth. “Oh, they’ll do nicely.”
As we crossed the rooftop, and I got a better look at the guys in question, I grabbed Chelsea’s arm. “Sweet Jesus. Let me have the blond.”
The blond wasn’t any ordinary Friday night bar hopper. With Chelsea egging me on, I’d never been totally shy about talking to strangers, but this guy, his type hit me square in the bullseye. A gray T-shirt hung a little loose, half tucked in and half out of his blue jeans. Dark bookish glasses barely concealed a beautiful face—perfect nose, pretty lips, eyelashes for days. When he looked over in my direction, I caught a glimpse of his green eyes. Pretty, pretty boy. He made me think dirty, dirty thoughts.
I glanced down at my own outfit. I’d only come out with Chelsea to blow off steam, not for a hookup, so I was dressed for a night at the library. Still my light sweater and jeans were no worse than what he had on.
It didn’t matter anyway. My only goal was to pretend to be someone I wasn’t. I’d probably never see pretty boy again. He might only be in town for the football game or here on business. But there was that faint possibility he was a local, someone I might like to get to know organically. What if he was a grad student who hung out in the library stacks?
I was playing with fate.
But I’d never seen him before. Chances were, I never would again.
Chelsea elbowed me. “You planning to wait until he leaves?”
Squaring my shoulders, I slowly moved in, but the closer I got, the more the butterflies in my stomach took flight. “He’s too beautiful, Chelsea. It’s painful.”
“He’s just an ordinary guy, E.” Her voice betrayed her own nerves, and that bolstered me a bit.
I was a writer, so making up entire worlds about strangers came second nature. What could I presume about this heady mix of nerd-meets-stud?
“Right. His name is something common like Chris or Daniel.” Chris Daniels dropped out of med school to sell pharmaceuticals. He had a ranch house in Waynesboro with a killer mortgage. At some point, he acquired a small dog named Snickerdoodle. He traveled too much to settle down, so he had a long-term girlfriend, but not a wife. He loved golf but hated pickles.
And so I built this boring cardboard cutout as a survival mechanism. I could talk—or in this caselie—to an ordinary, unavailable guy.
Chelsea nudged me. “Go on. I’m right behind you.”
Why didn’t that reassure me?
It was like standing in the open doorway of a plane at ten thousand feet, getting set to parachute. Not that I’d ever parachuted. Parachuting sounded risky as hell. I turned to Chelsea to bail, but she bit her lip and gave me that daring, shenanigans-leader grin. Fuck it. I was going to be someone else anyway, so it wasn’tmehe was going to reject. “Okay, fine.”
After all, Oscar Wilde once said, “Give a man a mask, and he will tell you the truth.” Perhaps itwouldmake it easier to chat with this guy behind a facade.
“Remember: nothing but utter bullshit.” Easy for Chelsea to say.
At least we were in this together. I shot her a smug smile in return. “And you’re sworn to complete, authentic truth.”
I turned my character sketch powers inward. After all, if I could invent an entire fiction out of thin air for a total stranger, how hard could it be to cast myself as the heroine of my own story? My life’s motto waspretend, pretend, pretend.
I came up with an impromptu plan and pushed up to the bar right beside my target. As soon as I’d procured another round of drinks, I turned and casually scanned the crowd on the terrace. Fortunately, Chris Daniel’s eyes met mine, and it was go time.
I let my features move from idle curiosity to astonishment. “Hey!”
His expression shifted slightly with confusion mixed with a hint of interest. This could go south so fast.
My theatrics gained momentum. “Oh, my gosh. How long has it been?”
He squinted at me for a heartbeat, and I held my breath. Chelsea had moved to a stool at my elbow, and I prayed he’d at least have the courtesy to act like he remembered me, to nod politely, and go along while his brain tried to figure out how much of an asshole he’d be for not recognizing someone from his past.
But instead, he just stared at me, and I suddenly panicked. What if he didn’t even speak English? What if he didn’t want to talk to me? My stomach lurched.
