One Week Girlfriend Page 2

  “You won’t want to leave, I guess.” Owen sits up, runs his finger across the top of the duffel bag, leaving a streak in the dust. “You’re going to look like a broke bitch, showing up with this shitty bag.”

  “Did you just call me a broke bitch?” I can’t be offended because what he says is the truth. I’m going to look ridiculous with my meager wardrobe and my torn and dusty duffel bag. His family will laugh at me. Drew will probably laugh at me. Then he’ll press a fifty in the palm of my hand and drop me off at the bus station because he’ll realize quick I make the shittiest fake girlfriend ever.

  “Maybe.” Owen smirks. “I hope you leaving is worth it.”

  Dread consumes me for the quickest moment, but I shove it away. “It will be, I promise.”

  “What if Mom disappears?” For a second, I get a glimpse of the old Owen. The little boy who depends on me, who treats me like his mom since ours is so unreliable.

  “She won’t.” I already talked to her and I’ll talk to her again before I leave. She needs constant hounding, like I’m the mother and she’s the kid. “I’ll make her swear to come home every night.”

  “You better. Or I’ll be calling you and begging you to come home.” The smirk is back. “I might call you a broke bitch again and you’ll get so mad, you have to come here just to kick my ass.”

  That’s it. Reaching for him, I start tickling his sides, my fingers digging into his ribs, the sound of his laughter filling me with happiness. “Stop,” he pants between fits of laughter. “Get off me!”

  I can almost forget how crappy our life is in this one single, silly moment.

  Almost.

  Drew

  “You’re bringing someone home.” My dad puts his hand over the receiver but I can still hear him. “Adele, Drew is bringing someone home for Thanksgiving.”

  I wince. No way did I want my dad to blab to my stepmom, especially when I’m still on the phone with him. She’d find out sooner or later but I hoped for later.

  “What’s her name?” I hear her voice. She doesn’t sound pleased. That makes everything inside me clench up.

  “Fable,” I tell my dad without being prompted.

  My dad is quiet for so long I think he’s hung up, but then I hear Adele whispering in the background. “Well, Andy? What’s her name?”

  She sounds like a jealous shrew. She probably is.

  “Is that a nickname or what?” my dad asks me.

  “It’s her real name.” I have no explanation for it either. Hell, I hardly know Fable Maguire. She’s a townie. She’s twenty years old, she has a little brother and she works at a bar.

  Fable also has pretty pale blonde hair, green eyes and nice tits. But I’m not going to tell my dad that. I’m sure he’ll figure it out on his own.

  Muffled tones come across again and I know he’s telling Adele Fable’s name. I hear her laugh. She’s such a bitch. I hate Adele. My mom died when I was like two. I don’t remember her and I wish I did. My dad started dating Adele when I was eight and married her when I was eleven.

  Adele is really the only mom I’ve ever had, and I don’t want her. She knows it too.

  “Well, bring your little Fable to stay with us, she’s more than welcome.” Dad pauses, and I tense up, afraid of what he might ask next. “You’re not one to have a steady girlfriend.”

  “This one’s different.” More like the opposite of any girl they expect me to be with. In my eyes, this makes Fable just about as perfect as can be.

  “Are you in love with her?” Dad lowers his voice. “Adele wants to know.”

  Anger boils inside me. Like it’s any of her business. “I don’t know. What’s love anyway?”

  “You sound like a complete cynic.”

  Learning from the best did that to a person. My dad’s pretty standoffish. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen him kiss or hug Adele. He certainly doesn’t kiss or hug me, not that I’d let him.

  “Yeah well, we’ve been dating for a while, but I don’t know.” I shrug, remember he can’t see me and I feel like an idiot.

  “You’ve never mentioned her before.”

  “What is this, the third degree?” I’m starting to sweat only because I’m lying. I haven’t talked to Fable all day and it’s Thursday night. We leave Saturday afternoon. We need to get together and get our stories straight, though I suppose we’ll have plenty of time during the four hour drive to get the details hammered in.

  My throat goes dry at the idea of being with Fable in my truck alone for four hours. What will we talk about? I don’t know her and I’m going to take her to my dad’s house and pretend that we’re together. We have to act like we’re a real couple.

  What the hell did I set myself up for?

  “I’m just curious. We’ll find out all the details when you two get here, I’m sure. Saturday night, right?”

  “Yeah.” I swallow hard. “Saturday night.”

  “We should be out at yet another country club function. You still have your key?”

  “I do.” Damn it, I really don’t want to go back. Bad shit happened there. I’ve avoided that place like the plague for a while now. We’ve gone out of town for the holidays the last couple of years, spending Thanksgiving or Christmas in Hawaii at my dad’s timeshare. Or I stay at school because of football practice or whatever lie I can come up with that keeps me away from them for a little bit longer.

  Tough life, I know. From the outside, my family looks perfect. Well, as perfect as a family can be with one dead mother and one dead sister. A fucked up stepmother and a cold as hell father.

  Yeah. Real perfect.

  That my dad insisted I come home this Thanksgiving sucks. Last time we talked, he told me he’s tired of all of us avoiding the house during the holidays. We need to make new memories.

  I don’t want to make any memories. Not there. Not with Adele.

  “We’ll see you then.” I can hear my dad walking, his feet echoing against the tile floor, as if he was getting out of earshot of Adele. “This Thanksgiving will be good, son. You’ll see. The weather’s supposed to be nice and your mother seems much healthier.”

  “She’s not my mother,” I say through clenched teeth.

  “What?”

  “Adele’s not my mom.”

  “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 fucked 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 fucking 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 menti
on 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.

  But really I wish he would look at me. Offer a smile of reassurance. Hell, even a fake, ‘it’s going to be all right’ would make me happy right about now.

  I get none of that. No thank you either.

  Bogus.

  “Well.” I clear my throat, because I’m plunging into the cold water despite his wanting to linger safely on the shore. “How long have we been dating?”

  “Start of school sounds good, I think.”

  His nonchalance makes me want to choke him. “Six months then?” I’m testing him by throwing that out there. And it works.

  He slides me an incredulous look. “Three.”

  “Oh.” I nod. “Right. Well, like I know since I don’t go to school anymore.” Stupidest answer ever. Everyone knows when school starts.

  “Why don’t you?”

  I didn’t expect him to ask me that. Figured he really didn’t care. “I can’t afford it and I wasn’t smart enough to get a scholarship.” Like I could waste my time with school at the moment anyway. I work as much as I can get. I used to have a fulltime job, but that fell through little less than a year ago. I put in as many hours as I can waitressing at both La Salle’s and at another tiny Mexican restaurant not too far from our apartment but that’s more a temporary thing. They only call me in when they’re understaffed.

  The money sitting in my checking account thanks to Drew will ease some of that burden, at least for a little while. I didn’t put it in the account I share with my mom because I know the second she realizes that much money’s in there, she’ll blow it.

  I can’t take that chance.

  “How’d we meet then?” Drew’s deep voice breaks through my thoughts. I wish he would take the initiative and come up with some of this story.

  “The bar,” I suggest because it sounds so trashy and I figure the only reason he’s bringing me is because he wants to look like he’s slumming it to his uppity family. “You came in with a bunch of friends and it was love at first sight the moment our eyes met.”

  He sends me a look that calls bullshit and I smile in return. If I’m in control of making up this story, I’m going to make it the sappiest, most romantic thing out there.

  There is no room for romance in my life. It’s so stupid, but I let guys use me because for that one fleeting moment, when he’s focusing all of his attention on me and no one else, it feels good. It helps me forget that no one really cares.

  The second it’s over, it’s like I snap out of my mental fog and I feel cheap. Dirty. All those clichés you read about in books and see on TV or movies, that’s me. I am a walking cliché.

  I’m also the town slut whose not as slutty as everyone thinks she is—again, another cliché. And I’m definitely not the girl you want to take home to impress your mama. There is nothing special about me.

  Yet here’s Drew taking me home to impress his mama. Or more accurately, freak his mama out. I’m sure I’m that rich bitch’s (now I sound like Owen, from broke bitch to rich bitch) every nightmare come to life. The moment she lays eyes on me, she’s going to flip.

  “I’m assuming you’re bringing me home to your mom so she’ll lose her shit, right?” I need confirmation. It’s one thing to think it and be okay with it. I need to face the facts head on and deal with the repercussions later. Like how this might screw with my head despite how much I need that money.

  His jaw firms and his lips thin into a straight, grim line. “My mom is dead.”

  Oh. “I’m sorry.” I feel like a jerk.

  “You didn’t know. She died when I was two.” He shrugs. “I know my dad will love you.”

  The way he says it kind of freaks me out. Like his dad is probably a creeper and that’s why he’ll love me.

  “It’s just your dad and you then?”

  “No. There’s Adele.” His lips virtually disappear when he says that name. And he has really nice full lips, so I’m wondering where exactly they went. “She’s my stepmom.”

  “So you want to freak out your stepmom.”

  “I could give two shits what she thinks.”

  The tension radiates off him in visible waves. There’s something going on between him and his stepmom that’s definitely not good.

  Ignoring his remark about the wicked witch named Adele, I forge on. “Have any brothers or sisters?”

  He shakes his head. “Nope.”

  “Oh.” His lack of communication skills could be a real problem since I’m who
lly dependent on this guy for the next freaking week. “I have a brother.”

  “How old?”

  “Thirteen.” I sigh. “Owen’s in the eighth grade. He gets in trouble a lot.”

  “It’s a tough age. Junior high sucks.”

  “Did you get in trouble a lot when you were thirteen?” I couldn’t imagine it being so.

  He laughs, reaffirming my suspicions in a heartbeat. “I wasn’t allowed.”

  “What do you mean?” I frown. His answer makes no sense.

  “My dad would kick my ass if I stepped out of line.” He shrugs again. He does that a lot, but I like it because it reminds me that he has those delicious broad shoulders. If I’m lucky enough, I’ll get to touch them during our fake relationship over the next seven days. I’ll lean my head on his shoulder too. Press my cheek against the soft fabric of his shirt and secretly breathe in his scent. He smells good, but I want to get up close and really inhale him.

  Sappiness is ready to overtake me and for once in my cynical, no room for fairy tales life, I’m ready to let it happen. After all, I need to be the best actress on the planet, right?

  “Isn’t that what all dads say they’re going to do when their kids step out of line?” I ask.

  “Yeah, but mine meant it. Besides, it was easier to do what I’m supposed to and not get distracted. I lose myself in the mindless stuff, you know?”

  “And what are you supposed to do?” I add air quotes like those annoying sorority girls who come into La Salle’s. I really hate those girls and how they flip their hair and laugh too loud and say the stupidest things. They literally bat their fake eyelashes at the guys and everything. It’s pathetic, what attention whores they are.

  Jeez, I sound bitter even in my own head.

  “Go to class, study and get good grades. Go to football practice, stay in shape, play to the best of my ability and hope like crazy I’m impressing the scouts out there who are watching me.” He rattles everything off like some sort of list, his voice a dull monotone.

  “And what are the distractions you need to avoid?”

  “Partying, drinking, girls.” He slides me another look, his features softer, the earlier anger gone. “I don’t like losing control.”