The Fake Out: Chapter 35

The next afternoon, we all piled into the rented SUV for the half-mile trek to the lake the Sterns’ property butts up to. Margot packed us a fried chicken dinner and sent us off with strict instructions to make sure Millie took breaks. The beach on their property was quiet and secluded. A long dock jettied into the lake where two boats were parked under an awning. Chris pulled the car next to a picnic table and a small blue shed.

“Come on, I’ll show you the pool house. It’s not much but it has electricity and a bathroom,” Aggie said. It took her a moment to unlock the padlock on the door. It was one room. A smallish bed pushed into a corner, a mini fridge and microwave, and a tiny but functional bathroom.

It was a beautiful day, about eighty-five degrees with a light breeze. While Chris unloaded the car, we dragged beach chairs that were stored in the pool house and set them up in a line. Millie announced she was going to take one of the tubes and float on the lake.

“Sunscreen first,” Betsy said.

“Hurry up or the good tubes will be gone.” Millie tugged her t-shirt off and stood with her back to Ellie.

“Cute suit,” I said to her. My eye immediately dropped to the scar that peeked out of the top of her swimsuit.

Millie raised a hand to cover it.

My face reddened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s not that.” She pursed her lips and I swear her eyes grew three sizes bigger. “It’s just there’s always a reminder that I was—”

“—born with a broken heart,” her sisters said in unison. “Yeah, yeah. We get it.”

“She pulls that card all the time,” Aggie said. “Like we haven’t figured it out already.”

Millie put a hand on her hip. “Hey, it works on Mom.”

“That’s not saying a lot.” Betsy was rocking a two-piece that matched her pink hair perfectly. “I’m pretty sure Mom still believed in Santa Claus until a few years ago.”

“Wait, Santa’s not real?” Chris said, from right behind me.

I turned to say something sarcastic, but my breath sort of fizzled out like a dying balloon.

Chris Stearns was a world-class athlete. He wasn’t some guy you knew from high school who used to play basketball. Nor was he one of those dudes who worked out for forty-five minutes before work and hogged all the weight machines at the gym. It was in his job description to take care of his body, keep it strong and lean and healthy.

Obviously, Chris was good at his job.

How did I know? He was shirtless. Let me say it louder for the people in the back: he did not have a shirt on.

He should really come with a warning label. Something like CAUTION: When seen shirtless, this model may cause momentary memory loss, particularly of one’s own name, as well as body temperature spikes and extreme amounts of gawking.

“All done,” Betsy announced, and I ripped my eyes away from Chris.

Millie took off down the dock. “Last one in gets the wonky tube.”

Betsy moved on to Aggie and, when she was done, she tossed me the bottle and presented me with her back.

“You two have each other, right?” She pointed between Chris and me.

“Yeah, sure. Be right in.” I waited for her to wander off to the water. I shoved the bottle at Chris, who had donned mirror sunglasses. “You can do your front.”

Without waiting to see if he planned to follow directions, I trotted to the pool house, whipped off the cover-up Betsy had lent me, and stuffed it in my bag.

Chris was mid-chest rub when I returned. For a half-second, his hand stilled when he saw me. Or at least I thought it was because he saw me. Those sunglasses made it impossible to see his eyes. Wish I had a pair.

Betsy had lent me a bright-red one-piece suit with a halter top and a slim skirt on the bottom, very 1950s glamour.

I adjusted the strap. “Your sister let me borrow it, since someone forgot to tell me to bring one. Does it look stupid? I usually stay away from red. The whole red on a redhead thing.”

He cleared his throat and went back to slathering his arms with sunscreen. “It suits you.”

“Thanks.”

An awkward, heavy silence fell between us. I swear I tried not to watch him rub that lotion all over himself. I swear it. I looked at the ground and my fingernails and the picnic table, but my eyeballs were under some strange spell that made it impossible not to look at him.

Why did he have to be so dang beautiful? Not the outside either, although the wrapping was sure nice. It was all the other stuff. I saw the way he treated his family, how much he loved and respected his parents, how generous he was with his time and money, and how he risked his reputation to protect a sister. HE VISITED KIDS IN THE HOSPITAL IN HIS SPARE TIME.

He was a good guy.

Why? Whhhy?

Why couldn’t he be arrogant and selfish and smell like salami all the time? It was making everything so much more complicated in my head.

I didn’t want to like him as anything more than a friend. I couldn’t. My heart wasn’t available. It had already experienced enough disappointment and pain from the people who were supposed to love me, and I wasn’t foolish enough to go through that again. Nope. No way. In fact, there was a tiny little sign hanging on my heart that read: CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

“Can you do my back now?” Chris asked, pulling me from my thoughts.

I swallowed, took the bottle from him, and squirted some in my hand. “This might be cold.”

I tried to be a professional about it all. At the very least, not creepy. I think I even succeeded until I found the two-inch scar on his right lower back. Without thinking about it, I traced it with my finger.

“Skateboarding accident when I was thirteen,” Chris said, his voice low.

“Did you have to get stitches?”

He shrugged. “Probably, but I snuck out of the house to go skateboarding and I was too afraid to tell my parents about it. I learned my lesson, that’s for sure.”

“I thought you were an Eagle Scout.”

“Even good kids bend to temptation every now and then.”

Don’t I know it. I bit my lip and ran my hands over his back again, up to his shoulders and neck. I’d already coated everything once so now I was definitely making things creepy.

“All done.” I turned around and held my breath, waiting for him to start.

He made quick work of it. In fact, he was so fast, it was obvious he hadn’t been nearly as affected as I was. A wave of embarrassment was quickly followed by resolve. I could act like that too. Just watch me.

He hesitated. “I’m going to get under your strap, okay?”

“Yep.”

His finger slid under the halter strap around my neck and a shiver raced down my back. I ignored it.

“All done?” I didn’t even wait for him to answer. I spun around and almost fell face first into him.

He grabbed my shoulders and steadied me. “Slow down there, Freckles.”

“Don’t call me Freckles,” I snapped. There, that was better. Let’s get some irritation in my voice. Much better than confusing feelings I wasn’t ready to feel.

A corner of his mouth hitched, and he tapped my nose gently. “But there are just so many of them. Like sprinkles. Makes me crave something sweet.”

I crossed my arms. “My freckles give you a hankering for dessert?”

A slow smile spread across his face. He waited a long beat. “Something like that.”

“What does that mean?”

With a low chuckle I felt in my belly, he walked around me and headed to the water without answering.