Faker - Sarah Smith Page 0,90
thank Kaitlin, hang up, and hurry to get ready for the evening. One look in the mirror to make sure I look presentable, and I’m off.
All along the drive to Tate’s place, I think about Kaitlin’s insightful words.
You’re just like him.
The words that left me in disbelief an hour ago are now a source of comfort. If that had been spoken to me two months ago, I would have raged. But now? Now it makes me beam from the inside out.
When Tate answers his front door, he’s a gorgeous, frazzled mess. He’s frowning of course, but still manages to look exquisite. His torso is clad in a charcoal-gray dress shirt, no tie. Somehow the starkness of the dark hue against his pale skin isn’t harsh. It makes his skin glow even more than it normally does. My eyes fall to his sleeves, which are rolled to his forearms. I jolt as the warmth between my legs sneaks up on me. Rolled-up sleeves on a man’s thick and veiny forearms is my greatest weakness. He must have peered into my fantasies.
Within a second, his eyes fall from my face to my chest, then to my legs. “Holy shit.” He finds my eyes again, this time with a half-open mouth. “You look incredible.”
I rest a hand on my hip. “Really?”
“Fuck yeah, really.”
The light, lips-only kiss he gives me leaves me wanting way the hell more.
There’s a glint in his eyes. “Believe me, I’d love to do more than just kiss you on the lips right now, especially when you look this delicious.”
His hand drops to my waist, and he gives it a squeeze. I shiver despite the humidity that hangs in the air like a heavy cloud.
“But if I do anything other than closed-mouth kiss you, you’re toast. And we don’t have time.” Again his gaze travels down and up the line of my body. “Tonight, however . . .”
I glide the palm of my hand to the center of his chest. “You’re looking pretty damn good yourself.” I flash him my most enticing half smile, the one I use when I’m hoping for a kiss at the end of a date.
“Come in, then, before I ravage you in full view of the neighborhood.”
He moves aside to let me in, then shuts the door. When he ruffles his hair with both hands, I can tell just how anxious he is.
“Sorry, I guess I should have offered to pick you up. Not a very gentlemanly move, huh? I figured since I live closer to the school, it would make more sense . . .”
When I clutch his hand, the wrinkles of his frown disappear. The softest smile pulls at his lips.
“Don’t even worry about it, okay?”
His smile widens as he taps my chin with his thumb. A giant roll of beige contact paper on the counter catches my eye. I’m about to ask about it, but then I spot a short glass filled with amber liquid near the sink.
“Self-medicating?” I ask.
“Scotch with water is the only way to pregame for a high school reunion.” He walks to the kitchen, and I follow.
“That’s my go-to de-stress drink,” I say.
He lets out an amused hum while taking a long sip. He sets down the empty glass, and a gentle smile crawls across his face. “My girlfriend’s a Scotch-drinking badass. As if I didn’t adore you enough already. You ready to go?”
He drives us to a massive brick complex in the middle of the city that is apparently his old high school. A gigantic college-caliber football field takes up a major chunk of the outdoor space. There’s also a cluster of tennis courts, a running track, and a meticulously maintained baseball field. It looks like some high-end sports complex.
My mouth hangs open as I step out of the car. “This is your high school?”
“You sound surprised.”
I point at the football field. “Most public high schools don’t have state-of-the-art athletic facilities that rival division-one colleges. This school district must have fuck-you money to afford all of this.”
He lets out a chuckle. The sound brings goose bumps to my arms. “Yeah, I guess this school is pretty nice.”
“Nicer than my small-town public high school. We didn’t have anything close to this.”
I follow a slow trickle of people making their way into the building through the front entrance. When I realize Tate isn’t next to me, I spin around and reach out my hand. Relief replaces his nervous expression.
“It’s okay,” I say. “I’m here.”
He answers with steady eyes. “Having