Faker - Sarah Smith Page 0,97
I lean over the nearest sink and splash water on my face. When I look up at the mirror, I nearly jump. Red blotches dot my cheeks, and the skin around my clavicle is flushed. Managing not to sob has helped me avoid swollen eyes and tear streaks. Even so, I still look like the stock photo for “train wreck.”
I need to figure out a way to get out of here, but I refuse to leave with Tate. Natalie or Brendan seem nice enough to give me a ride back to my car if I asked, but the awkwardness would be excruciating. It’s too late in the evening to call Kaitlin. I reach for my phone and call the only other person I can think of.
* * *
• • •
TATE IS CROUCHED on the floor just outside the door when I walk out of the restroom, head in his hands, pants and shirt rumpled. He looks almost as wrecked as I do.
I don’t acknowledge him as I jog through the door and to Jamie’s car parked in the front. I race to the passenger side, hoping he doesn’t follow.
“Hey, you.” Jamie’s cheery face greets me, but it switches to concern when he gets a closer look at me. “Are you okay?”
“Peachy,” I mutter. He idles for a second. “Can we go now, please? I need to get out of here.”
He pulls ahead just as I catch Tate’s reflection in my side view mirror. He looks around frantically, then zeros in on the car.
I give Jamie directions to Tate’s house. “Thank you again for picking me up. I’m sorry it’s so late.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, dialing back the initial pep of his greeting. “That was Tate, wasn’t it? Who ran after you just before we pulled away?”
I let out a frustrated sigh. I really don’t want to get into it with Jamie, but I suppose I owe him an abbreviated explanation since he was nice enough to give me a ride on a moment’s notice. I left Tate out of our conversation when I called him, but the cat’s out of the bag now.
“It was. Things are complicated between us at the moment.”
“I can tell.”
“We’ve been trying to be friendlier to each other recently, I guess you’d say. It didn’t work out.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Me too.” I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying.
“His loss. You look really pretty tonight.”
“You’re such a liar.”
“Am not. You look amazing.”
“I look like hell.” I yank down the overhead mirror and see that my blotchy skin isn’t obvious in the darkness.
“If that’s what hell looks like, I’ll take seconds.” He taps his thumb against the top of the steering wheel while we’re stopped at a red light, then smirks at me. I can’t help but laugh at his ridiculous line.
Jamie parks on the street in front of Tate’s duplex, behind my car. I thank him again before stepping out. He climbs out of the driver’s seat and walks around to my side.
“It was nice seeing you, even if it wasn’t under the greatest circumstances. Sorry you had a bad night.” He shoves his hands in his pockets.
“I’m the one who should be sorry. I interrupted your Saturday night.” I dig in my purse for my keys. “Here, let me give you gas money.”
“Not a chance.” He takes a step toward me. When he places his hand over mine, I immediately stop rummaging through my purse. “But maybe you can interrupt my night tomorrow and let me take you out for dinner? As friends, of course.”
The tilt of his head and the lift of his eyebrow imply he doesn’t mean it at all when he says friends.
I freeze, then manage to roll my eyes in a playful way. Even though I made it clear before that I wasn’t interested in pursuing anything other than friendship with Jamie, I don’t want to hurt his feelings after he went out of his way for me.
Before I can think of anything to say, a sharp tire squeal pulls our focus to the end of the block. Tate’s gray sedan speeds up to us, then screeches to a halt.
He darts from the car and marches up to Jamie without even bothering to turn the car off. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Excuse me?” Jamie’s initial confusion switches to hostility.
Tate’s eyes dart to the space between Jamie and me, and I realize Jamie is still gripping my hand. I glance up in horror. Even though