Page 1 of Don't Go Faking My Heart

CHAPTER ONE

ASH

You know that feeling when you work on a big project and pull an all-nighter but rather than being exhausted from it, you have so much energy, it's practically bursting out of you?

I love that feeling. I'm addicted to it.

Not in a dangerous, chase-that-fix kind of way, mind you. I don't need to go to "All-Nighters Anonymous" or anything.

You know what? Let's start over.

I pulled an all-nighter working on a big project last night.

My friend, Rusty, and I have been working on a Maple Street revitalization project to increase tourism for the town of Sugar Maple, South Carolina, and we killed it, if I do say so myself. We'll present it to the town council and chamber of commerce later this morning, and I can't wait to see all their excited faces. I halfway expect future generations to erect statues in our honor.

Rusty ran home to shower and get changed, and I've done the same. I didn't wash my hair—my long, thick curls would take too long to dry—but I spritz some water, use a little product, go all Curly Girl method, and voilà.

I draw a perfect cat eye, put on my new sky blue glasses that match the new sky blue streak of hair in my otherwise long cinnamon brown curls, and smile at my reflection.

Fabulous.

Time to go meet Rusty at the diner.

I walk out of my bathroom and through my bedroom, rubbing my thumb against a fingernail, when I notice a hangnail.

This thing is annoying.

I head right back into the bathroom to find my nail clippers when I spot my electric toothbrush light flashing low battery.

I plug in my electric toothbrush then trip over the running shoes I left in the middle of the bathroom last night to remind me to work out. I kick them to the side.

Wait, why did I come back in here?

I frown, looking around my bathroom at makeup palettes spread over my white granite counter among the hair products, lotions, face serums …

This is overwhelming.

I should really clean this up. But the idea of where to start makes me feel like my life force is pushing from the middle of my brain out my ears.

No. Nope. Not happening.

My watch buzzes, and I spot a text from Rusty.

RUSTY

On my way.

Whoops!

I march out of my room and through the house to find Lou, one of my best friends, in the sitting room. She’s singing to herself and scribbling in a notebook. She drops it when she sees me.

"Hey! You look great. Are y'all ready for the presentation?" Lou asks. She's wearing wide leg linen trousers, and a white crop top that skims the top of the pants. Her light blonde hair falls down her back in pretty waves.

"You know it," I tell her. "What about you?"

"I'm supposed to audition guitar players for the 'band,' but I'm going to come to the meeting first. I figure local politics should harden me for all the no's I plan to give today."

"You only need one yes," I say, standing in front of my friend. Lou may be a contract lawyer for our marketing firm by day, but she’s a musician with a huge YouTube following by night. She has a real life secret identity. "You have all that sweet, sweet music to make for Third Street records now."

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