Page 10 of Pump Fake

BRIELLE

The waitress delivered another round of shots to our outdoor patio table, which only made me shudder. Against my better judgment, and at Mom’s encouragement, I’d agreed to get together with some old friends at the Last Call. I would be fine if I never saw Samantha Chase, Tiffany Rollins, or any of my old two-faced friends again.

I got up from the table full of girls shrieking about who the hell knew what with the pretense of getting another glass of wine. I didn’t need one. Mine was half full. If only my outlook was the same, the night would be better, or at least bearable. Just out of sight of my so-called friends, and in a convenient shadow near the building, I took a tentative sip of my wine. I refused to have more than one glass. Not when I was at their mercy.

I was so mad at my mom for throwing a fit about me going. It was mostly my dad’s fault, with the IRS taking all my family’s stuff and my mom freaked out about our reputation. She’d begged me to join in when she heard from Samantha’s mom that they’d reached out to me. It shouldn’t have been a big deal if I’d declined, but Mom had taken it as a personal affront and had wailed that she couldn’t stand another round of whispers andembarrassment—that time by my hand if I didn’t fall in line and act like the little debutant she’d raised. Her words, not mine.

I rolled my eyes at how ridiculous I was for talking to myself like a loon. I needed to get over it, fake a smile, and let their insults roll off me. It was hard, though. Samantha couldn’t stop flashing her enormous engagement ring in my face. I could deal with that, but our mutual friend, Tiffany, kept asking if my family was spending Christmas dinner at the penitentiary that year or patting my hand and telling me not to worry—I could probably land a hedge fund guy too. Then she would purse her lips and look me up and down. A sly “maybe” had slipped out.

Like I cared about any of that. I hated my sister having to deal with any shade like I was getting, but it would stop when she went to college. Hopefully.

I glanced back at our table with dread.Just get it over with.I pushed away from the wall and headed toward them as some asshat rammed into my side, spilling my wine all over my clothes.

“What the fuck!” I stared at the red stain on my silk dress. Not even two seconds later, a large hand patted a wad of napkins on the stain, pawing at my right breast. I smacked him away. “Not an effective way to cop a feel.”Dick.I pivoted to glare at whatever meathead had sidelined me. Instead of being eye to eye, I had to tilt my head back. When I finally met his gaze, my jaw dropped. “You.”

I was cursed. That had to be it. Ares Bellingham stood with a wad of wine-stained napkins clutched in his hand, his expression just as shocked as mine. Of course, that didn’t take away from how attractive he was. Meanwhile, I probably resembled a murder victim. I crossed my arms over my chest, partly wishing the floor would swallow me.

“Shit, Sinclair. I didn’t mean to do that. You came out of nowhere, and I was in a hurry to leave.”

I glanced around at the crowded outdoor area with thepretty string lights hanging above us. “Why? Are you meeting your adoring posse somewhere else? A hotel—motel, maybe?”What is wrong with me?I seemed to vomit sexual insults around him. I was no better than that bitch Tiffany. I rubbed my temples. “I’m sorry. Bad night and even worse company. Seems they’re rubbing off on me.” I wished I could find a way to escape the mean-girl bullshit.

He frowned. “We keep meeting under less-than-desirable circumstances.”

His gaze dropped from my face to the horrid wine stain I wore. I brushed a few stray strands of hair back from my forehead. “Yeah, and both times I’ve had my clothes ruined.”What are the odds?His nephew had destroyed my black Channel pants, left over from another life. Then Ares murdered one of the few Prada dresses I’d managed to retain after the massive consignation of my parents’ assets.

“Let’s put my nephew’s stuff aside, especially since you’re not on the clock. But I do owe you for the dress. Name your price, Sinclair.”

I studied his strained features. I knew the look of a broke college student faced with yet another expense and could guess he was worried I would want reimbursement. I sighed. That stuff didn’t matter to me. Not anymore. It was just a way of fitting in—wearing the right clothes—with the catty girls I was hanging out with.

But what do I want?I glanced back at the table I’d momentarily escaped. They’d treated me like I had no prospects and my life would mirror my father’s sentence. My gaze returned to Ares. He was gorgeous and well-known in the college football scene. They might have heard of him. Even if they hadn’t, his looks could still their viperous tongues.

“Okay.” I set my empty wineglass on a nearby table, ignoring the glares from the two people sitting there. “I’ll take you up on that.” I pointed to the table full of my so-called friends. “Seethose girls over there? I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”

His eyebrows climbed his forehead. “You want me to be your fake boyfriend?”

I crossed my arms over my chest, scowling, feeling a headache coming on as I realized the direction I was heading. Those bitches were getting to me and not in a good way. “You ruined two very expensive outfits.”

He grimaced. “Not technically true. Just this dress. And I’ll pay to have it dry-cleaned.”

“Not worth it. My point is, I need your help with some people I know from high school. It’s one night and not even that long. We can make up some excuse and get out of here.” I jutted my chin, not wanting to beg him to do it, but I needed a win after all the degradation I’d withstood for the past several hours. If I never saw them again, it would be too soon. Sadly, my mom had other plans. They were her circle of people—well, their parents were, but same thing. Same lousy people. “So? Will you help a girl out? Pretend you’re into me for a few hours? Or minutes, if we can figure out how to get away from those…”I want to say frenemies so bad, but why scare him away?“… people?”

A few moments passed, and I shifted from foot to foot, anxiety crawling over me in a way that’d only begun on that one fateful day two years ago.

“Yeah, but I have a question first.”

“Shoot.” I would answer anything at that point.

“What’s your first name?”

A slow grin pulled at my lips.That’s his only question?“Brielle.”

He matched my smile and slipped an arm around me. “All right, Brielle. Let’s do this.”

I found myself drawn to his heat. His arm banded my body to his, and I melted against the solid strength of his side. I bit my lip, rolling it before releasing it, telling myself it was all inthe name of proving we were fake dating and not staying right where he’d positioned me because I was attracted to him. Playing along—I was going with that, give a girl a break—I curved my arm around his waist too.

I pointed to the table with a shaky finger, and he steered us in that direction. My heart pounded against my ribs, and I struggled to keep the heat from my face, but it was impossible. Being that close to Ares did crazy things to me.

Five sets of eyes locked on us as we sidled up to the table full of overdressed, expertly made-up women. Wealth and pretension oozed from them. Interest flared as they looked from me to Ares. I couldn’t blame them. He was the stuff of dreams—if only to look at. I didn’t know enough about his personality, except that his nephew made my job a living hell on the regular.

---