Page 35 of That Fake Feeling
Helets go of the doorframe and sways toward her.
“Letme spice up that coffee,Sherri,” he says, dropping a glug ofJackinto her mug.
Shelooks him up and down, shrugs, and picks it up. “Youknow what, that might not be such a bad idea.”
Howthe hell canIeven attempt to rescue this?Gettinghim away fromSherrimight be a start.
Ipoint at the stool next to me. “Youshould come and sit down, sweetie.Andthe talented makeup and wardrobe people can, er, tidy you up.”
“Yourwish is my command, my little love pumpkin.”
Hestaggers toward me, grabs the stool, and slams it into mine, making the makeup artist jump.
“Youalmost got a line of lipstick up your face this time,” she says, givingConnora disapproving look.
“‘Lovepumpkin’ is an interesting term of endearment,”Sherrisays, scribbling a note. “Isthere a story behind that?”
Connorparks himself on the stool, drapes his arm around me, and pulls me toward him.
“Okay,” says the makeup artist, giving up. “I’llcome back to you.”
“Well, it’s like this,Sherri,” he says, resting the bottle on his thigh, close to the rip that reveals a patch of smooth, firm flesh. “Youknow how pumpkins have those vertical lines?Anddo you know how beautiful the line of a woman’s butt crack is?”
Sherrilooks like she does not.
“Well, the first time this little sweet cheeks andIwere getting it on,Iflipped her ove—”
Igrab the hand he’s resting on my shoulder so hard he winces and emits a little cry of shock.
Whatthe ever-loving fuck?
“Oh, sugar plums,”Isay through whatIhope is a smile, “I’msureSherridoesn’t need stories like that.”
Heleans across me towardSherriand lowers his voice like he’s sharing an intimate secret. “Thosestories would make your hair curl,Itell you.”
There’sa waft of a pleasant soapy smell.Iinhale deeper as he pulls back and rests his head against mine in a display of togetherness.Yes, his skin is freshly showered.There’snot even a hint of the aroma of a heavy night being sweated out.
Ilean in, toward his mouth.
Nota hint of booze either.Ifanything, it’s a bit minty.
Andhis eyes are sparkling, clear, and bright.Noteven remotely lazy or dilated.
He’sstone cold sober.
Thebastard is faking drunk.
Whatthe hell is he up to?
Thiswhole charade is for his benefit.Andyet he’s deliberately trying to fuck it up.
Well, screw that.Idon’t get paid if it fucks up.AndIsure as hell need to get paid.
Itake the bottle from his hand and place it on the dining table.
“Thankyou for bringing that downstairs, darling.Sillyof me to leave it up there last night.”Iturn toSherri. “SometimesIlike to have a tiny nightcap before we tuck in for the night.”
Sheraises her eyebrows and points at the bottle. “That’syours?”
