Page 25 of Lessons in Faking
“Inkwood,” he greeted with a nod.
Wren didn’t say anything. Instead, she faked a wide, exaggerated smile and leaned against the bleachers with her arms crossed. I decided not to push her any further. Being here was enough for me and more than enough for her.
“So...” he hummed, leisurely propping himself against the handrail separating stands and field. Right behind him, Henry beamed brightly as he spoke to Coach Hepburn. “We’re going out to celebrate after this,” McCarthy said. “Care to join me?”
Surprisingly enough, his eyes flicked back and forth between Wren and me, inaudibly extending the invitation to both of us. We replied simultaneously.
“Yes.”
“No.”
“A few of the guys are bringing their girlfriends; I’d hate to rob them of the pleasure of meeting mine.” Though his voice sounded genuine, and was picked up by Henry exactly that way, the grimace on his face couldn’t have been more ironic.
“We”—I gave Wren a warning look—“would love to.”
Before she could protest—and she was well on her way to doing so—I mouthed the wordHamiltonin her direction. Her lips shut tightly, as if they were about to disobey her if she didn’t keep them glued in place. When I lookedback at McCarthy, I smiled as if I hadn’t just blackmailed my best friend for the second time today.
“Great,” he said.
Great.
*
Although it was early Sunday evening, the streets were bustling with all sorts of people. Drunk college students, workers just getting off their eight-hour shifts, and homebodies picking up takeout at the Chinese place we’d just passed.
“I’m staying an hour. Tops,” Wren warned as we neared the address McCarthy had given us.
“And I love you for it.” I came to an abrupt halt, my gaze lifting from my phone to scan our surroundings for some sort of sign. The blue location dot hovered right by the destination pinpoint, though the name of the bar, or any sign of it, was nowhere to be found.
“Awesome.” Wren sighed in anI told you somanner, leaning on a low fence behind her. “This is a joke, right?”
I turned with an apologetic expression. “There’s pizza.” She waved toward the small shop on the other side of the street. “Chinese.” Her head gestured in the direction of that too. “But I don’t see—”
Before she could finish her sentence, a broken neon sign right above her head flickered slightly. The light was so dim, it was barely noticeable. But I could make out a huge arrow pointing down and a cocktail beside it.
Thank God.
“I do!” I grabbed Wren by the wrist, then steered us toward the stairs leading into the apparent underground bar.
“You’re so quick to expect the worst, Inkwood,” I teased as I pushed open the door. The light scent of beer, peanuts, and sweet cocktails indicated we were in the right place. It screamed college sports.
I spotted the HBU soccer team right away. It was hard to miss thirteen loud men and their plus-ones celebrating a win. I was surprised they even had a table for a group that big in a place so small.
As we walked toward the team, confidence edged into my stride, and even Wren had picked up her slouch into a begrudging walk. Before we reached the group, an unfamiliar voice hollered and another joined in with a “There she is!”
“The woman of the hour,” another cheered as he pretended to bow without getting up from the chair in front of us. Beside him was McCarthy, busy smacking the guy upside the head, before turning our way with a tight smile.
“Ignore them,” he pleaded. The image of carefree, fun McCarthy shocked me right away. No scowl in sight.
I waved at the entire group with a quick hi, eyes flicking across them. On the opposite side of the table, Henry tried his best to ignore the playful commotion around him. Pretending to be immersed in his phone but probably typing a bunch of nothing into his notes app just to look busy.
If I hadn’t been so focused on the lack of Henry’s attention, maybe I would’ve realized the seat beside McCarthy was the only one freebeforeWren threw herself into it. I guess she deserved it for having to go through this in the first place.
“I’ll just grab an extra chair.” I gestured to the neighboring, much smaller table.
McCarthy already nodded in agreement when the boy beside him perked up once more, laughing. “Nonsense!”
“Caden,” McCarthy warned. To no effect.
