Page 8 of Things We Fake
“Wait up,” he called.
Crap! I turned around slowly. “What can I do for you, Mr. Jones?”
“It’s Cam, remember? We met last night.”
He smiled, and my insides turned to mush. He’d recognized me! Frigging great. Where was a pond of quicksand when I needed to stick my head in it?
“Right.” I tried to smile back, but my face was almost as stiff as it had been thanks to the mask last night. “You’re my new temporary neighbor.”
“For the moment.”
“I didn’t think you could actually see me behind my face mask.”
His amusement grew, making my knees rubbery. He had a great smile, natural pearly whites without a trace of blinding chemical bleach. I was a sucker for men with beautiful smiles.
“You’re pretty memorable,” he said.
My heart fluttered in my chest, and I felt my defenses go down slowly. I was memorable? God, I hoped that was a compliment and he wasn’t making fun of me.
We turned the corner of the hallway just in time to see Mr. Donnelly, the school’s janitor, struggling with a rolling cart stacked high with folding chairs. The cart’s wheel had snagged on the thick edge of the hallway rug, and the whole thing leaned dangerously to one side.
“Hang on,” Cam said easily, already stepping in.
Before I could blink, he was balancing the cart while repositioning the chairs with the kind of precision you usually only see in Tetris or brain surgery. Each chair slid into place with fluid, efficient movements, until they were neatly secured in a tidy stack.
“Thanks, son,” Mr. Donnelly grunted.
“No problem.” Cam reached down to adjust the crooked rug with the toe of his shoe, then, without fanfare, bent and straightened the edge so it lined up perfectly with the hallway tile. When he stood back, the cart was steady, the rug was pristine, and my ovarieswere toast. How often did I get to see a man being effortlessly helpful like that? Most people didn’t even notice the auxiliary staff like janitors, which was a huge flaw of society in my opinion. Cam wasn’t just good-looking—he had a heart, too.
As Mr. Donnelly moved away, Cam turned back to me.
“It’s snowing again.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, causing his sweater to stretch across his well-defined chest. “Since we’re going to the same place, we could take a cab together.”
I bit my lip, contemplating the shape of his pecs, which were at the level of my face. God, he smelled good. Pushing away the need to bury my nose in his chest, I remembered Sam. I didn’t have time to go home and change for our date. Damn it! I’d have to face him in my lumberjack outfit. Would it be awful to stand him up just to grab a cab ride with Cam? I was a terrible person for considering it. In the end, I did the right thing.
I shook my head. “Sorry, I have a lunch date. Maybe another time.”
His smile faded a little into something close to disappointment. “Okay. I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah. It was nice meeting you.”
“You, too.”
Our eyes held for another second before I turned away.
I walked as fast as my short legs could carry me, ignoring the sting of ice pellets attacking me. I was an idiot. I should go to Wikipedia, edit the definition of the word idiot, and put my mug shot next to it. There hewas, Mr. Gorgeous and Kind, offering me a second chance, and I’d shot him down just because I had a blind date my friend forced on me. The things we do for friendships!
I took the subway in the direction of Rumors, and walked the rest of the way. When I finally saw the bar door, it was as though I’d seen the light at the end of an arctic tunnel. I rushed inside, saying a quick prayer that the day would get better. Freezing and starving as I was, the only thing that pushed me forward was the promise of warmth and a juicy burger. Diet be damned. I’d fulfilled my penitence today by not having breakfast.
A blast of frigid air followed me into the bar, the wind yanking the door out of my hand and then almost slamming me on the ass with it. Hoping no one had noticed my undignified entrance, I raised a hand to my head, my fingers encountering the rat’s nest that had been my ponytail. If I had a lick of common sense, I would’ve worn a hat, but I avoided putting anything on my head.
Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, I made my way to the ladies’ room first. Even if I didn’t care much about this date, I had a trace of ego left. In the background, I could hear Bon Jovi belting out “It’s My Life.” If I had any guts, I’d tell Ange exactly that and I’d be home now.
Muttering to myself words that I’d never say to her face, I walked toward the wall lined with sinks and mirrors. I was the biggest mess this bar had ever seen. I stared at my image, not sure how to even start making myself more presentable. What would Ange do? Ange wouldn’t be caught dead dressed like this, that’s what.
I ditched the checkered shirt, slicked my hair into a high ponytail, and let the red lipstick I’d dug out from the bottom of my bag do the heavy lifting. With no earrings or mascara to save me, I leaned into mystery, praying my black turtleneck read sultry and sophisticated, not schoolmarm.
I walked out of the ladies’ room and headed to the bar. Ange had said Sam would be there, and that he was going to wear a pale green shirt so I could recognize him. I looked at the dreaded stools, and the row of shirts: white, light blue, dark blue, pink, Hawaiian… Pale green! There was only one man wearing that color. I moved closer to get a better look at his profile.
