Pretend I'm Yours (Pretend 1)

I can’t lie. There is no point anyway.

“I slept with Anastasia in college.”

She nods like she knew the answer.

“Great. Just great.”

She struts forward confidently, and I know there is no way she is going to fall in her heels, not now. My hand slips from her side momentarily, before I catch back up. She takes two glasses of white wine from the waiter because white wine and champagne are the only options waiters are serving at this party. Then she dashes off out back, with me at her heels.

Five minutes pass without her talking to me. She hides in the corner at the backyard, sipping her wine and sculling. Hating me. Loathing her sister. And hiding from the party.

“I’m sorry. If it makes you feel any better, Anastasia was horrible in bed. It only happened once because we were drunk. And if I had seen you first, she wouldn’t have been an option.”

That makes her smile though she tries to hide it. “You’re lying, but knowing she’s bad in bed does make me feel better.”

“She was awful, one of my worst lays. All fake, and she thought all she had to do was lie there and let me do all the work. Not that I mind being on top, but give me something. Kiss me, touch me, moan, anything,” I say, probably pushing this too far.

Larkyn bites her lip and is silent as she stares at me with her big eyes. “I don’t think I need any more details. Picturing the two of you together isn’t exactly making my day better.”

She takes another sip of her wine, and her gaze catches the attention of a herd of chatty women in sparkly floor-length dresses. It’s Larkyn’s party, but they give her nasty glares as they judge her sundress, appropriate for most graduation parties in the world, except in the world of snobs in this town. To these people, a dress like the one Larkyn is wearing is meant to be worn at casual events, not for a special occasion.

Larkyn’s eyes drop, and she winces then curses under her breath. I’m not sure if it is because she is pissed at the women, or if her leg is aching again. She lifts her injured leg up and rests it on top of her other foot. She finishes her wine, planning on getting drunk to deal with both her pain and the disgusting stares.

I have a better idea.

I finish my wine, though the stuff is disgustingly sweet.

“Come on. I may not be able to take away the torment you are dealing with in your leg unless you let me take you home and forget about the party.”

She snaps her head to me. “Not going to happen.”

I nod. “But at least let me help you with your other problem.”

“I don’t have any other problems,” she lies.

I link my fingers in her hands again, and she shivers. I’d smile, but I’m too pissed off. Yet, I do love how much something so simple affects her. I bet I could ask her any question right now and she’d answer because she’s too focused on my thumb lazily tracing the outside of her hand. I don’t know how many boyfriends she’s had in her life, but none of them have known what to do with her body, that much is clear.

I take my time as she hobbles in pain across the grass to where the women are watching us with narrowed eyes like they can’t figure out who I am.

Every time she winces or curses, I press a little further to a pressure point in her hand. Her hand warms, and she stops groaning in pain every time I do. Every curse earns her a kiss on the hand. Both the touch and the kiss seem to help because by the time we approach the women, she’s smiling and I know that at least part of the smile is genuine.

“Hello, ladies. How do you know the woman of the hour?” I ask, pulling Larkyn against my side as I wrap my arm around her waist. I want to do a lot more, but that won’t win over these kinds of women. These women already look at her like she’s trash. I won’t add to the stereotype it’s clear these women are giving her.

“Oh, we’ve been best friends w

ith her mother and father since before she was born. You know how families like ours run together forever. How do you know Miss Veil?” one of the women asks for the group. But everyone peers over their drinks, none of them recognizing me. But then, why would they? I rarely ever come back to this town.

I’m not going to convince these women by playing their games. They are too good, and Larkyn hasn’t been playing for years if she ever played at all.

“I’m Kade King.”

Eyes widen, and whispers ring out.

I grin. I have their attention now.

“I’m so glad you are back in town Mr. King. I don’t think you’ve met my daughter, Aubrey, yet. I’ll fetch her,” the woman says.

I smirk. I’m sure the woman would like to introduce me to her daughter. But it’s not happening.