Just Pretend (Love Comes To Town)

Jerk.

His mouth opens, then closes. Then, his dark eyebrows drawing together, he turns on his heel and storms off and out of the door.

I stand there for a few seconds, steadying myself on the linoleum countertop of the bar, getting a hold of myself. What the hell just happened?

I can feel the bartender’s impatient eyes drilling a hole into my side, but I don’t care. I need a second, buddy, OK?

I take a breath, then turn to him. “Two Bloody Marys, please.”

Josie’s our DD, and I wasn’t planning on drinking, but after what just happened, I might be up for a drink. Or two.

Back at the table, Wynona mumbles a pouty thanks as she downs half her drink, while Josie quirks a knowing reddish-blonde eyebrow. “I see you got all up close and personal with one of the hot guys.”

“Yeah, more than I could’ve wanted,” I grumble. “Guy was a total jerk.”

As I sip my drink, we chat for a few more minutes, trying and failing to cheer Wynona up. Then, out of nowhere, Josie reaches into my bag. “Uh, Sierra?”

I stare at the iPhone 12 Pro she has in her hand blankly. God knows I don’t have enough money for that.

As comprehension dawns on me, I rise. “Great. It must’ve dropped into my purse when we bumped into each other.”

I hurry to his table—but all the people there are gone. A quick rush to the door and glance outside finds no sign of him either.

“Guess I have Mystery Jerk guy’s phone now…” I tell the twins as I return to our table.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Wynona says, taking it with a mischievous smile.

“Careful,” I joke. “You’re holding my month’s rent there.”

She tilts it, looking carefully as the light hits it.

“Hold on,” I say. “What are you…”

“Score,” she says next second.

“No way,” Josie says, bobbing in her seat so much that her strawberry blonde waves do a little jump too. “It worked?”

Wynona’s smile is pure satisfaction, even with half her lipstick missing. “It worked. These rich pricks are all the same—think they’re invincible. Don’t even have the fingerprint or code locks on their phones. Just have to tilt it and see the fingerprint smears in the light to draw the pattern.”

I’m not sure I want to know how she’s arrived at this generalization, but anyway, after tapping on the screen a bit, she hands the phone to me. “You can do the honors.”

I put the phone on the table, eyeing it uneasily. “I don’t know…”

Josie rolls her eyes as she picks up the phone. “We’ll just look at the photos, not use his bank information to buy us a vacation to Tahiti. C’mon, Mom.”

My arms are crossed across my chest, but I find my firm frown wilting.

“After all,” she continues, as she starts scrolling, “if he didn’t want people going through his phone, then he should’ve taken better care of it. And not be such a jerk—ooo!”

Her eyes pop as she shoves out the phone so I can see. “Check this out.”

The photo on the phone screen shows the long-haired guy, a beer in each tan hand, on the edge of a turquoise-water white marble infinity pool that belongs more on some luxury island ad than real life.

“Hot damn,” Josie murmurs as she scrolls.

‘Hot damn’ is right. Photo after photo after too-crazy-to-believe photo makes it clear: this guy is clearly living the life. At least, if your definition of ‘the life’ is girls, booze, and parties—lots of them. That plus a staggering amount of mansion selfies, the odd villa or two, a Porsche that probably costs my entire salary last year—yeah, calling him ‘rich’ wouldn’t be doing his lifestyle justice.

“He looks familiar,” Wynona says contemplatively, as she rotates one picture of him riding a camel until it’s upside-down.

“Why?” I ask, as she moves on to the next photo and does the same thing: rotate upside-down, then save.

She tilts her head, squints, then nods as she repeats the rotate-save for the next photo. “It’ll teach him some manners.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, because whenever anyone hacks into my phone and saves a bunch of my pictures upside-down I totally rethink my past transgressions.”

They’re hardly listening.

“You’re right, though,” Josie’s saying, reaching for the phone in vain, as Wynona moves away so she can continue her photo-flipping spree. “Isn’t our phone jerk one of the Storm boys? That famous rich family who’s in TV or something?”

I lean over to peer at the latest picture Wynona is rotating: the long-haired guy with a bunch of somewhat similar looking guys—brothers? “Hey, I think you’re right.”

I’ve never been big on celebrity gossip, but the Storm family is just famous enough for me to have heard of them.

Wynona’s sat back in the booth, a wicked smile spreading over her lips, which are losing more black lipstick with every sip of her Bloody Mary.