Fake It ‘Til You Feel It (Work For It #3)

1. Mess With the Unicorn, Get the Horn

CHAPTER 1

MESS WITH THE UNICORN, GET THE HORN

MARS

N obody expects an inflatable unicorn to the face. And yet…here I am. It’s not the unicorn’s fault—it’s never the unicorn’s fault. The Base anniversary party kicked off a couple hours ago, I’ve had one beer—one!—and I’ve already tripped over my own feet twice.

Luckily, I didn’t catch a vinyl horn to the eye, but Stuart really should’ve put caution tape around these things. My coworking space’s office manager, and party organizer, went all out with the decorations, but I can’t figure out where the six-foot-tall unicorns factor in.

The inflatable has one of those weeble wobble bottoms so I don’t have to pick it back up after tripping into it. Thank heavens, because that would be undignified.

It’s still early, and I haven’t gotten the chance to talk with Ivy yet, but I can't wait to show her the welt the unicorn left on my face. We keep missing each other as we move around the room, chatting with coworkers and Wavecrest locals, grazing at the food table, and puzzling over Stuart’s design choices.

My unwritten goal for the evening is to spend time with Ivy while wearing fancy clothes, something we’ve never done. Tonight she’s been hard to miss in her elegant, midnight blue dress that accentuates her tall, lithe body.

Fuck, I really shouldn’t be thinking about Ivy’s body. We’re friends—good friends—but nothing more. She’d punch me in the throat if she knew some of the thoughts I’ve had about her. Shower thoughts which feature her wrapped around me, her soft breasts pressed to my chest, her long legs holding me to her while I fill her. Fuck .

I choke on a gulp of beer, failing to cool myself down. Stuart smacks me on the back as he walks by, and I thank him with a raise of my glass.

I spend some time mingling with my other coworkers to distract myself from thoughts of Ivy. Over the past few months I’ve grown close with this group of people, who are all smart and interesting in wildly different ways. Engineers and graphic designers. Executives and writers. Our conversation flows through random topics and lands on our coworker, Carla, talking about the ballroom we’re standing in.

Carla’s showing our little group pics of her daughter’s wedding which was held here at the resort. “She met her husband when he tripped over her feet at the beach trying to catch a frisbee.”

I don’t miss how everybody’s eyes turn to me, and I have to laugh. “Okay, I get it. I’m glad to know I’m not the only klutz in town.”

Carla squeezes my arm fondly. “Who knows, maybe you’ll meet the love of your life the same way.” Instinctively, my eyes seek out Ivy across the room.

The DJ is playing a truly weird mix of music, but he finally settles on a slow song. Watching happy couples and aspiring couples and about-to-regret-their decisions couples out on the dance floor, I pull a pen from my inside pocket.

I’ve always been a doodler. The margins of my homework and class notes were covered in animals, people, trees, and random geometric shapes. In college, I turned the habit into a paying gig, drawing daily cartoons for the campus newspaper.

It morphed into my job now, marketing director and graphic designer for a small skateboard company. I get to use my cartoon drawing skills to create illustrations for skateboards and other merchandise like T-shirts and hoodies.

I’m never without my fineliner pen, and there’s always something to draw on—a napkin, a receipt, or a stray scrap of paper. It’s how I calm my mind and ease my way into social situations.

I’m sketching one of the offending unicorns on a cocktail napkin when someone plops down in the seat next to me and lets out a tired sigh. Ivy . My heart kicks into my throat, and my hand almost gives the unicorn a second horn.

“Mars,” Ivy whines like a toddler. “I can’t dance to this.” I finally look over at her and let out a laugh. She grins at me, knowing she’s being a pest. She’s using her pay attention to me voice that comes out when she’s had more than one drink.

“You don’t know how to dance? That’s sad for someone who looks so pretty in her fancy dress.” I know it'll irk her, but I can’t stop myself from teasing her. Ivy thrives on being competent in all things, so telling her she can’t do something is asking for trouble. Plus, I get to watch a blush light up her cheeks.

I’ve only known her officially a few months, since she joined The Base a couple weeks after I did. We bonded over our shared newness, but I’d seen her around town before that.

The first time was when I almost hit the side of her car while on my skateboard. That got my heart going, and not just because my life flashed before my eyes.

We both ended up at the coworking space, her sitting a couple desks away, facing me. In the months since, I filled a whole sketchbook with her face. Maybe not surprising considering how gorgeous she is. Tall, only a couple inches shorter than me, with strawberry blonde hair and hazel eyes. Ivy Lowenstein’s face was made for an artist’s canvas.

And I’m the lucky schmuck who gets to be her friend. She kind of adopted me the first time I broke the coffee maker at work. She came up to me and patted me on the shoulder. “Does somebody have a case of the Mondays?”

I laughed. “It’s Wednesday.”

“Yeah, but sometimes it’s a whole week of Mondays. Come on, you can make it up to everyone. Let’s go on a coffee run.”

We took people’s orders and walked to the local coffee shop, chatting the whole time. Boom . That’s it. Ivy was my friend. I bet she was one of those kids who would walk up to another kid at the park and say, “Want to be my friend?” and mean it.

In this moment though, she’s frowning at the DJ, and it’s fucking adorable. “We were all having a good time with the dance music, but then he slowed it down.” She crosses her arms in a huff.

I don’t know what the hell comes over me, but like a man possessed by the spirit of someone much more suave than me, like Remington Steele, I say, “Dance with me.” I stand and hold out my hand to her.

“You want to dance…with me?” Desperately, yes . Her eyes dart between my hand and my face.

“Don’t let the slow music defeat you, Ivy.” We once did a game night at our friend Joanie’s place, and I thought Ivy was going to flip the table when she lost a game of Connect 4. I know I’ve got her.

She unfolds her willowy frame from the chair, runs her hands down her form fitting dress, and takes my hand. I’m distracted by the electric current racing from my fingers to my heart to my cheeks, and I stumble a little leading her to the dance floor. Ivy’s giggle lights me up.

A song by First Aid Kit starts as I draw her into my arms. I keep a respectable distance between us, but everything in me wants to bring her closer so I can feel how well her subtle curves align with my body. The simple touch of my hand on her hip makes my fingers flex. They want to grab on and never let go.

With one hand gently on her back and the other holding hers, we start to move. “Where’d you learn to dance?” she asks.

“YouTube, mostly.” That earns me another laugh. “Had to learn for my dad and stepmom’s wedding. It was a requirement, and we had to dance for every subsequent vow renewal ceremony.”

“How many have there been?” She tilts her head and gives me a curious look.

“I’ve lost track, but it happens every few years. I’m starting to suspect Susan starts planning one every time my dad makes noise about wanting to go to couples therapy.”

“How...unfortunate.” Ivy tries her best to be diplomatic, but I can tell it’s a struggle. “I do love a wedding though. Even when I don’t know anyone. Other than the airport, it’s the best place for people watching.” I scrunch up my face.

“What, you don’t like weddings? Or is that face for airports?”

“Both?” Someone behind me stumbles into my back, and I end up stepping on Ivy’s toes. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” She winces but shakes her head.

“It’s okay. I’m fine.”

I accepted a long time ago that I'm an incurable klutz. My teen years were filled with painful embarrassment, but I eventually grew out of it. But when I step on toes or accidentally spill someone else’s drink, the old embarrassment comes back. As long as the bruises and dry cleaning bill are my own, I’m fine. But the small moment of pain on Ivy’s face makes the acid in my stomach turn.

Ivy gives me a reassuring pat on my shoulder, bringing me out of the mortification spiral I was about to fall into. “Really, Mars. I’m fine. Keep dancing.”

I peek down at her shoes. Open-toed and sparkly. The heel brings her up a couple of inches, so we’re eye to eye. I like that we’re on the same level. That I don’t have to hunch when she gives me a spontaneous hug.

What else lines up? Knee to knee? Chest to chest? Her softness to my hard? My cock to what I’ve imagined a thousand times to be the prettiest pussy in the world.

The thought of us being perfectly aligned makes me stumble again, this time stepping on her other foot. “Shit. Sorry.”

“Mars, relax. I agreed to dance with you knowing exactly what I was getting into.” She smiles at me. “It’s to be expected after having a few beers, right?”

“Right.” I've only had one beer. I’m not even close to buzzed. Maybe I’d be less of a disaster with more alcohol in my system. Ivy’s got some social lubrication going on. She can handle her liquor, from what I’ve seen whenever we go to the local bar, Foggy’s. But there’s a bright flush on her cheeks, and she’s sporting a perma-grin—a sure sign she’s had more than three glasses of her favorite drink, a martini.

The song changes but remains slow. Stuart and his girlfriend, Meredith, dance close to us, and Stuart’s shoulder brushes Ivy’s, sending her stumbling into me. So the third time I step on her foot is absolutely not my fault. It doesn’t matter though, because she winces, and my stomach knots. Again.

To avoid any more accidental run-ins, I bring her in a little closer and spend a small moment living in the smell of her shampoo. My head spins with the citrusy scent of her.

She sighs and leans her cheek on my shoulder, her body relaxing against mine. “Hmm, you make a great pillow,” she says in a tired, tipsy voice.

“Thanks, I’ll add it to my LinkedIn profile.” I laugh.

“There’s no way I’m going to be able to get to sleep tonight.” Her head shakes against my shoulder. I pull back to look at her. “Whenever I’ve been out socializing, my brain does this weird thing where I have to review everything that happened or I’ll never fall asleep. It’s like I have to put together a mental scrapbook.”

“I have this image of you holding up scorecards like a gymnastics judge. ‘Food, nine point three. Marked down for small portions.’”

She giggles. “Yeah, something like that.”

The toe of my shoe brushes her bare toes, but I pull back before I can fully crush her foot. Again. She gives me a small smile letting me know she misses nothing.

IVY

Poor Mars. Always poor Mars. I don’t know if his reputation as a klutz is well earned, but it’s there. We all trip or break stuff, but for some reason he’s That Guy at the office.

But dancing with him is…more than I expected. He’s easy going and quiet compared to my brusque style. And he smells nice. Even when he’s not surfing, he smells like sea air and bonfires on the beach. It’d probably be out of bounds to shove my nose against his neck while we’re dancing, although it’s more like lazily swaying at this point.

Maybe I can play it off like I stumbled. I mean, I’ve had enough to drink to play havoc on my senses. That’s probably why his hand feels so warm and nice on my back. Tingles and sparks dance where he touches me, even through the fabric of my dress.

The music picks up in tempo, and Mars guides me to the edge of the dance floor. “I’m going to spare you further injury. I don’t think you want me so close to your poor toes with this heavy beat.” But I wouldn’t mind you close to other things .

I don’t know where the hell the thought came from, but it’s not welcome inside my head. Mars equals friend . Mars does not equal hot guy who smells nice . I mean, he does, but that’s not how I want to see him. Yeah, I’ve been paying attention. It’s hard not to when he’s so damn snackable.

My brain has obviously fallen victim to the cocktails—Mars is right about me needing to get off the dance floor. I drop into a chair and prop an elbow on the table.

“Don’t move,” Mars commands and damn if a shiver doesn’t run down my spine as I watch him walk to the bar and ask the bartender for something. He shed his suit jacket a while ago, so I get to have a nice long look at Mars’ tuchus. It’s a nice one. I wonder if I’d have an ass like his if I started surfing.

I give myself a little shake. Whenever we hang with our group of friends, objectifying Mars has become a sure sign it’s time to call it a night. But I’m having so much fun, what with the dancing and the chatting and the unicorns, I’m not willing to leave yet.

Mars gently places a glass of water in front of me. No ice. Like how I ask for it whenever I’m out to eat. Huh.

“Drink up.” With me sitting down, he towers over me. Mars looks nice from this vantage point, and I wonder if he has any bad angles. I’m about to ask him when someone interrupts.

“Hey Mars, someone said you’re a surfer. Can I pick your brain about boards?” Miri, a newer Base member, puts her hand on Mars’ elbow, and I don’t like it. Couldn’t tell you why I don’t like it, so I’ll have to get back to you on that subject.

Mars, being the kind, helpful guy he always is, begins asking Miri if she’s a longboard or shortboard surfer and telling her about the best surfboard makers. He sounds like he knows what he’s talking about as they wander off to a quieter corner and leave me stuck here in my chair. I mean, not stuck. I can leave any time I want. But I’m determined to be cranky about something, and Mars abandoning me at this table fits the bill.

I don’t see much of him for the rest of the evening. Couldn’t tell you why I’m watching him like a hawk to see if he dances with anybody else when I spot him across the room, laughing with Stuart. His smile is contagious, even when it’s not aimed at me, and I find my face breaking into a grin.

My attention snags on Joanie stumbling out of the photo booth in the corner, looking a little disheveled as Colin stumbles out behind her. That’s so happening tonight. I’m surprised there’s no office bet on when those two will finally hook up.

Tired of my own company, I abandon my spot at the table and wander around the perimeter of the ballroom. This party is nuts. It’s like getting a rare glimpse inside Stuart’s fever dreams, only with good catering.

How Meredith and he got together I will never understand. If she’d organized this party, we’d be enveloped in her little black cloud existence and listening to every album by The Smiths.

The evening starts winding down. I’m ready to go home now and burn these shoes. Between their non-existent arch support and Mars’ wandering feet, my dogs are barking.

But Mars is off somewhere, probably saving a kitten, or jumpstarting someone’s car, or shining his…Marsness on someone else, and he’s not here to help me come down from all the socializing. I’m irrationally cranky that I can’t immediately find him.

Stuart and Colin are battling with some of the larger decorations as attendees begin trickling out of the ballroom, off to live out whatever poor decisions people make after a big party.

I want to make bad decisions with someone. It’s been months since I’ve slept with anyone, and I’m wound a little tight. I don’t know why a vision of Mars, my friend with a capital F flashes through my head. That almost never happens. I’m lying. Only when I’ve been drinking. Or not.

If I can’t wrap up the night with him, my other work friends will have to do. I plop down next to Joanie and Meredith to watch the boys clean up. I kick off my shoes and groan.

“Fuck, my feet are toast.” I wiggle my toes, trying to get the blood flow back. “Mars stepped on them at least three times when we were dancing.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize my mistake.

I should’ve known that little nugget would get the wolves circling. The wolves being two of my new and cool friends.

Meredith’s face takes on an evil gleeful kind of look as she leans past Joanie. That look makes me question my choice in friends. “Slow dancing?” she asks, drawing out the question. I feel the blood rush to my face.

Joanie stares at me like she’s about to write me into one of her romance stories. “Fascinating,” she says. I don’t blame her. She’s probably trying to deflect attention off her canoodling with Colin. They’re about to start something; we can all see it. And she wants to take people over the cliff with her.

“I’d tease you back, but honestly you scare me a little,” I say to Meredith.

“Good.” Meredith gives me a wink and sits back in her chair with a satisfied smirk.

The two toss tired jokes back and forth, but their focus remains on their men. Joanie won’t admit it yet, but Colin is hers, and Meredith looks at Stuart like he’s her favorite puppy.

I wonder what that kind of affection and love for someone feels like, to be confident in your relationship.

I sniffle, probably because the room has grown cold without so many bodies in it. I’ve never had what Meredith and Stuart, or The Base’s owner Sylvie and her husband, or the handful of obviously in love couples I saw tonight have.

My relationship history is filled with a string of disappointing boyfriends who all ended up letting me down in one way or another.

But good for these women. They get to go home with solid partners who obviously adore them without being intimidated by their success. I curl my fingers into the palm of my hand to keep the smile on my face and the tears at bay.

New rule— two drink maximum. This alcohol induced introspection thing is bullshit.

More people trickle out the door, and I watch them go, but my eyes keep looking for Mars. While Joanie and Meredith debate whether Stuart should be allowed to plan the next party without supervision, a small pit of tension grows in my stomach. Did Mars leave? Was he alone?

I finally spot him chatting with another coworker, laughing easily. The feeling of relief annoys me as much as it eases the tension that was building in my chest.

This night is beyond over for me. I say my goodbyes, pick up my shoes, and head for the door, not wanting to interrupt Mars’ conversation.

Something on one of the large round tables catches my eye. It’s the little drawing of an inflatable unicorn Mars did. Before I can think about it, I snatch it up and tuck it in my clutch.

“Hey Ivy, wait up,” Mars calls from behind me as I make it to the lobby of the Cliffside Resort. Warmth shoots up my chest to my cheeks, chased by a little wave of pleasure.

I give him a tired smile, taking a moment to appreciate all over again how his dress shirt fits his trim, broad shouldered frame perfectly. “Hey, I was going to catch a cab home.”

“Before giving me your thoughts on...all of that?” He tilts his head back at the ballroom, tucks his hands in his pockets, and rocks back on his heels. His teasing grin brings out one of my own.

I gesture to a group of seating in the hotel’s lobby, and he puts a hand on my lower back to guide me over. There goes that localized cluster of sparks again, radiating from where his hand barely touches me.

I sit heavily on a loveseat with a sigh, not sure I’ll ever get back up. I’ve hit the end-of-night wall. Mars sits down next to me and my head automatically goes to his shoulder. I could live here, surrounded by his sea air smell and his perfectly shaped shoulder.

He chuckles. “Tired?”

I nod against his shoulder. “That was a lot of socializing.”

“You’re not wrong. Okay, let’s break this down. Food?”

“Great, even if the combo of appetizers was...outside-the-box thinking.”

“Spoken like a true entrepreneur. Agreed. Music?”

“More outside-the-box thinking, but I enjoyed it.” I swallow hard. “Especially the slow songs.” I really liked that part.

He huffs out a laugh and rests his head against the top of mine. “Funny, because someone I know was complaining about them before she was shown some of the best dance moves ever performed in that ballroom.”

Throwing my head back in a laugh, I pat his hand where it rests on his thigh. His very nice thigh. “Sure, Mars.”

I can feel my eyes growing heavy. We need to wrap this up or I’m going to fall asleep right here.

“Decorations?” I ask.

“Honestly, I only really noticed the inflatable unicorns, and that’s because one attacked me.” He lets out a little self-deprecating laugh.

“Next time point it out to me so I can beat it up. Nobody attacks my friend and gets away with it.”

He hums and rubs his cheek against the top of my head. I snuggle even further into his shoulder. “Thanks for defending my honor.” We sit in silence for a handful of moments, my limbs growing heavier and heavier. “Come on, Ives, let’s get you home.” He pats my leg and begins to stand.

I sit myself upright, tamping down the disappointment from him taking his shoulder away. Mars holds his hand out to help me out of this overstuffed loveseat. I ignore the zing of...whatever...that races up my arm and across my chest. A mighty yawn escapes my mouth along with an embarrassing squeak.

Mars is kind enough not to comment on it, but his smile widens. We stumble our way out of the hotel lobby, and I’m grateful there are still a few cabs idling outside. He leads me to the front of the line and opens the car door for me. Such a gentleman.

Before I duck into the cab, I do something I’ve never done before. I lean up and kiss him quickly on the cheek. “Thanks for the dances…and the shoulder.” I dip into the cab and close the door before I can question why I did that.

Glancing out the window as the cab pulls away, I catch Mars giving me a hesitant wave. Whatever, it was only a friendly peck. No big deal. Oh, Ivy, you’re in so much trouble...

MARS

I’m not sure yet, but it is possible I’m totally fucked.