10. Salem
TEN
salem
I stare at my reflection, adjusting my black sweater for the third time. It’s new. Ordered in triplicate like all my clothes. Nothing is special about it except for the fact that I haven’t worn it yet. However, it feels different. Dressier.
Don’t ask me how since I have no idea. The soft material skims my curves in a way that makes me look normal. Like the type of girl who could really be dating a guy like Lee.
Fake date, I remind myself. Fake relationship. Fake everything.
“You look beautiful,” Noah comments from the doorway. He’s been watching me pace for ten minutes, counting my steps along with me without realizing it. “What’s got you worried?”
“It’s our first public date,” I say, checking my gloves again. “Everyone will be watching. Judging. Waiting for me to?—”
“Breathe.” He enters the room, careful not to disturb my perfectly arranged belongings. “You’ve got this. And from what you said about your coffee date and the week after, Sterling’s pretty good at handling your …” He waves vaguely at my organizing routine. “Stuff.”
He’s right. The past week of “practice” has been surprisingly … manageable. Lee remembers to sanitize without being asked. Warns me before touching me and never complains when I count, clean, or arrange things.
Then there is the kissing …
No . Do not think about that.
My phone buzzes, and I look at the text message.
Lee: I’m here. Hope you’re wearing something you can move in.
“What does that mean?” I show Noah the text. Panic starts to build low in my belly from the slight change in plans. “I thought we were going to dinner. A nice, quiet dinner. Clean silverware wrapped in plastic. Individual salt packets?—”
“Salem.” Noah grabs me by the shoulders, then immediately releases me when my entire body tenses. “This is what you need, what you want. Someone who will push you out of your comfort zone and help you find yourself again.”
“Yes, but what if …” My thoughts are a never-ending merry-go-round of everything that could possibly go wrong.
“Stop.” Noah shakes his head at me. “Don’t go down that rabbit hole, or you’ll never leave this room. A thousand things could go wrong, but there are also a thousand things that could go right. What if you enjoy yourself? What if you’re happy? What if you fall in love?”
Fall in love? I freeze at the last suggestion. I really hope not because nothing about us is real, and to fall in love with the man who is using me as a decoy sounds like heartbreak.
“It’s fake, Noah. All of it.” Air shudders out of my lungs. “I don’t want to fall in love with my fake boyfriend.” Oh god, I’m spiraling. “I can’t do this. I can’t.”
“Stop. Deep breath. You can do this. I’m sorry I said fall in love . You don’t have to fall in love with him, but you can use this opportunity to experience something new.”
“Something new,” I mumble.
“You trust him, right?” His question catches me off guard.
Do I?
Maybe.
Probably.
Okay, let’s be real. If I didn’t, there is no way I would be going anywhere with him. After a long moment, I nod.
Noah smiles, understanding how close to losing it I am. “Then that’s all that matters. Let him guide you and be your anchor. Not all change is bad, but you’ll never know if you don’t take the risk.”
It’s just a date and a fake one at that. You trust Lee. You know he won’t let anything bad happen, so what’s the problem?
Fear of other people, germs, the whispers, and strange looks. Even as my mind reels, my legs start to move, and I count the steps as I walk down the stairs.
I can hear my therapist’s voice in my head. “In order to conquer the fear, you have to expose yourself to it.”
Exposure therapy is what he calls it. I call it hell on earth.
Conquer your fears. You can do this.
My brother’s encouraging but imposing presence forces me to continue forward.
One: deep breath.
Two: checking my emergency gloves are packed.
Three: steps to the door.
Turning, I give my brother a weak smile.
“You’ve got this, Salem. Have fun, be reckless.” He smiles in return, and I step out onto the porch. It’s not too late to turn around and go back inside. I push the thought away and slowly descend the steps until I reach the sidewalk.
I don’t dare look up until I’ve reached the driveway.
By then I wish I hadn’t. Lee is beautiful, and it’s honestly disgusting because he doesn’t even try. All I can do is stare. Disheveled dark brown hair and lashes that frame a pair of eyes the color of clouds after a rainstorm. I can understand why so many have fallen for him.
I drag my gaze lower, roaming over high cheekbones and a strong jaw that looks chiseled from stone. I’ve looked at Lee many times before, but it’s like I’m seeing him in a different light tonight. In fact, his entire slender body looks carved from stone. I know he’s got an eight-pack on him. I’ve heard the rumors and even seen pictures shared with every girl on the cheerleading team and then somehow sent to every other club on campus. Lee has a body made for sinning, and I know that’s exactly what he uses it for.
He leans against his Jeep, all dangerous grace in ripped black jeans and a shirt that probably costs more than my entire wardrobe. Remember, he’s filthy rich, and he can have any girl he wants. I only tell myself this so I don’t end up falling for him. Maybe if I remind myself enough, I can stop the inevitable from happening.
His gaze drags over the length of my body in a similar way, but his expression is hungry, like he wants to take a bite out of me. His mysterious eyes keep me in place as they meet my own. Holy shit, is he good at acting.
“Ready, Pantry Girl?” he calls as I close the distance to him.
No. Never. But …
“Where are we going?”
His grin becomes mischievous as he opens the passenger door for me. “Do you trust me?”
I slide into the Jeep, noticing he’s already wiped down my seat and door handle from the lemony scent of disinfecting wipes in the car. These little considerations keep throwing me off balance. Fake or real, he’s far more thoughtful than any guy I’ve come across in years.
“That’s debatable. It’s our first date, and I only know a fraction of everything there is to know about you. Also, that’s not an answer.”
“No,” he agrees, starting the engine. “It’s not.”
“Are you going to tell me?”
Lee glances away from the road and right at me. “What would be the fun in that?”
I frown. “There wouldn’t be much fun, but at least I wouldn’t be anxious. I thought we were going to a restaurant to have dinner.”
“You’re worth more than a five-star dinner, Salem. You deserve it all.”
Why does he say things like that? He can’t, shouldn’t.
We continue driving past all the restaurants I researched. Past the safe, quiet places I’d prepared myself for. Past everything familiar until?—
“No.” The word comes out sharp when I spot the neon sign for Pulse. “No way.”
“Yes, way.” Lee parks but doesn’t unlock the doors. “I know you’re scared and afraid of something different, but if we want this to look convincing, we need to be seen and not just at some restaurant. The nightclub is perfect. At least one person there knows my family and will happily report back to a member of the Sterling crew. It’ll make waves, which is what we need.”
“Are you sure about that?” My voice rises. “Do you know how many people? How many germs? How much?—”
“I called ahead.” He turns to face me, all playful pretense gone. “VIP booth. Clean surfaces. Security will keep crowds back. I’ve thought of everything.”
“Lee … but?”
“Remember rule number one?” His hand finds mine, thumb tracing over my nitrile-covered knuckles. I went for black ones tonight to match my sweater at least. “You have to let me push your boundaries sometimes.”
I stare at the club entrance, cataloging threats.
Crowds (approximately one hundred people in line).
Exposed surfaces (countless).
Potential contact points (infinite).
“I can’t?—”
“You can.” He squeezes my hand. “It’s not that you can’t; it’s that you’re afraid. I’ve got you. We’ll be here for three hours, tops. Then we go home, and I’ll let you sanitize everything twice.”
“Three times,” I counter automatically.
His smile softens. “Three times.”
The bass from the club vibrates through the Jeep, matching my racing pulse.
“VIP booth?” I ask weakly.
“With sealed bottles only. And I already wiped everything down.”
“Three times?”
He laughs, low and warm. “Got there early and did it three times. Just for you.”
Something in my chest cracks open at that. At how well he knows me already. At how much effort he puts into making me feel safe.
“Okay.” The word comes out as barely a whisper.
“Okay?” His eyes light up with surprise.
“Three hours,” I say firmly. “Not a minute more.”
“Deal.” He kills the engine but doesn’t move to get out. “One more thing.”
“What?”
His hand slides up to my neck, his touch careful but sure. “Remember, we need to look convincing.”
Oh.
The kissing.
The part I wasn’t supposed to think about. It doesn’t matter, not really, since my brain short-circuits when his lips descend on mine. He tastes like mint and possibility. I don’t understand how, but I forget about the club, the crowd of people, the germs. All those things vanish in the wind.
Reality slowly funnels back in when he pulls back. His pupils are dilated, and his chest heaves as he breathes. “Ready now?”
I suck a ragged breath into my lungs and give him a quick nod. Fake. This is all fake—the kiss, his reaction, every smile and touch. It’s not real. He doesn’t want me, I tell myself—but my heart is already invested.
He wastes no time in rushing around the Jeep to open my door. I wish I had the same confidence he does. We go inside, skipping the line as the bouncer at the door gives Lee a jerk of his chin to allow us access.
Whoa. It must be nice to walk right into a place like that. Oh wait, shit. I just did.
My cheeks heat, my anxiety climbing higher as the bright lights, booming music, and scent of alcohol and sweat permeates the air. I shouldn’t be here. I don’t belong, but more than that, what if someone touches me? What if they see my gloves and laugh?
Lee gives my hand a squeeze as if he can sense my brain wandering to dark places. You can do this. Against my instincts, I let him guide me through the club while I tuck my head low and keep my gaze glued to the floor. I count each step we take and shut out my surroundings.
Sixty-three, sixty-four, sixty-five, sixty-six.
I know we’ve reached the VIP section when Lee’s steps slow. I squint against the bright lights and take in my surroundings, the anxious boulder in my gut shrinking. The VIP section is better than expected—elevated above the crowd, with clear sightlines to all the exits.
Lee leans into my side, and his breath skates across my earlobe, making me shiver. “I’m going to assume that the smile on your face means you’re happy?”
Am I smiling? I didn’t even realize it. “I’m just surprised. You really thought of everything, didn’t you?”
Placing his hand on my lower back, he guides me up the stairs into the booth. “I wanted it to be perfect.”
“It’s beyond perfect.” My chest feels warm, my emotions turbulent. I’m not sure if he realizes how much this means to me. No one except my family goes out of their way to show this level of kindness and care. “Here.” He presents me with a sealed bottle of vodka, already using a sanitizing wipe on the cap. “Premium stuff. No one else’s lips have touched it.”
I watch him pour the bottles into clean glasses, trying not to focus on the writhing mass of bodies below. “That’s a lot,” I observe as he downs his second shot, both of them back to back.
“Liquid courage.” His smile is all white teeth, gleaming in the light. “For both of us.”
I guess that makes sense. We’re at a nightclub, and honestly, my nerves will be shot by the time we finish here. A little liquid courage could dull the edges of anxiety, and maybe I’ll enjoy myself instead of worrying profusely.
The music pulses through the space, making my ears throb. It’s sensory overload between the flashing lights and thundering bass. But as I look back at Lee and the clean bottle in his hand, I know I have to try. He’s done so much, too much for me not to at least sit down and have a drink with him.
The bottle is clean. His hands are clean. The glass is clean.
It’s all a reminder, I tell myself, as I take the shot glass from him and down the bitter clear liquid, letting it blaze a path down my throat.
“How can anyone drink this?” I cough around the burn.
“The more you drink, the less it burns,” Lee states proudly while handing me another shot. Of course I take it, letting the campus bad boy corrupt me one drink at a time.
“Yeah, only because every nerve ending is fried off. Not because it stops burning,” I reply and wrinkle my nose at the next shot before taking it. Immediately, I regret it because it still tastes awful. I can’t believe I used to drink this crap straight from the bottle.
“One more because three is your lucky number.” Lee smirks, and all I can do is shake my head as I pluck the glass from between his fingers.
The alcohol burns a little less this time, and that’s either because of the proud grin Lee gives me or because the nerve endings in my mouth have been reduced to nothing.
“Good girl,” he whispers into my ear. His tongue darts out over his bottom lip to catch a stray drop of vodka. This foreign feeling unfurls in my stomach, and it resembles red-hot desire.
Note to self: Don’t let him call you a good girl. You may spontaneously combust.
Lee and I sit together, people watching for a while. The nearness of his body makes me feel safe and protected, and it’s easier to let go. As the alcohol works its way through my system, altering my senses and judgment, the world around me softens.
Below us, people writhe on the dance floor, their bodies colliding, everyone touching everyone. It’s a nightmare for a girl like me, yet somehow, I wish I could be in the thick of it. They’re all smiling, having the time of their lives, carefree and unaware of all the things that could go wrong.
“How are you feeling, Pantry Girl?” Lee questions, his tone curious.
“Like I shouldn’t drink any more vodka.” I smile back at him. “How are you feeling?”
“Better than ever with you by my side.” He winks, then orders another drink as the server passes by. It strikes me that he’s utterly at home in this environment—confident, authoritarian, at ease. But then, I imagine very few places where he wouldn’t feel like that, or at the very least give that impression.
The very opposite of me.
“Dance with me,” he says suddenly, standing and holding out his sanitized hand.
“I don’t?—”
“Trust me.” His eyes are dark and full of promise. “I’ll keep everyone else away.”
The vodka makes me brave enough to take his hand. I let him lead us to the dance floor, but he doesn’t stop in the crowd. Instead, he creates our own space at the edge, positioning himself between me and any potential contact.
“Breathe. Feel the beat of the music,” he murmurs against my ear. “Nothing else exists. No one else matters.”
He grabs my hips gently but firmly. I should panic. Should count breaths. Should run. I do none of those things. Instead, I lean back against him. The bass thrums through us as he guides my movements, his body a solid wall of heat behind me.
We dance for a while, then one of his hands splays across my stomach, his touch possessive and grounding. The air squeaks past my lips at the sensations he elicits out of me.
“See?” His lips brush my neck. “Not so scary.”
But it is scary.
Because I’m not counting.
Because I’m not thinking about germs.
Because all I can think about is him.
His fingers dig into my hips, and I feel his breath stutter against my neck when I roll back against him. The music pulses through us both, or maybe that’s just my heartbeat thundering in time with his. I swear he emits a low growl against my skin.
“Fuck,” he mutters, one hand sliding up my ribs, hovering just beneath my breast while the other splays possessively across my lower stomach, pulling me tighter against him.
I feel every hard line of his body, including one I definitely shouldn’t be noticing if this were really fake.
The vodka sloshing around inside my belly makes me brave. Makes me arch my back and tangle my fingers in his hair. His hips snap forward in response, and the sound he makes—half growl, half moan—zips through me straight into my core.
“Salem,” he warns, lips dragging across my pulse point, “you’re playing with fire.”
I turn to look at him. Our faces are so close now that our breaths mingle. “Maybe I want to burn.”
His eyes go dark, pupils blown wide. One of his thighs slides between my legs as we move, and suddenly, we aren’t dancing anymore; we’re communicating by a different sort of touch. The air crackles, and danger dances with us. This isn’t fake. This is real. The realest thing I’ve ever felt before.
I spin in his arms, and he adjusts his grip to mold me to his front. He doesn’t say a word as he lowers his mouth to mine. It’s a wild kiss as frenetic as the music, the dancing people around us, and my heartbeat in my chest. He tastes like vodka, and it soothes my hot mouth as I deepen our kiss for once.
His tongue tangles with mine, and then he pulls back enough to take my bottom lip between his teeth. It starts gentle and grows sharp. Enough that I gasp and pull away. The edge of my desire is dulled by the tiny bite of pain.
He keeps his eyes closed a moment longer, then blinks down at me, his expression dark with need.
“Water,” Lee murmurs against my ear, his voice rough. “You need water.”
I whimper at the loss of contact as he pulls away, immediately missing his heat, his barrier against the world. He presses a kiss to my temple—too gentle for our current state. And a sharp contrast to the tiny throb in my lower lip now.
“One minute,” he promises. “Don’t move from this spot.”
I nod, still dizzy from dancing, from vodka, from him. I watch him weave through the crowd toward the bar, all predatory grace even when drunk. His absence leaves me feeling strangely exposed, but I focus on counting the beats of the music instead of panicking.
One, two, three …
Four, five?—
Hands grab my waist from behind.
Wrong hands.
Wrong size.
Wrong smell.
“Hey, beautiful.” Unfamiliar breath hits my neck, reeking of cheap beer. “Let me show you how a real man dances.”
Terror freezes my lungs. My gloves feel too tight, my skin too small. Everything is wrong, wrong, wrong?—
“Let. Her. Go.”
Lee’s voice cuts through my panic like a blade, and I look up from the floor to see him standing in front of me. The hands disappear instantly, and I stumble forward into Lee’s chest. He steadies me with one arm while the other holds out a sealed water bottle—he remembered, even now, even furious.
“Sorry, man.” The stranger holds up his hands. “Didn’t know she was taken.”
“Look closer next time.” Lee’s voice is deadly soft. The kind of quiet that precedes violence. “She’s wearing my fucking jacket.”
I am? I glance down. Somehow I hadn’t noticed him draping his leather jacket over my shoulders earlier. Marking his territory.
“Honest mistake,” the guy tries, but he’s backing away. “She was alone?—”
“She’s never alone.” Lee shifts, angling me behind him. The movement is smooth, but his muscles are coiled tight. Ready. “She’s mine.”
The guy must have a death wish because he snorts. “Yours? Isn’t she that bitch who lost it a couple of years?—”
He doesn’t finish the sentence.
Lee moves faster than someone who has drunk as much as he should be able to, his fist connecting with the guy’s jaw in a sharp crack that somehow carries over the music. The club goes silent in ripples, attention drawing to us like blood in water.
“Say it again.” Lee’s voice is arctic. “Say one more fucking word about her.”
The guy spits blood, angry now. “You’re defending the campus psycho?”
This time when Lee swings, his target is ready. Chaos erupts as they collide, the dancers nearest us scattering. Someone screams. A couple of bouncers rip through the crowd, and I’m frozen with fear, watching as Lee defends my honor like some dark avenging angel.
I don’t understand. He shouldn’t care. None of this is real. We aren’t real , but the blood on his knuckles, the insanity surrounding us … all of that tells a different story.
The tension in the air snaps tight like a rubber band, and I know I can’t stand here, waiting, watching, knowing I caused this.
Clutching the water bottle to my chest while using my other hand to keep Lee’s jacket in place, I turn and find the nearest exit. I race through the growing knot of revelers, wincing every time someone touches me, dodging and weaving to avoid any skin contact. Panic claws at my insides, my throat closing up like I’m experiencing an allergic reaction. There are too many people, too much noise. I’m drowning, suffocating.
I slam into the exit door and rush out into the alleyway. Relief ripples across my senses as the night air blows through my hair. I gasp for air as if I’ve been holding my breath the whole time. Safe. I need to find somewhere safe to go.
My thoughts are a jumbled mess. The door behind me opens, and Lee’s warm scent fills my nostrils a moment before he envelops me in his arms. Even after what just happened, I don’t want to push him away or sever the connection, but I can’t. I just can’t.
Shrugging my shoulders, I pull away and turn to face him.
“No, don’t touch me.”
He holds his hands up in surrender, and my eyes gravitate to his bruised and split knuckles, which overlay other bruises and cuts. Has he been fighting before tonight? I hadn’t noticed when we got coffee.
It doesn’t matter. It’s none of my concern.
It’s a lie. Deep down, I know this.
It does matter, and I do care. I care more than I should, more than he deserves.
“I’m sorry.” His words are a slow exhale. “All I saw was his hands on you, and I lost it.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe systematically through my nose.
“I understand why you did it, and I appreciate you coming to my rescue, but …” When I blink my eyes open and see him staring at me, his fists opening and closing like he wants to reach out and grab me, that perfectly chiseled jaw clenched tight, I nearly crumple.
Protective. Kind. Smart. There are so many unseen pieces to the man standing in front of me, and I wish he would allow others to see them.
“But what? I shouldn’t use violence to defend your honor?”
I shake my head. “No, that’s only part of the problem. The other part is the fact that none of this is real. I’m not really yours. This date?—”
“You were mine the moment you agreed to fake date me.” Lee interrupts.
All I can do is sigh. This will never work.
We’re too different.
My knees shake, and I can feel the crash coming, the familiar exhaustion tugging at the edges of my mind. The first thing to give out is my legs, and I start to sink to the ground. Lee catches me mid-motion and hauls me up into his arms. “It doesn’t matter to me if this is fake or real. I’d still defend you against those assholes.”
My gaze darts to his lips, so close and full. His warm breath fans against my face. He smells like sweet vodka and soap. All I would have to do is lean forward and press my lips against his. Oh shit. That warmth, the electric zing that flows over my skin. It’s been years since I felt it. That distinct want and desire unraveling in my gut. To touch and feel.
I want him to kiss me like he did in the coffee shop.
The connection severs at the beeping of a car horn. Lee realizes this in an instant, his dark gaze softening. “Let’s get you out of here, Pantry Girl, then we can talk, yeah?”
I narrow my eyes. “Talk about how you can’t just go around slugging people. Sure.”
He chuckles. “A scolding, then. Can’t wait. Maybe we can graduate you to spanking afterward.”
I’m not sure if he means me or him.