Chapter Twenty-Seven
Phoebe
Hailey never told me where we’d be having our “double date.” I figured we’d be meeting up at a coffee shop or something, but the closer we get to Victoria Arts Cinema, the more my heart races.
“Hailey,” I whisper-hiss. “A movie date?”
Her pace is brisk while she applies black lipstick without a mirror (the realest talent). “I told Jake you’re a horror genre junkie, and this was his idea.” She elbows my side. “Isn’t he thoughtful?”
That’s not my immediate reaction. My brows knot into what I hope isn’t a permanent frown. “Where have you been having all these solo chats with Jake?”
“Baubles & Bookends.” She caps the lipstick and dumps it in her backpack. “He’s a big J. D. Robb fan.” The chains attached to her cargo pants jingle as we walk in town, passing a bicycle shop and breakfast diner.
“A movie date might be too much.” I gather my hair into a pony, hot all of a sudden, but after tying the lumpiest pony, I just let the blue strands fall against my white dress.
We’re almost late due to my massive indecision on what to wear. I’m basically in a little white dress—the sidekick of the little black dress—and is it too sexy? The neckline is borderline modest, and the fabric flows more than hugs my frame—but it’s still white.
White is pure. Virginal. Which my mom would say attracts men more than repels them. And typically, you’d want to be attractive toward a date.
Even a fake date.
But do I want to attract Jake?
I should. He’s a portal away from Rocky, and in theory, it should be easy to jump through. But it’s like the wardrobe takes me to family-friendly Narnia when I’d rather go to depraved Westeros.
Honestly, these confusing doubts never cropped up this high when I was fake dating Rocky. Picking an outfit shouldn’t be this complicated—for anyone!
Hailey senses my nerves. “Are you freaked out about kissing him in a dark theater?”
“I honestly didn’t imagine kissing Jake at all, but now that you bring it up, you can erase Nervous Nelly off my ID.” She hears my sarcasm.
“First-date jitters,” she teases me now, and I elbow her side. We break into smiles together, and then I blow out a breath.
“Okay, fine.” I lower my voice. “The guy I have the most experience fake kissing is your brother.”
“So this is even more perfect. You gain more experience fake kissing... or not kissing, maybe just fake-being-with-Jake, who’s not Rocky—”
“Which is a good thing,” I interject, trying to pump myself up.
“Yes, it is.”
“And you gain more experience in real dating.”
She nods, now looking a little nervous. “Yeah... it’s a win-win all around.”
“Yep.”
We don’t relax.
By the time we reach the eight-screen theater—the bulbed marquee advertising mostly classic horror movies now that it’s October—we’re ten minutes late. So neither of us are surprised that Jake and Erik are already inside, waiting beside the concession line.
Erik does have tattoos. A knife and skull are inked across his arm, and his black shirt says sink pisser in the top corner, a demon on the back.
Hailey really found her edgy match.
She goes in for a hug with Erik immediately, while Jake and I stop about a foot away from one another.
Why is faking it so hard with him?
Pretending to be in a relationship has been my job so many times...
“You look...” He scans the length of my body, and I check out his crisp blue button-down and khakis, returning to his eyes to see what lies behind them. I can’t really tell, but I do see a smidge of lust bobbing his throat. “...beautiful.”
“White is my color?” I joke more than flirt.
He lets out a throaty vacillating noise, unsure how to answer. At least I’m not the only indecisive one. “You’ve looked beautiful in everything you’ve worn, Phoebe.” It’s a soft compliment with a tender smile.
“Thanks,” I breathe. “You look great, too.” And I mean that.
A group of twentysomethings in Caufield University sweatshirts are noticeably gawking at us from the self-checkout ticket machines.
How did I become the center of town gossip?
Jake slides an arm casually over my shoulders and leads me into the concession line. While we wait behind a few other groups, I spot Hailey’s platinum-blonde hair as she disappears into Theater 4. Come back, I want to tell her like I’m a newly fledged con artist.
I can do this.
I’m not that rusty.
I loosen my joints and sink into Jake’s embrace. He gazes down at me with more curiosity than desire. He asks if I’ve seen this movie before, and I go off on a tangent about the greatness of horror films.
“There’s a lot to choose from,” I explain. “Horror has so many subgenres.” I count off on my fingers. “You have slasher, psychological, comedy, paranormal, monster, found footage, splatter films, body horror. There’s a type for whatever mood you’re in.” And am I excited the theater is reshowing Friday the 13th? Yes... yes, I am.
Jake is grinning.
“What?”
“Your love of horror films is cute.”
Is he flirting? Why can’t I tell if it’s real or not? More on edge, I just blurt out, “Cute was my love of Strawberry Shortcake and Care Bears when I was seven.”
“You?”
“Do I not look like a Care Bear lover?” I motion to my virginal white dress.
Am I really giving off “whore” vibes? Why? I want to know if it’s something I’m doing, or if I just appear like a quick lay right now.
“It’s not about looks,” Jake says. “You just seem...” He searches for the word, which is driving me nuts in one agonizing second. “Angsty.”
“Angsty?”
He tilts his head like it’s not the perfect choice. “I would’ve pegged you as someone who watched R-rated movies in the third grade and had no curfew. You’d be tuning in to Celebrity Deathmatch. Hailey is the one who’s gentler inside. You’re more hard-core.”
How does he know that?
Because we let him.
I’m super uneasy now. “That all might be true, too, but I did have a curfew.” Sometimes.
His lip slowly rises. “I did, too.”
“And Hailey likes Nine Inch Nails and Disturbed. Heavy metal is only an acquaintance of mine through her. My music choices aren’t hard-core.”
Jake looks away in thought, as though searching for Hailey, but he must realize she’s already in the theater.
We move up in line, and after another string of silence, I turn to Jake. “You want to know what Care Bear you’d be?”
His smile expands. “Yeah.”
“Polite Panda.”
His face falls into an eye roll. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“And what would Rocky be?”
I stiffen.
He eyes me. “If we’re going to date, I figured I should know about your past relationships.”
Right... my ex-husband.
“He’s Grumpy Bear,” I say. “Hailey is Funshine Bear, and I’m Give No Fucks Bear.”
He drops his arm from my shoulder as we become next in line. “You give plenty of fucks.”
Ugh. “Then maybe I am Angsty Hard-Core Bear.”
Natural-Born Liar Bear feels more like me, but just thinking it causes Rocky to pop back into my head.
“What about your past relationships?” I ask quickly, wanting to pry a bit. “Any exes?”
“Sure. Three ex-girlfriends. Never married.”
“Engaged?”
“No.” He shakes his head slowly but strongly. “My mother would’ve loved if I at least contemplated buying a ring, but I never did.”
After bumping into Claudia at the clambake and spilling a tray of champagne, I’m likely her nightmare for a potential daughter-in-law, which is exactly why Jake is dating me.
“How long were you married?” he wonders.
I have this answer, thanks to a marriage certificate and divorce papers Rocky bought from Carter. Since Rocky paid for the fakes, I agreed he could decide how long our marriage lasted. I was a little shocked he didn’t go the high school sweethearts direction where we would’ve been married at eighteen.
And then I remembered that Rocky tries to be extremely vague about his age. If we were married young, it might pose more questions about how old he is, and most guests at the country club already believe he’s around his late twenties, early thirties.
“Just a year,” I tell Jake.
“Newly divorced, I remember you saying.”
“Yeah, but time heals all, right?”
He smiles back at me, and we reach the concession counter. I order some chocolate-covered peanuts, a small popcorn, and a Fizz.
He gets a water bottle.
“Boring.” I eye his choice as we make our way inside the theater.
“I don’t go to the movies much,” he whispers. We walk down the aisle, passing Hailey and Erik in the back row, and we sink into our velvety red chairs in the middle section. He quietly tells me how he grew up with two home theaters, and his parents’ producer connections sent them screenings of new releases.
I say, “Quite the bougie upbringing.”
“You couldn’t have been far off if you have a trust fund.”
“Had,” I remind him. Past tense. In this backstory, my parents took it away.
He nods slowly. “What’s the story there? Parents didn’t love your husband?”
I think about how my mom adores Rocky, but thanks to Oliver, Jake already knows that my mom would wholeheartedly approve of me dating someone prim and proper like Jake Waterford. Which is also true. It’s easier to just lean into what Jake already believes than to construct the foundation of a new lie.
So I build off of his belief.
I nod just as slowly back. “Yeah. It was trust fund or Rocky, and they made it quite apparent that a divorce wouldn’t even earn me back in their good graces. The damage had been done. I chose him.”
Jake frowns. “And you lost everything.” I hear his sympathy.
I dip my head, more out of guilt that pills at my insides like a knotted blanket. Rocky hasn’t taken anything from me. He’s been doing more than enough to try to protect my new life with his sister. And I recognize how it’s not that smart to mention the truth, but I can’t let Jake think the absolute worst of a man who I...
The dreaded and vulnerable four-letter word recedes in my brain.
I look over at my fake date. “Rocky isn’t a bad person. He’s always been there for me.”
Jake thinks carefully before speaking. “I can imagine it must be hard... to still care for someone but know it’s better to be apart. That’s why you moved to Victoria?” he wonders. “To get away from him?”
I hate how there is truth in his theory. I should reinforce this belief, too. That this was always about moving on from Rocky.
But I can’t. It hurts too much to cement it out loud, especially to Jake. So I say, “It’s just a fresh start for me and Hailey.”
Jake studies me in the dim lighting of the theater. The screen is blank, and I’m hoping the trailers start soon and shroud my burning face in total darkness.
“Yeah,” he says gently, as though not wanting to push too hard. “I hope yours is what you hope it will be.” He sounds genuine again, but I know he’s hoping my fresh start excludes my ex-husband.
The trailers are starting.
Thank the Lord. I try not to sink in my seat. Lights lower until darkness blankets the rows of chairs. Once the horror flick begins, Jake wraps his arm around me. I know now that he wouldn’t be shocked I watched The Exorcist at twelve.
My mom said, “If you ever need to pick a movie for a date, always choose horror, bug. It’s so easy to pretend to be interested in them during a jump scare or a slasher scene. Instead of covering your own eyes, lean into them.”
The movies never scared me. They still don’t.
When Jason kills, I play my role and hide in the crook of Jake’s arm. I can feel the low chortle of laughs that rumble his chest. I don’t understand, so I dip my head closer to his ear. “Why are you laughing at me?”
He turns his head to meet mine, our lips inches away. My whole body tenses. Real or fake? I don’t know, and that uncertainty blisters every part of me.
I don’t like being kept in the dark.
His hand cups the base of my neck before he leans past my lips to reach my ear. “I know you’re not really scared. You’re playing it up. It’s cute.”
It’s cute, again.
Gross.
Rocky would never call me cute. He’d probably tease me for being a big baby and then remind me that I’m fooling no one and my acting is worse than subpar—that he’d give more stars to the actors in a bad porno. And I’d call him a fuck-face. He’d say he’s never fucking my face, and I’d tell him he wishes he could fuck mine.
We’d stare at each other. For so long. Until one of us breaks.
Except, we never really break. Because if we did, I’d be on a real date with Rocky and not a fake one with Jake.
My lungs feel full, but I can’t expel the deep breath I took. I just replay that imaginary scenario with Rocky over again. And I realize... I’d like it. Why would I like it?
Because I’m not attracted to Polite Pandas.
I want Grumpy Bear.
You can’t have him.
I ease away from Jake, avoiding his gaze as I shove popcorn in my mouth. Halfway through the movie, I twist in my chair and spot Hailey making out with Erik in the back. Good for her. At least one of us is having a decent time.
Jake’s phone rings. Not just buzzes. Full on rings.
I turn to him with shocked eyes. Who doesn’t put their phone on silent in a movie theater? Oh yeah, the guy who has never been to one in his life.
Wait... his ringtone.
It’s an ABBA song.
Jake is flustered as he digs for his phone.
“Turn it off!” someone yells in the theater.
“I’m trying,” Jake politely whispers under his breath. He hits silent, and I get a flash of a number on his phone. No name. “Excuse me...” He stands up and slips past me.
I’m about to follow him when he shakes his head at me.
Something is... not right. That song was not an angry I hate you ballad that he usually awards his family members. But it was important enough to leave the theater to call back?
I spin around in my seat, and Hailey catches my gaze. She looks just as confused, and she nods toward the doors like go.
After setting my popcorn tub on the floor and wiping kernels off my lap, I leave the theater. It takes a second to find Jake, sitting on a bench outside the bathrooms. He’s texting, and when he sees me, he slips his phone in his pocket.
“You didn’t have to come out here,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “I know you were looking forward to the movie.”
I sit down beside him. “It’s okay. I’ve seen it before, remember?” Eleven times. “Who was that?”
“No one, really.”
My brows rise. “?‘Chiquitita’ was the ringtone.”
He stares at me. “So?”
“So...” How can he not be following? “I’ve only heard power hate ballads come out of your cell. Who’s special enough to get that song?”
He laughs, but it’s weak. “You’re going to think I’m a rich prick.”
“Newsflash, Jake, I already think that.”
He takes a breath. “It was my broker. Probably the only decent person in my life.” He seems genuine, but I haven’t been in town with my best A game. I haven’t zeroed in on his tells yet.
I don’t like that I can’t discern if he’s lying or not.
It’s not good. Especially if he’s my fake boyfriend. That’s what made Rocky and me always work: I knew where the con was at all times. Here, I’m just in the dark.