One Week Girlfriend(12)

I’m starting to realize money doesn’t buy happiness at all. And there I go again. I’m another walking, talking cliché.



Drew



The second we walk into the guesthouse, I exhale a huge sigh of relief, thankful to be out of that stifling house where I grew up. I still can’t believe how Adele acted toward me, like a jealous girlfriend ready to sink her claws into Fable. Calling her my little Fable, what the hell?

And my dad blatantly checked her out. It made my skin fucking crawl and I’m not the one who got the once over. This is far worse than I thought it would be and I’m embarrassed.

Maybe we should leave. Maybe I should put Fable on a bus and send her back home so I don’t have to subject her to this any longer. It’s awful and I don’t want to put her through it. I’ll even let her keep the money.

“Your parents are freaks.”

Her sweet voice insulting the people who raised me shocks me so much I start to laugh. And once I start, I can’t seem to stop. It feels good. When had I last laughed like this? I can’t remember.

“Are you laughing because I’m telling the truth, or because it’s better to laugh than yell at me for knocking your parents?” Fable sounds a little nervous, but I detect amusement in her tone too.

“You’re brutally honest and I appreciate it,” I finally say once I find my voice again. “And I agree. They are freaks.”

“It was so tense in there. I don’t get it.” She glances around the guesthouse. With its open floor plan and near identical wall of windows facing the ocean like the living room in the main house, it’s still impressive, but on a less grander scale. A lot more comfortable in here, doesn’t give off that ‘look but don’t touch’ vibe. “Oh, you have a deck outside. I want to check it out.”

I watch her slip through living area, heading toward the door, which she unlocks and opens without hesitation. I follow her, curious to hear more of her observations of my freaky family and I slip outside onto the deck.

She’s already leaning against the railing facing the ocean, the wind blowing through her long pale hair. She reaches into the pocket of her thin black coat and pulls out a single cigarette and a lighter, her expression full of embarrassment. “I’ve pretty much broke the habit I swear, but I like to carry a few cigs with me in case of an emergency.”

“And what happened in there is considered an emergency?”

Fable flashes me a quick smile before she cups her hand around the lighter and flicks it once, twice. Three times before it finally ignites. The cigarette dangles from between her lips and she brings the lighter to the tip, taking a drag and causing it to light. “Oh my God, totally.” She blows out a stream of smoke over the railing and the little gray cloud hovers in the darkness before it slowly disappears. “Your dad…I think he was checking me out.”

“He was,” I agree, my voice low. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.” She waves her hand, as if waving away what my dad did.

“I brought you here. Technically it’s my fault.”

Another wave of her hand as she dismisses my words. “I don’t look at it that way. I’ll just say this. Next time you bring a fake girlfriend, maybe you should prepare her a little better.”

I chuckle. There’s no way I’m bringing another pretend girlfriend here again. If I had my way, I’d never come back. I don’t care how beautiful this place is. I hate it. This house is like a prison to me.

“Can I ask you a super personal question?”

A ragged breath escapes me. Girls—more like Fable—and their super personal questions are going to be the death of me. “Go for it.” I have nothing to hide.

Bullshit. I have so much to hide it scares me.

“Drew…are you gay?”

Holy hell. Why does everyone think this?



Fable



I wait breathlessly for his answer. The air is frigid, the wind whipping around chilling me to my very bones. I’m blaming the sudden inhalation of nicotine for my way too brash question. I could’ve waited at least a day or two, right? Hang out with him a bit, get some personal time in with him first.

My big fat mouth and my extra curious brain couldn’t wait one second longer. I had to know. It would make spending all of this time with him for seven long days a lot easier. I wouldn’t have to worry about him trying to make a move on me.

Or worse, secretly wishing he would make a move on me. Wondering what my problem is and why he’s not attracted to me.

Holy crap, he still hasn’t given me an answer.

“Why do you ask?” he finally says, answering a question with a question, which I hate. Owen does that sort of thing to me all the time.