Faked, page 1
FAKED (a KILL DEVIL INK holiday standalone)
Copyright © 2021 Sarah Darlington
Cover Design by T.E. Black Designs
Editing by Kamaryn Kretz
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, and events portrayed in this book are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced throughout this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
TABLE OF CONTENTS
~ CHAPTER 1 ~
~ CHAPTER 2 ~
~ CHAPTER 3 ~
~ CHAPTER 4 ~
~ CHAPTER 5 ~
~ CHAPTER 6 ~
~ CHAPTER 7 ~
~ CHAPTER 8 ~
~ CHAPTER 9 ~
~ CHAPTER 10 ~
~ CHAPTER 11 ~
~ CHAPTER 12 ~
~ CHAPTER 13 ~
~ CHAPTER 14 ~
~ CHAPTER 15 ~
~ CHAPTER 16 ~
~ CHAPTER 17 ~
~ CHAPTER 18 ~
~ CHAPTER 19 ~
~ CHAPTER 20 ~
~ CHAPTER 21 ~
~ CHAPTER 22 ~
~ CHAPTER 23 ~
~ CHAPTER 24 ~
~ CHAPTER 25 ~
~ CHAPTER 26 ~
~ CHAPTER 27 ~
~ CHAPTER 28 ~
~ CHAPTER 29 ~
~ CHAPTER 30 ~
~ CHAPTER 31 ~
~ CHAPTER 32 ~
~ CHAPTER 33 ~
~ CHAPTER 34 ~
~ CHAPTER 35 ~
~ CHAPTER 36 ~
~ CHAPTER 37 ~
~ CHAPTER 38 ~
~ CHAPTER 39 ~
~ CHAPTER 40 ~
~ CHAPTER 41 ~
~ CHAPTER 42 ~
~ CHAPTER 43 ~
~ CHAPTER 44 ~
~ CHAPTER 45 ~
~ CHAPTER 46 ~
~ CHAPTER 47 ~
~ CHAPTER 48 ~
~ CHAPTER 49 ~
~ CHAPTER 50 ~
~ CHAPTER 51 ~
~ BONUS CHAPTERS ~
PREVIEW: MAD LOVE
~ CHAPTER 1 ~
~ CHAPTER 2 ~
ALSO BY SARAH DARLINGTON
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
To my editor, Kamaryn.
~ CHAPTER 1 ~
NOVA
Of course I’m faking it. I’d been faking it since I was sixteen years old.
Every orgasm during sex. Fake.
Every sigh and moan. Every compliment and encouragement. Fake.
No, sir, you do not have the biggest dick I’ve ever seen.
Every cute conversation and sultry smile with one of my customers across the bar.
Fake. Fake. Fake.
So, why was it this hard for me to find a fake date for my sister’s wedding? Christmas was in one week, her wedding on the 26th, and I had yet to find a handsome, brainless, charismatic nobody to pretend to be my date for what was sure to be one week of utter hell.
“Him?” Gianna asked, pointing at one of my regulars across the room. Gianna was a waitress at The Oyster; I, a bartender. We’d been friends ever since I started working at this hole-in-the-wall strip club three years ago. I stared at this guy named Patrick Kelley sitting at one of the tables, drink in hand, gazing up at Heather on stage.
Poor lonely weirdo in the glow of the haphazardly strung Christmas lights.
“Yeah, no.”
Patrick was only around five foot nine—ten tops, his brown hair scraggly and to his shoulders. He had nice eyes and a gentle smile. But let’s be fucking real—I wasn’t about to bring one of my strip club regulars home to meet my parents.
“He comes in a lot for you.”
“You sure it’s for me?”
“I’m sure.”
“I don’t want some psycho stalker from the strip club at my sister’s wedding.”
“He’s not a psycho,” she whispered. “He’s… almost handsome.”
“He comes in way too much.”
“Every Wednesday.”
There was this small moment where I thought Patrick, the strip club regular, was a decent human. He almost made me laugh. Like a genuine, real laugh. But then he followed it by bringing in his friend the following night. An incredibly gorgeous man with tattoos up to his perfect jawline who called me, and I quote, ‘the chipmunk girl.’
What the fuck?
Honestly. I received enough bullshit about my voice growing up. I didn’t need to hear it as an adult. A few months back I’d had septoplasty, which finally helped me breath better through my nose. And, admittedly, had improved the pitch of my voice. But I still hadn’t forgotten about the ‘chipmunk’ comment from his friend.
“I think you’re running out of options,” Gianna pointed out. “Christmas is in a week.”
“Ugh.” I groaned. “You’re right.”
For shits and giggles, I decided to go talk to Patrick. What harm could come from a conversation? We hadn’t had one since the ‘chipmunk’ night. He’d kept his distance from me since then. Maybe I’d read him wrong this whole time. Maybe I shouldn’t judge people so harshly. Maybe he could be the date I needed for this wedding.
I grabbed a clean glass, tipped it to its side to fill it with an IPA on draft. Then, drink in hand, I stepped away from my safe haven behind the counter. I never ventured to the other side. When I did, sleazy men would try to stick money in my jeans. Others would proposition me for a blow job in the bathroom. It was fucking ruthless on the other side of the bar. But I left my spot and walked to Patrick. I set the drink down in front of him.
“How are you with families?” I demanded.
He sat up straighter in his seat. He hadn’t expected me. The vodka tonic he’d been drinking went all over his shirt, soaking the material.
“How are you with families?” I tried again.
“Excuse me, what?”
“Ugh,” I groaned and sat down in the seat across from him. I helped myself to the beer I’d brought for him. He didn’t need it. He clearly was a mess. I usually didn’t drink while working, but it was dead in the club today. Most normal people were home with their families or out doing last minute shopping. Or hell, at work. “How are you at meeting other people’s families?” I asked again after I took a long sip. “Like, when you have a girlfriend… when you meet her family, how are you? Are you the good impression type? Are you the charismatic type? Are you likeable? Can you bullshit people?”
“You’re implying that I have lots of girlfriends. Lots of opportunities to meet my fictional girlfriend’s family. Um, no, that’s not me.”
I stared at him. Well, this conversation had been a waste of time.
“But hypothetically,” he added. “If I had lots of girlfriends, I think I’d be fine with their parents. I get along well with strangers. Most regular, non-beautiful strangers. Sure. I can bullshit them all day.”
Hmmm. I kind of believed him. He lost his shit every time he tried to talk to me. Now was no different as he tried to ring out his wet shirt unsuccessfully. But I remembered him laughing with his hot friend that night. He’d been normal with him. Joked with him. Not to mention, he got along well with all the other employees here.
I glanced at Gianna. She stood beside the bar in her mini skirt, giving me two thumbs up. It seemed she found him decent enough. I wasn’t so easily convinced. I needed to test his potential more.
His ‘fake date’ potential.
“Can you answer more questions?”
“Shoot.”
“How were your grades in high school?”
~ CHAPTER 2 ~
PATRICK
The bartender at The Oyster—she was talking to me. Her mouth moved a mile a minute as she, more accurately, interrogated me. But words were still words, and I’d take any from this woman.
“How were your grades in high school?” she wanted to know.
“I graduated.”
“And college?”
“I graduated that, too.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders straightened. “Okay.” There was a hint of surprise in her voice. Her very neutral voice. The last time I’d dared to speak to this woman, her voice had been a higher pitch. I wondered if she’d had some sort of surgery to correct it. Then I felt like the biggest fucking jackass on the planet.
“What do you do for a living?” she continued.
“I work at Kill Devil Ink.”
“You’re a tattoo artist?”
“I’m the receptionist.”
She groaned. She pushed her golden hair behind her ears. “How are you at lying?”
“I fucking excel at it.”
She sat back in her seat. I don’t think she expected that sort of answer out of me. But lying—it was kind of my forte.
“Hey,” I told her, leaning forward, ignoring my wet shirt sticking to my chest. “I’m not sure what you’re asking of me, or why. But I’ll do it. I’ll meet your parents. I’ll be your pretend boyfriend. Whatever it is you are interviewing me for, I’m there.”
“A date to my sister’s Christmas wedding in Colorado?”
“That’s it. That’s me. I’ve never been to Colorado. I would love to go.”
Her face went scared-shitless blank. She was by far the most beautiful woman to ever give me more than three minutes of her time. Just the sight of her behind the bar, wearing that black choker, the one straight out of the 90s, around her perfectly slender neck… it made my skin buzz. It was hard to look at her and not fucking fantasize about seeing her in bed, wearing nothing but that choker.
I could watch Heather, the stripper currently dancing, shake her tits on stage all day, and never worry about her voluptuous body giving me an erection in public.
This woman, however…
I had to worry about her fucking neck giving me an erection.
I made a point of keeping my eyes on hers when we spoke.
I couldn’t embarrass myself in front of her.
“I don’t know your name,” I said in all honesty. “And I’d really like to know it.”
I could see the uncertainty on her face growing. “Nova.”
Nova. Finally. Not the chipmunk girl.
“Real or fake,” I asked. “I mean, if I were hypothetically going to be meeting your parents, I think I’d need to know your name. Your real name.”
“Nova is my real name.”
“Then nice to meet you, Nova.”
“I never said you were going to meet my parents.”
“You never said I wasn’t. Look—” I stood up, for once in my life finding some sliver of composure while talking to this woman. “You know I come into this place every week for you.” I tugged my wallet from my wet jeans and pulled out a ten and a few ones for the waitress who’d been serving me prior to Nova’s arrival. I dropped the bills on the table. “I’m not here for the titties.” I glanced at the stage, and noticed Heather was close enough to hear me talking about her. “Although, those are a nice bonus,” I added, addressing the dancer.
Heather winked at me.
I turned my attention back to Nova. “I like coming in here to see you. Whether we speak or not, it gives me a little bit of comfort each week. I don’t think that’s a secret. I’m pretty sure everyone in here knows I have a crush. And if you need help from a friend. I could help you. But the last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable. I see that I am doing that. I’m always doing that. So… bye, Nova. Have fun at your sister’s wedding. And a good Christmas.”
I stepped away from the table.
Once upon a time, I’d been that kid in high school. The popular, good looking, quarterback. In college, I hadn’t made the team. Without that title, the girls didn’t find me half as attractive as they had before. On top of that, I struggled to keep out of trouble. In the end, I barely graduated. And finding a job with my lengthy history, wasn’t as easy as I’d always expected it to be. This little fantasy I’d made up in my mind about Nova—was just that. A fantasy. She was beautiful. She’d always be beautiful. But I was suddenly afraid that if I got to know her, the real Nova, that reality wouldn’t live up to my dream. And I didn’t need another disappointment. Life was always fucking disappointing me. I wanted to keep Nova on her pretty little pedestal.
Perfect bartender Nova and her sexy black choker.
So I left. I left before another thing in life went rancid.
Only, I never expected her to follow.
~ CHAPTER 3 ~
NOVA
I chased a boy. I took off my apron, told Gianna to cover for me, and chased this guy into the parking lot. The wind had picked up since my shift started. It was mist-raining now, the water coming off the bay, and the temperature bit at my skin. I found Patrick in the back of the lot, getting into an old rusty red Honda Civic.
Oh, even his car is tragic.
“Hey,” I yelled at him. “Would you really do it? Would you go with me to Colorado, pretend to be my boyfriend, be my date to this wedding, make nice with my whole fucking family, and spend Christmas with me?”
He opened his car door. Ignoring me, he pulled something out—a coat. He had to be freezing in his wet shirt, so I guess a coat made sense. But rather than putting the coat on his own body, he brought it to me. Patrick draped his tan, corduroy thing over my shoulders. It covered my bare skin and the bikini top my boss, Frank, made all the bartenders and servers wear as part of our uniform.
In my heels, Patrick and I were exactly the same height.
“Would you?” I repeated, staring at his brown eyes.
I’ll admit. The coat had been a nice gesture. I was also impressed with the way Patrick kept his eyes on my eyes as I spoke to him. The weather had turned my nipples as hard as diamonds under the flimsy fabric of my top. Other guys wouldn’t have been as good at pretending not to notice that sort of thing.
“I would,” he decided.
“Yay. For free?”
“Of course, for free.”
“I’m not going to pay you with sex.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.”
Maybe I should pay him, I realized. That way there wouldn’t ever be any doubts that this was purely a platonic agreement. “How does two-thousand dollars plus your round-trip plane ticket sound? That should cover any expenses while we’re there. Okay?”
He stared at me for a long moment.
“And you have to cut your hair.”
His eyes narrowed. “I’ll take my coat back, thank you.”
He put out a hand, seriously wanting his ugly-ass coat back.
“Patrick,” I whined, not letting the coat leave my shoulders, holding it closer. “Please. It’s just hair. And you could really use a haircut. My parents are crunchy, but seriously. Your hair needs help.”
“Okay. Yeah. Sure.”
He agreed. That was easy. Too easy?
“Yes?”
“Yes. Fine. I’ll go. I’ll be your date.”
I was so excited that this might work that I started blurting out all the details. “The flight is tomorrow. Your ticket is going to be a bitch to pay for last minute like this, but I have some money saved. The wedding is on the twenty-sixth. We’re staying in this old hotel in the Rocky Mountains. Think, the Shining. But hopefully not haunted. My entire extended family is coming. And all of Cassi’s friends. I already told my mom my new ‘boyfriend’ was coming. Oh, and my ex—he’s in the wedding party. He’ll be there all week, too.”
“Shit,” Patrick said. He ran his fingers over his now slightly rain-damped hair. “I do need a haircut then. And I need to go. I have a ton of stuff to do if the flight is tomorrow.” He stepped toward his car. “You’re coming with me, right?”
“I have to finish my shift.” I pointed back toward the neon flashing Oyster sign.
“Oh. Right.” He shrugged. “Call me after.”
“Sure.”
We exchanged numbers, and I tried to remember the last time I exchanged numbers with a guy who seemed half as nice as Patrick. I watched him type my number into his phone, kind of appreciating the curve of his lips and the structure of his jaw.
Was that potential I saw?
“I’ll call you tonight. So I can start teaching you the history of everyone in my family.”
“Sounds like a fun phone call,” he joked.
He opened his car door. Oh Christ, it was a mess in his car. Like clothes and junk and books everywhere. It was messy enough to make me nearly reconsider every nice thought I’d had about him over the last couple seconds.
Patrick drove away, and I walked back for the building.
“What the hell, Nova?” I said out loud into the air as I walked over pavement in my heels. “This is going to blow up in your face and you know it. Merry freaking Christmas.”
~ CHAPTER 4 ~
PATRICK
My alarm went off at four in the morning. I hadn’t woken up this early since… ever. I had a beautiful woman picking me up and driving me to the airport. She’d be here soon. Nothing like waiting till the last minute, I dug through the junk in my spare bedroom for an old suitcase I knew I had stored in there. Once I found it, I started piling my warmest and nicest clothes inside. That was when the doorbell to my house rang.
“Coming,” I yelled, rushing for the door.
Nova.
I answered it and there she was. I’d never seen her like this. She looked like a fluffy snow angel. She wore a pale pink puffer jacket, boots made for a blizzard, and more makeup than I’d ever seen her in. Who the hell was this girl? And where was the normal, almost-grim Nova?
