The Fine Art of Pretending (13 page)

“Can I help you find something in particular?”

She spins around, eyes bugged out.
Busted
. Placing a hand over her chest, she exclaims, “God, you scared the crap out of me!”

I lift an incredulous eyebrow. “Uh, Kaitie, it’s
my
room.”

She winces and slides her back down my dresser, pulling her knees into her chest. “Sorry for touching your stuff.”

I shrug. I don’t really care if she borrows my clothes; she’s just never done it before. Kaitie’s five years younger than me and only just getting to the age where she cares about this stuff. “Is there something you need?”

“Tonight’s the team sleepover at Baylee’s,” she explains with a defeated frown, “and I don’t know what to wear.”

Now I get the dilemma.

Brandon likes to tease that
I’m
a worrier, but honestly, my sister has that market cornered. She’s an introvert, an extreme one, but while talking to people outside her family and friends is a challenge, Kaitie’s biggest obstacle is her perfectionism. One small mistake or hiccup haunts her forever. That’s why I pushed her to join the junior-high rec team and why I agreed to co-coach it, even though my schedule is utter chaos. Six games and a one-hour practice a week is nothing compared to giving my sister the confidence that I know sports can bring. I’ve experienced it, and I want that for Kaitie.

I climb out of bed, pausing to ruffle her hair on my way to the dresser. I scour through the mess until I find an old pair of Fairwood Academy P.E. shorts and a
Kiss my ace!
T-shirt.

Kaitie grabs them excitedly and hugs me. “Thank you!” Then she sprints for the door, calling over her shoulder, “Gotta pack!” She disappears into her side of the bathroom, but then sticks her smiling face back in. “I’m so glad you’re home!”

“Me too, doodle-bug.”

Alone again, I look at the mess and sigh. Since I’m up, I might as well begin the laborious task of separating laundry into piles.
Yay!
I make decent headway until a muffled Taylor Swift song begins playing from under one of the mounds and I mess them all up again, searching for my lost cell phone. I follow the music to a pair of jeans, singing along with the chorus, and pull the phone out. Brandon’s face grins up at me.

I fluff my hair and smooth my shirt, then realize he can’t see me anyway. Clearing my throat, I answer the phone before the second verse starts. “Hey, what’s up?” Nice, casual, without a hint of any lusty, hormone-filled innuendo. Well done.

“Aly?” Brandon sounds far away, and I hear clattering on the other end. “I thought you’d never pick up. I need help. Baylee’s hosting the team sleepover tonight—”

“I know, Kaitie already ransacked my drawer,” I interrupt, still proud she’s stepping outside of her comfort zone and going. “I don’t envy your mom tonight, that’s for sure.”

He groans. “Yeah, well, Mom just got called to take over a night shift at the hospital. I’ll be here, but I don’t think the parents want a seventeen-year-old guy alone with a bunch of thirteen- and fourteen-year-old girls.”

I snort. “Uh, no, I don’t think so.”

Silence on the other end.

“Brandon?”

He clears his throat. “So, yeah, I was thinking, maybe you can ask your mom if you can help chaperone? I mean, considering I’m now your man and all, I don’t guess you have a hot date or anything, right?”

I laugh at his teasing tone, and then his words sink in.

I’d be alone with Brandon. All night. Unsupervised.

My stomach flutters. Normally I’d be on shift at the theater, but I got the weekend off to recover from the camping trip. “Um, I don’t know. Let me go ask and I’ll call you right back.”

I disconnect and stare at the phone. A slow smile spreads across my face. Then I barrel through the door. “MOM!”

Not in the kitchen. Not in the living room, office, or laundry room. I plow through her bedroom and pull up short when I finally find her sitting at the vanity in her bathroom.

“Hey, Mom,” I say, taking a seat on the huge, claw-footed bathtub. “You’re looking good.”

She meets my gaze in the mirror with a hint of amusement shining in her eyes.

Okay, it’s about to get thick in here. There’s no way she’s gonna go for me having a co-ed sleepover with the guy she now believes to be my quasi-boyfriend. Maybe before she saw us at the camping trip, but not now. This is going to take a lot,
a lot
of sucking up.

“Seriously,” I say, smiling big. “Dad’s not gonna know what hit him. Sting either. He’s going to take one look at you from up on that stage and pull you into his harem.”

Dad is taking her to see Sting…again, a date-night tradition from back in college when they discovered their mutual love for The Police. And tonight, the thing that’ll keep her from suggesting
herself
as the new chaperone.

Mom taps her blush brush on the makeup mirror and gives me a pointed look. “Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing with the flattery, missy. Though, I do look pretty hot if I say so myself. My men deserve nothing but the best.” She picks up her eyeliner and, without looking at me, asks, “So what is it? You need more new clothes? You broke something? What?”

I sigh and fidget with the star sapphire ring on my finger.
So much for sucking up
. “You know how Kaitie’s going to that sleepover thing? At Baylee’s?” Mom nods, so I continue. “Well, Brandon just called. His mom was pulled into work at the last minute and can’t stay to chaperone, and
nobody
thinks it’s a good idea for Brandon to do it by himself. That’s just asking for a lawsuit or a scandal of epic proportions.”

She sits back from lining her eyes and folds her arms. “And?”

I clear my throat and convert my smile into sweet and innocent. “So we thought maybe I should go over there. Help watch the girls, show off my mad baking skills, keep the dragons of gossip away. You know, be a good big sister and bond with my team.”

Mom rolls her eyes. She shakes her head, staring pensively at her reflection, and purses her lips. “Kaitie’s really been looking forward to that sleepover. It’s the only thing she’s talked about all week.” She pumps her mascara wand in the tube and makes the requisite mascara-face in her mirror. With mouth open and words distorted, she says, “And I know Sheila must be disappointed missing the sleepover, too.”

I bounce my foot but keep quiet. My input now can only work against me.

After leaning in to comb through and inspect her eyelashes, Mom turns to me. “Okay.” I sit there, flabbergasted, as she pauses, squints, and then nods. “I trust Brandon, and more importantly, I trust you. You can go.”

I totally didn’t see that coming. I mean, I was hopeful, but severely doubtful. Jumping up from my perch on the bathtub, I lean down, breathe in Mom’s heavenly scent of roses and baby powder, and smile at her reflection. “Thank you!”

Her mouth says, “You’re welcome.” The look she gives in the mirror says,
You better not make me regret it
.

I nod to both messages and slink out the door, then dash back to my bedroom. I pull up my recent calls and tap Brandon’s name. The moment he picks up, I blurt, “I’m in.”

It’s not until after we hang up, with me promising to be there by six, that nerves set in.

I touch my lips, remembering the feel of his mouth on mine. Our kiss sent
me
reeling, but I’m not naïve enough to think it affected Brandon the same way. He’s hooked up with countless girls, girls with a ton more experience than me. For all I know, he could’ve thought kissing me was like kissing his sister.

Or air.

What if he was bored kissing me?

I let the horror of that thought sink in for about thirty seconds before squaring my shoulders. It’s not like it matters if he was bored anyway because it’s not happening again. This mission is about getting Justin. Brandon and I already had our shot, and he turned me down. My eyes flit to our Homecoming picture on the Wall of Shame.

It was freshman year, three years ago, but it still stings when I think about it. I can’t let myself go down that path again. Brandon is my friend. And my
fake
hookup.

That’s it.

Still, as I pick up my duffle bag and dump the clothes inside it onto the floor, I can’t stop the butterflies from taking flight as I ponder what pajamas
I
should bring tonight.

“They’re here!”

I hear Baylee’s squeal from behind the closed red wood door moments before it opens and an excited ball of energy envelops me in a hug. “Thank you so much for coming! Now it’s really gonna rock!”

A deep, sexy chuckle comes from behind Baylee, and my pulse quickens. Brandon leans against the door and smiles. Despite my mental pep talk back in my room, and again on the drive over, my palms slick with sweat.

“Glad to be here,” I say, stepping back from the girl’s embrace.
Focus on why you’re here, Aly
. “Now put me to work.”

Kaitie and I came early to help set up, knowing their mom would be getting ready for her shift and Brandon is clueless. We walk through the door, and Brandon grabs the grocery bags and tote from my hands to look inside, brushing his fingers against the inside of my wrist. My eyes dart to his mouth.

How can such an innocent touch cause my insides to melt and my limbs to get all twitchy at the same time?

Baylee sticks her head into the closest bag. “What’s all this?”

Blood rushes to my face as I wrench my eyes from Brandon’s lips. I can’t bring myself to look and see if he caught me. Tucking my hair behind my ear, I answer in an annoyingly breathless voice, “Every sleepover needs movies and spa stuff.” I force a smile at Baylee. “And the right kind of snackage is essential to any party’s success.”

“Trust her, Bayls.” I finally look up and see Brandon staring at me with an unreadable expression.
Could that touch have affected him, too?
“Aly’s an expert on snackage.”

We hold each other’s gaze for an extended moment. I still have no idea what he’s thinking, and I pray I’m just as pokerfaced. Sadly, my sinking gut tells me different.

“Y’all okay?” Baylee asks.

That snaps us out of it. I nod, and Brandon turns around to walk into the family room. I notice our sisters exchange a strange look as I fall in step behind him, setting my overnight bag on the bench in the foyer.

Nope, this isn’t awkward at all
.

Baylee presses play on her “girl power mix,” and I turn myself into Martha Stewart to keep the pesky thoughts at bay. I push the recliner and sofa back and have Brandon remove the coffee table to add more floor space. After laying out the spa products and stacking movies by the television, I set out the snacks in the kitchen. I’m pouring chips into a bowl when Miss Sheila comes down the stairs in her scrubs. She walks up, pulling me into a hug.

“Alyssa, you don’t know how grateful I am for you bailing us out at the last minute like this. I
hate
missing the sleepover.” Eyes the same soft green shade as Brandon’s peer at me with sadness as she sighs, squeezing my shoulder. “But I know the girls are in good hands.”

“I stole every stereotypical sleepover idea from every movie I’ve seen,” I confirm. “The girls will have a blast.”

She smiles, then darts her gaze to Brandon. “My shift’s from seven to seven,” she tells me, “so I want to catch up with you in the morning, okay?” The pointed look she gives me confirms my suspicions. Mom totally told her about that moment she saw at the campground. I squirm under her scrutiny, and the level of awkward rises.

She winks, letting me off the hook for now. Then, in a rush of energy rivaling her daughter’s, she kisses her children and runs out the door with a parting, “Behave, you two,” thrown over her shoulder.

The door closes, and Brandon and I share a look. We’re officially without supervision.

I zip back around and snag a cookie from the counter.

When in doubt, pig out. That’s my motto.

“Anything else left to do?” Kaitie asks, grabbing a chip.

I give the kitchen and family room a thorough examination. Satisfied that everything is ready, I shake my head. “Nah, just have to order the pizza. You girls head upstairs to clean up.”

As they clomp up the stairs, I reach for the phone. I
feel
Brandon watching me, but I don’t look back. Knowing we were going to be alone and actually
being
alone are apparently two very different things. Adding in the confusing bodily reactions to his mere presence, I’m a big ball of freaking out. I order enough food to feed an army, and I’m just hanging up when long, tan fingers wrap around my elbow.

“Got a second?”

Those dang tingles come back, radiating from where his rough hand encircles my arm. Brandon looks down as if surprised to find it there and takes a step back, releasing his grip. The warm sensation lingers.

“Sure,” I say.

Pushing himself onto the granite counter in front of me, Brandon rests his hands on my shoulders. “Thanks for doing this for Baylee. It means a lot. To both of us.”

Ignoring the shiver teasing my spine, I look into his sincere expression and nod. “It’s really no problem. This is important to Kaitie, too.”

We stare at each other, and a tension-filled silence falls between us. I refuse to let my eyes drift down to his full lips. Or let myself wonder if he’s thinking about our kiss as much as I am.