Page 82 of The Fake Out

“You two have each other, right?” She pointed between Chris and me.

“Yeah, sure. Be right in.” I waited for her to wander off to the water. I shoved the bottle at Chris, who had donned mirror sunglasses. “You can do your front.”

Without waiting to see if he planned to follow directions, I trotted to the pool house, whipped off the cover-up Betsy had lent me, and stuffed it in my bag.

Chris was mid-chest rub when I returned. For a half-second, his hand stilled when he saw me. Or at least I thought it was because he saw me. Those sunglasses made it impossible to see his eyes. Wish I had a pair.

Betsy had lent me a bright-red one-piece suit with a halter top and a slim skirt on the bottom, very 1950s glamour.

I adjusted the strap. “Your sister let me borrow it, since someone forgot to tell me to bring one. Does it look stupid? I usually stay away from red. The whole red on a redhead thing.”

He cleared his throat and went back to slathering his arms with sunscreen. “It suits you.”

“Thanks.”

An awkward, heavy silence fell between us. I swear I tried not to watch him rub that lotion all over himself. I swear it. I looked at the ground and my fingernails and the picnic table, but my eyeballs were under some strange spell that made it impossible not to look at him.

Why did he have to be so dang beautiful? Not the outside either, although the wrapping was sure nice. It was all the other stuff. I saw the way he treated his family, how much he loved and respected his parents, how generous he was with his time and money, and how he risked his reputation to protect a sister. HE VISITED KIDS IN THE HOSPITAL IN HIS SPARE TIME.

He was a good guy.

Why? Whhhy?

Why couldn’t he be arrogant and selfish and smell like salami all the time? It was making everything so much more complicated in my head.

I didn’t want to like him as anything more than a friend. I couldn’t. My heart wasn’t available. It had already experienced enough disappointment and pain from the people who were supposed to love me, and I wasn’t foolish enough to go through that again. Nope. No way. In fact, there was a tiny little sign hanging on my heart that read: CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

“Can you do my back now?” Chris asked, pulling me from my thoughts.

I swallowed, took the bottle from him, and squirted some in my hand. “This might be cold.”

I tried to be a professional about it all. At the very least, not creepy. I think I even succeeded until I found the two-inch scar on his right lower back. Without thinking about it, I traced it with my finger.

“Skateboarding accident when I was thirteen,” Chris said, his voice low.

“Did you have to get stitches?”

He shrugged. “Probably, but I snuck out of the house to go skateboarding and I was too afraid to tell my parents about it. I learned my lesson, that’s for sure.”

“I thought you were an Eagle Scout.”

“Even good kids bend to temptation every now and then.”

Don’t I know it. I bit my lip and ran my hands over his back again, up to his shoulders and neck. I’d already coated everything once so now I was definitely making things creepy.

“All done.” I turned around and held my breath, waiting for him to start.

He made quick work of it. In fact, he was so fast, it was obvious he hadn’t been nearly as affected as I was. A wave of embarrassment was quickly followed by resolve. I could act like that too. Just watch me.

He hesitated. “I’m going to get under your strap, okay?”

“Yep.”

His finger slid under the halter strap around my neck and a shiver raced down my back. I ignored it.

“All done?” I didn’t even wait for him to answer. I spun around and almost fell face first into him.

He grabbed my shoulders and steadied me. “Slow down there, Freckles.”