The Pretend Boyfriend (The Pretend Boyfriend #4)(3)
Author: Artemis Hunt

Sam can still hear his words ringing in her head from two nights ago. She knew then he was going to do something rash. Something that involved letting Adele Jankovic ride rough shot over him. Sam’s mind cringes at the possibilities, all too awful to contemplate.

And now he is missing for two nights. Two nights! He hasn’t answered his phone. He hasn’t replied to his text messages. She doesn’t want to appear the fussy, nagging lover either, because that’s simply not her. She doesn’t want to harangue him about his whereabouts to death. Theirs simply wasn’t – isn’t – that kind of relationship.

So where the hell is he?

She is almost out of her mind with worry. She thinks of calling the police, but decides that she is not on their current favorite list.

Two f**king nights!

She clasps her hands. It’s the only way to keep them from trembling. She eyes the phone, willing it to ring. Willing his voice to be on the other end:

Sammie, sorry I got holed up. I had to run to Detroit for a family emergency.

Sorry, Sammie, my phone ran out of battery. The shops didn’t have a spare.

It isn’t like him not to call in two days. They have been seeing each other rather often in the past six months, even if they had not been technically dating. She touches her ears. The diamond earrings he gave her are still embedded in her earlobes, fitted snugly into the holes she has bored into her flesh when she was a teenager.

It is exactly like him not to tell her what he’s up to either.

Only . . . she thinks she knows. And the knowledge of it is awful, awful, awful.

There’s only one thing for her to do.

Resolutely, she grabs her jacket and her car keys. She is going to take a ride to a place she knows fairly well.

*

As Sam draws into the parking lot of Adele Jankovic’s building, she sees what she is looking for. Brian’s new Jeep, the one he traded the Ferrari in for to fund the advertising for their gym.

Her chest sinks when she records the visual affirmation. She closes her eyes, hoping the Jeep would vanish, or that it will be mounted with another number plate when she opens them again.

But everything maddeningly remains the same.

Brian is with Delilah Faulkner right at this very instance. Doing goodness knows what.

Sam can only imagine what Delilah Faulkner would want with him. She can only hope and pray that he returns in one piece.

Oh, but why does it have to hurt so much? She knows that Brian is only doing this to secure their future together, but why does the tradeoff feel so wrong? Everything here screams of wrongness.

Sam grips her steering wheel. The faux leather feels very hot in between her palms.

Is he really only doing this to secure their future together? Is there even a ‘future’ with Brian? I don’t believe in love, I only believe in f**king. That used to be his mantra. She feels so torn. So incredibly torn apart. She wants so much to believe in Brian. Believe that he can actually ease into being someone ‘normal’ – with normal needs and wants. Monogamy. Happily ever after.

But is that too much to ask from someone who has never lived his life any way but vicariously?

There’s still that nagging suspicion. That awful feeling that she has in the pit of her stomach that he thinks he owes Adele Jankovic something. The overwhelming guilt he must be mired in because of what he did to her. Such emotions are powerful beasts. You could live an entire life being beholden to another person that way. There’s even a Chinese saying on it.

And Brian is the sort of person to do just that.

There’s a pain in her chest so deep that she thinks her ribs will cave in with the sheer weight and crush of it. He’s just the type who would sacrifice himself if he thinks it would do someone else a favor. He’s loyal that way.

It hurts her so badly to know what he is. And there’s nothing she can do about it.

Or is there?

Sam drives out of the car park blindly.

*

She trawls the streets, wandering aimlessly. Her mind is a restless churn of images, sounds, thoughts and jumbled streams. Brian, Brian, Brian. He’s everywhere in her mind.

She sees their bodies entwined around each other’s. His glorious green eyes, gazing down at her lovingly as his c**k moves within her snug passageway. His lips slightly parted and his pupils dilated with desire.

She parks, and sits in her car for a long, long time. A gaudy LED sign spills scattered reflections on her windscreen, and she looks up. It says: WHISKERS. The outline of a red neon cat winks at her. A bar.

Just what she needs to get sloshed.

She debates whether to call Cassie, but looks at the time. Eleven p.m. Cassie would be in bed with Caleb. Two lovebirds having the perfect, slightly dysfunctional relationship. Not like hers and Brian’s. Theirs is majorly dysfunctional.

Besides, she doesn’t want Cassie to think that she’s calling her only when she needs a friend.

Footsteps alert her. A man is coming out of ‘Whiskers’. Alone. He seems vaguely familiar. Then she recognizes him. Blond hair bleached pale in the moonlight and streetlamps. Firm, muscular body with bulging arm definition.

Thor from the gym.

Her breath catches, and she involuntarily shrinks into her driver’s seat. He pauses, sees her car – which he clearly recognizes – and stops walking.

“Samantha?”

Sam freezes. OK, she’s caught out.

She makes herself smile.

“Thor? Hi.”

He comes to her window, and she reluctantly depresses the wind down button. His features are structured and chiseled in the wan light, and he seems very much an ethereal creature with his long, blond hair. Very Fabio-like. She thinks of his gym poster – the one where he dresses up as Thor, the Norse god of thunder – and has to suppress a laugh. Brian again with his own peculiar brand of advertising aesthetics.

“What are you doing all by yourself out here?” he asks. She can smell his cologne. “This is not exactly a safe neighborhood for a pretty young woman like you to be prowling alone.”

She debates whether or not to tell him that she’s waiting for someone. But since that isn’t true, her tongue dries up. She has always been lousy at telling untruths.

She replies, “I-I was out . . . thinking.”

Hey, she tells herself, I’m his boss here. I’m supposed to be in charge. I’m supposed to know what I’m doing. Then why do I feel like a tongue-tied schoolgirl?

His expression turns knowing. “Boyfriend trouble?”

She doesn’t say anything. Everyone at the gym knows that Brian and she are together. Well, as ‘together’ as they can get. Everyone knows that half the female employees have been trying to get into Brian’s pants as well, without success.