18. This Isn’t A Movie

EVANGELINE

Morning light filters into the bedroom from the patio doors because someone forgot to close the blinds. I groan and rest my forearm over my head, and then drop my arm to the side feeling nothing but rumpled sheets and mattress. Flipping over on my side, I realize Darren's not here and I run my fingers over his side of the bed.

I was used to sleeping alone in Georgetown up until recently, and I wonder when I began to get used to this, used to the feel of someone's body next to me, a body to curl against and share heat with… Darren's body. I hear noise from the kitchen and grab my long underwear from the chair before stepping out into the hallway to discover Darren in the kitchen. He's flipping pancakes, and the smell of bacon causes my stomach to grumble.

"Where were these skills yesterday?" I ask while he slides a pancake from the pan and onto a plate.

"Ask that after you take a bite," he teases, holding out a forkful that he just dipped into syrup.

I take a skeptical bite, trusting the syrup will cover up anything horrible.

"It's not the best pancake I've ever had, but I'm not wanting to spit it out either," I heckle.

"I worked really hard on this." He drops the spatula and turns off the burner.

I walk into his chest as he wraps his arms around me. "I said I didn't want to spit it out." I look up at him with a smile while I rest my chin on his chest.

He smiles down at me with his wolfish grin.

"Have you seen Cleo or Alistair yet?"

"Nope, but these ceilings are too high to hit with the end of a broomstick to wake them," Darren laughs.

"I'll go wake up Cleo," I announce, but my hands remain on Darren's shoulders and I don't move. Instead, I stare at his face, a face I once looked at with disdain. All I see is him, the boy that lost his parents, the self-described degenerate son of a U.S. Senator who arranged for my only friend in the world to be with me on Thanksgiving.

I love that he did that – I love…

He smiles, his cheeks pulling up into his eyes, the dimples more prominent now that he'd shaved yesterday, and I run my fingers over them.

"What?" he probes, his smile fading and the dimples receding.

I kiss him. His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers splayed and moving into my hair. I feel a shiver of desire make its way down my body. If we didn't have guests, I wouldn't pull away, and when I do, he groans in protest.

"I'll make pancakes more often," he brags, with his eyes half closed.

"Thank you," I mention, and he cocks his head. "For bringing Cleo here."

"She did almost hang up on me. I guess she was still angry," he explains. "But it was nothing that a private plane couldn't cure."

"I think you know the way to Cleo's heart," I tease, placing a hand on his chest. "But seriously, I'm just… I can't believe you did that."

Darren pierces me with those complicated eyes of his and gives me an unintentionally wolfish smile. "For you, anything," he murmurs unabashedly, and it sets my pulse racing, causing a knot to form in my stomach.

I pull away. "I should go wake her," I declare, leaving Darren in the kitchen as I run up the stairs that lead to the loft.

When I get to Cleo's room, I hear the creak of a door on the other side open.

I was already prepared with a smart-ass comment about him sleeping in when I turn to see Cleo exiting Alistair's room.

"Uh, you know we're gonna talk about this later, right?"

Cleo waves me off as she passes by and shuts her door. When I look back, I see Alistair poking his head around the door and then he ducks back in.

"Oh, by the way, Darren made pancakes!" I yell to both of them and then head back down the stairs.

"Are they coming?" he asks, unaware of why his question causes fits of giggles.

"Oh, if I know Cleo, I'm sure they both did."

Alistair descends the stairs a few moments later, looking as if nothing is wrong.

"Smells good." He saunters into the kitchen and plucks a piece of bacon from the plate. "What's up?" He casually leans against the counter chewing on his bacon.

"Did you just fuck my friend?" I challenge with narrowed eyes, placing my hand on my hip.

"Yeah." He shrugs looking innocently between Darren and me.

When I catch Darren's eye, he throws his hands up and mouths, not my problem.

"What's the big deal?" Alistair asks.

"Because she's my friend!" I whisper shout while pointing up to the loft, just as Cleo makes her way down.

"Wow, if you're this protective over who she fucks, you must be exhausted," he laughs.

"This is not funny." I smack him with a potholder.

"Hey, hey!" Alistair holds his hands up while laughing. "Are you going to let your wife abuse me like this?" Alistair whines, looking to Darren for help.

"You're on your own." Darren stands with his arms crossed over his chest as he watches the scene unfold.

"What's all the fuss about?" Cleo questions, giving Alistair's butt a squeeze when she passes by, causing him to squeal.

I shake my head and laugh, "I think I need some fresh air," I announce, throwing the potholder back onto the counter.

"I'll go with you," Cleo confirms, pouring herself a fresh cup of coffee while I head into the bedroom so I can change and grab a jacket. When I come back out, Cleo is leaning against the kitchen counter, casually laughing at something Darren said. I watch quietly for a moment before Darren notices me and Cleo turns around.

"Ready?" I zip up my jacket.

"You don't want to eat?" Darren holds up a forkful of pancakes while I open the back patio door.

I scrunch up my face. "I'll pass," I apologize, slipping through the doorway and holding it open for Cleo to pass with an amused look on her face.

"More for me!" I hear him yell behind me as Cleo shuts the door.

She's still chuckling as we make our way across the deck and down the stairs to the clearing. The ends of her red scarf flutter in the breeze as we walk towards the dock.

"I didn't fuck him for money." She turns to me with a smile. "Have you seen that cute little ass?" she muses with a wink, and unfortunately, I have. "I gave him a freebie."

I laugh, digging my toe into the ground to push up a weed as I shove my hands in the pockets of my jacket. The morning air is crisp and cuts like a knife, but the sky is a robin"s egg blue like that of a sunny summer day.

"I thought he was going to break down and cry yesterday when you told him we were going to go serve food at the church," Cleo laughs.

"I think Alistair is more used to writing checks than refilling drinks," I bemuse. "Although, he did manage to charm that one cranky elderly woman who kept complaining the turkey was dry."

"I wasn't sure about these rich boys at first, but they're growing on me," she offers.

"I'm sure it doesn't have anything to do with the private jet?" I raise an eyebrow.

She uses her fingers to demonstrate. "Just a tiny bit," she laughs and then stops us just before we get to the dock. "I missed you."

Her eyes are like molten pools of brown. I've never known Cleo to get emotional. She's always tough as nails.

"I missed you, too." I give her a hug and squeeze as tight as our bulky jackets will let us. "The year will be over before you know it," I reassure, my voice muffled by her curly hair.

She pulls away, a sad expression on her face. "You won't be back."

I let go of her and continue walking on the dock towards the end.

"I don't know what I'm going to do yet." I shrug, taking a seat in one of the Adirondack chairs.

"No." She places a hand over mine "I mean you won't be back because that boy in there is in love with you." She points towards the house,

Her bluntness throws me off and causes heat to rush to my cheeks.

"No, he's not. It's just…"

"You might be every boy"s wet dream, but I know the difference between pussy whipped and love, hun." She looks at me pointedly.

"This isn't a movie, Cleo," I sigh. "I'm not a prostitute with a heart of gold who gets the billionaire at the end," I add dramatically.

Cleo purses her lips but remains quiet.

I lean further back in my chair, staring at the lake and chewing my fingernail. Cleo might think she knows everything, but she doesn't know Darren, and she doesn't know us. What we've been doing is playing house, and that's not real.

None of this is real.