Page 38 of The Fake Out

It wasn’t my job to act as a lie detector. “It isn’t my business. We barely know each other.”

He frowned. “Well, then this will be awkward.”

“What’s that?”

“I have an idea,” he said slowly. “A proposition.”

“Proposition? Again, with the bad pickup lines?” I looked down my nose at him. “You can’t afford me.”

His mouth tipped up in a small smile. “Proposition might not be the best word. Maebell Sampson, would you do me the great honor of agreeing to be my wife?”

FIFTEEN

Do you have a map? Because I’m lost in your eyes.

—KIMBERLEY

I did what any other adult woman would do in the face of such a question. I gasped. I stared. Then I ran.

Ran might not be the best word; I definitely scurried though. And I avoided the bar area, but, as hard as I tried, I knew Chris was still there. He didn’t approach me, but he did send Amanda over to tell me he’d stay until the end of my shift to “talk.”

Then I told Amanda to go back and tell him I wouldn’t be off for hours and he probably shouldn’t wait.

Then Chris sent Amanda back and told her to tell me he didn’t have anything else to do.

And then I tried to send Amanda back with another message, but she got annoyed and told me that we weren’t ten-year-olds on a school playground and to give him the message “my damn self.”

So, at the end of my shift, I changed out of my uniform into shorts and a t-shirt. After stalling as long as possible, I finally skulked to the bar, backpack tossed over one shoulder. Amanda had taken Kara’s spot bartending. Chris perched on the same barstool.

“I’m leaving,” I announced.

“Let’s settle up your check.” Amanda scooped up his credit card. “I’ll be right back.”

Chris turned my way, his eyes settling on my face. “You look tired.”

“It’s almost one a.m. I’m exhausted and some weirdo proposed to me out of the clear blue sky earlier tonight.” And my feet ached, and I still had a forty-five-minute drive back home, and then I’d have to get up and do this all over again tomorrow night. “Do you do this a lot?”

“What?”

“Propose?”

“No, this is a first.”

“Huh.” I rested an elbow on the bar.

“What do you think? Wanna get engaged?” he asked as though he was asking if I wanted paper or plastic.

“You cannot be serious.” I hitched up my backpack and turned to leave.

“Wait.” He stood and took a step toward me. “Can you just hear me out? It won’t take long.”

Over his shoulder, I saw Amanda coming back our way; I thought of the phone call I’d overheard earlier. “Okay, fine. You give Amanda a five-hundred-dollar tip and I’ll listen.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Five hundred dollars?”

“Yep. That’s what I said.”

With a grin, he held out a hand. “Deal.”