The Pretend Girlfriend (21 page)

The drink he gripped in one hand definitely wasn't lemonade. Something with vodka, if Gwen had to guess. Rich guys were above beer, apparently.

Aiden just shook his head and snorted. Gwen had been alarmed by the checkbook remark, but it didn't faze him. It was meant as a joke, apparently.

"Yes, and you wouldn't believe what a deal I got on her," Aiden said, shooting Gwen a glance that told her to play along.

"Well I hope you kept the receipt!" he said, "What's the matter? Aren't you going to introduce me?"

"Gwen, this is Liam Steele. We went to Harvard together. Liam, Gwen Browning, my other half."

When Liam took her hand, she wasn't sure if he was going to kiss it or shake it. Thankfully, he settled for the latter.

"Well, this is certainly a worthy cause," Liam said.

Does he mean me?
Gwen thought. Liam smiled at her when she frowned.

"I think so," Aiden said. His arm snaked around Gwen's waist, coming to rest on her hip. He pulled her close. "And speaking of checkbooks, I'm hoping you brought yours."

"Of course!" Liam said, "Though I'll be making my donations through bets. Or taking home my winnings, as the case may be."

"You're not donating the proceeds?" Gwen said. Down on the ground level the staff waited at the booths to take bets. Aiden had told her he was covering all winnings, and that they were going straight to the charity. Losing bets were automatic donations.

"Yes, yes. That's what I meant. She's a sharp one, Aiden. Means she'll probably wise up to you sooner rather than later, unfortunately. It would be nice to see you keep one around a while, for once," Liam said.

Gwen decided that she didn't like Liam. At first, she'd thought he and Aiden to be old school friends or something. But now she could see the cruel streak behind Liam's smile, and the way he kept trying to get under Aiden's skin.

Well, she'd always found the best way to shut a jerk down was to play into their game, refuse to give them any more fuel to throw on the fire by tossing it all in at once.

So Gwen smiled sweetly, wrapping her arms around Aiden's waist and pulling their bodies closer together. That was nice. They fit together well. But she had to pull her thoughts off that track.

"Oh, he'll keep me around so long as the checks keep coming," she said.

Liam's smile faltered. He rubbed at his chin, considering them both. Then he barked another laugh, so sudden and sharp that Gwen jerked involuntarily. Aiden squeezed her in support.

"Oh, you two are made for each other," Liam said, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go place a bet on number 13. It's always been my lucky number." He gave a mocking bow and headed for the stairs.

Aiden relaxed in her grip. "Well-played," he said to her. His hand stayed on her hip for a few more moments, perhaps a couple heartbeats too long, before he let it drop. She reluctantly let him go, too.

"I learned from the best," she said, a little wary, remembering the effect that her little money comment on the phone had on them both. However, this newest one didn't cause anywhere near the same amount of damage.

"I should probably go and make sure my other guests are also opening their checkbooks..." Aiden said, trying to beat a hasty retreat.

She stopped him. "Am I just another of your charity cases?" All this talk of money brought back some of her earlier concerns about the contract. She still wasn't exactly sure why this was even happening in the first place. It could very well be because Aiden had a kind heart and just wanted to help. And while she was grateful for it, that wasn't what she wanted from him.

In fact, depending on his answer, she realized she was ready to end this whole thing right then and there.

Aiden rounded on her. "What?"

"Don't take that tone. You know exactly what I mean. Did you do this whole thing between the two of us out of pity or something?"

Aiden balked. "No. I mean, I wanted to help you, yes, but I needed your help, too."

"Are you sure about that? Because so far I only seem to make trouble for you."

Aiden looked around to see if anyone stood close enough to hear the exchange. She could only imagine what sort of devastation that sort of revelation might cause, but it stopped at imagination. At that moment, she didn't really care.

Putting down his lemonade again, Aiden put his hands on her shoulders. "You are not just another charity case, trust me."

"Prove it."

A small crinkle formed between Aiden's eyebrows. He hadn't expected her to need more convincing than that. "How?"

"Tell me how you really feel about me. About this."

"I've told you already. Several times if I remember correctly," Aiden said.

Gwen shrugged his hands off her shoulders and then leaned against the banister again. The jockeys were all climbing onto their horses. It must be about time for the race. She concentrated on the ripple of muscle beneath the beasts' flesh, trying not to think about the pressure behind her eyes.

Feeling her attention shift away from him, Aiden turned to go again.

"You told me, all right. But you lied each time. To yourself and to me. You need to stop lying, if you want to keep me around. You do want to keep me around, don't you?" Gwen said.

Aiden's jaw worked, and at first she thought he wasn't going to say anything.

"You haven't placed a bet yet, have you? Go down and make a bet. It's for charity, remember." He left.

He forgot his glass of lemonade, too. Gwen watched a bead of condensation run down the smooth wall and join in with the circular pool that now surrounded the base of the glass.

What sort of answer was that? Gwen wondered. No answer at all, really.
So what happens now?
she thought
. Do I call it off?
There was a certain appeal to that. However, it meant that Henry won. And that chafed at her like an itchy wool sweater. That man was far too used to victory, and she wanted badly to be the one to humble him.

Why did life have to be so complicated? Nothing was black or white, right or wrong. She hated when people said it, but they were right: everything was really just shades of grey. Real choices weren't simple or clear-cut. In fact, one choice could seem right at one moment and then dead wrong the next. It was no wonder some people became shut-ins, unwilling to engage with the world. Life is messy.

Sometimes, the only thing you can do is place a bet. And that's just what Gwen did. She left her sweating glass beside Aiden's on the banister and went downstairs. With the race happening so soon, the cutoff for betting loomed close.

Gwen grabbed a guide from a nearby rack. It listed all the horses’ names, as well as the jockeys riding them. Beside those were the odds.

Number 13, the one Liam intended to bet on, was the safe choice. Odds heavily in favor of winning. The safe bet wasn't always the best bet, though. Gwen took her place in line, letting her eyes scan down the list. She squinted, momentarily regretting not bringing her glasses. Of course, she wouldn't be caught dead wearing them out in public.

She settled on number 6, a horse named Charlie (hey, she liked puns, okay?). Odds were close to a hundred to one against placing in the top three, and considerably over a hundred for winning the whole kit and caboodle.

She got to the booth. An old man with a prodigious white mustache that made her think of a civil war general sat on the other side. The dome of his bare scalp shone in the light like he waxed it. "Yes, miss?"

She took out her wallet. There was a single, wrinkly $20 in there. Several folds creased Mr. Jackson's face. It was a pretty paltry sum, considering what the men and women in the booths on either side of her were putting down. However, after paying off Patterson Holdings, it was about all the money to her name.

Feeling somewhat embarrassed, she slid the bill across the booth to him. "All on number 6 please."

"Of course," the attendant said. He didn't bat an eye at the tiny sum, or make any sort of comment, and for that she was grateful. He handed back a ticket.

Back on the top level, she took up her position at the banister once more, her ticket clutched in her hands. The jockeys nosed their horses onto the track, taking their positions at the gate. The beasts must have sensed their riders' tension, as they shuffled about and whinnied. Gwen had to admit to a touch of excitement, too.

"On number 6? Interesting choice," Aiden said, coming up beside her and leaning his forearms against the banister, "Pretty risky."

She ignored him, focusing all her attention on the horse in question. He was one of the sand-colored ones. Now was the time, Gwen realized, where in some cookie-cutter romcom the heroine would make some sort of bet with herself to help her in her decision to either stay with or leave the guy. It would go something like: if the horse wins, I keep going, if the horse loses, we call it off.

But of course Gwen wasn't the type of romantic sap to make any such bet. No, not at all. It would be silly, making an important choice like that based on a gamble. Foolish, even.

And that was why she wouldn't buy into any such sentimental nonsense. She was just crossing her fingers and rubbing the ticket because it felt like the right thing to do.
Yeah, that's why
, she thought.

The starter pistol cracked. Gwen had been so deep in thought that it startled her pretty badly. The gates swung open, and thousands of pounds of horse and jockey spilled through the openings.

Right away, number 13 took the lead. Charlie started in fourth place, but quickly began lagging behind and getting overtaken. The announcer started quickly announcing the positions, so fast that Gwen couldn't make it out. It sounded like a constant stream of baby babble to her, worse even than the mumble of the subway conductor.

The horses threw up clouds of dirt behind them as their hooves dug in for traction. They thundered around the first curve as the gate began swinging out of the way. She could actually feel the vibrations all the way up there. Charlie lost another position, while number 13 increased his lead by almost an entire length.

Liam, standing a few feet down the banister from them, cheered. A lot of people were cheering, actually. Apparently, most of them had taken the safe bet.

"Come on, horse!" Gwen called out. She gripped the banister hard. If she'd had the ability to somehow view herself outside her body, she might have thought it ridiculous just how much she got into the race. But at that present moment in time, her world narrowed until it encompassed only that track.

They rounded the first lap, still in their earlier positions.

Sensing her tension, Aiden put his hand over hers. "Go Charlie! Come on, number 6!" he yelled.

She'd never heard him yell before. He always seemed to quiet and reserved. But his voice projected, apparently. As though he somehow actually heard, Charlie kicked it into high gear. He moved up from last place, edging ahead of a horse with number 2 signs on its sides.

And he didn't stop there.

Gwen had never been so into a sporting event in her life. She felt every inch that Charlie stole from the horse ahead, she cheered each time he passed another.

"Go, Charlie, go!" she called out. Aiden joined her. Her fingers changed from gripping the banister to gripping Aiden's hand. He squeezed back when she did, just as excited.

The breakneck pace of the announcer slowed a little so that she could actually understand him.

"Ladies and gentleman, talk about your dark horse!" the announcer said, "Number 6 started out last and has just now overtaken for third place just as we come into the final lap!"

"Come on, come on. Faster, horse! Run faster!" Gwen muttered. Her whole body felt rigid, like a powerful electric current ran through her, locking her into that spot.

The animals came into the final curve. Charlie edged ahead for second place.

Gwen couldn't believe it. This wasn't supposed to happen. The odds said so. Her mind reeled from it. What did this mean? Was it a sign?

But I don't believe in signs
, Gwen thought. Or at least, she didn't think she did.

"Go Charlie!" Aiden said, grinning. A real, honest grin. His armor had come down all because of a stupid horse?

"This is going to be close, folks!" the announcer said.

Everyone quieted down as the race came down to the last few lengths. Charlie gained on number 13.

They crossed the finish line neck and neck. The crowd practically exploded.

"Oh my God!" Gwen said, adrenaline and excitement rushing through her body. She turned. And then Aiden grabbed her up in a hug, both of them cheering.

"Just a moment please, folks. This one's going to the judges," the announcer said.

"What does that mean?" Gwen asked.

"It was so close that they're going to look at a picture taken as they crossed the finish line to see which horse was in the lead," Aiden said, "It shouldn't take long."

It didn't take long. In reality, probably less than a minute. But in Gwen's world, those seconds each ticked away like an hour. She kept looking down at her ticket stub, rubbing her thumb across it as though the friction could help determine the outcome in some way.

"Ladies and gentlemen..." the announcer started, taking a pause for effect. Gwen squeezed Aiden's hand. He squeezed back. "I'm pleased to announce that the winner of today's charity race is Number 13, Black Streak, ridden by Chadwick..."

Gwen didn't hear the rest. That wasn't how it was supposed to go. Charlie was supposed to win. How could he make a comeback like that and not win? She was crestfallen.

"Hey, you won two grand," Aiden said, plucking at her ticket stub.

"What do you mean? He lost," Gwen said, not sure how to feel. Was this it?

"He placed second. This event pays out for top three. Good bet," Aiden said. He put his arm over her shoulders and pulled her close.

"So he won?" Gwen said, working something out.

"I guess you could say that, yeah. Though technically he wasn't in first..."

"He won. I'm counting this as a win," Gwen said. That made her quite happy. She didn't think she'd feel so good if the outcome had been different. And that was how you could tell if you made the right choice, wasn't it? A gut feeling. Knowing deep inside that something was right or wrong, letting your intuition do its job.