Page 24 of Play Fake

“The dark secluded road. Luring me with the promise of delicious food while inebriated.”

“I think you and Olivia watch too many of those horror movies.”

“Please, the horror movies do not compete with the true stories.”

He pulls off the main road and starts driving through a bit of an overgrown field. I can just make out a ridge in the distance.

“Well, some women might find it romantic.”

“Oh.” I say, noticing the place we’re headed is dark enough all the stars and the moon are bright as hell and filling up the night sky above us. “Ohhhh. Is this like, where you take women for hookups? Like a lover’s lane? You know those are prime spots for murderers.”

“No one’s getting murdered, Mac,” he sighs.

“You never know.”

“True, but I doubt.”

“Fine. So, is it?”

“Is it what?”

“Where you take your jersey chasers to seduce them?”

He puts the truck in park, and we climb out. He motions for me to follow him to the edge of the ridge, where there’s an enormous group of boulders stacked on top of each other like someone purposefully arranged them.

“Jersey chasers, by definition, don’t need seducing.”

“Fine, the non-jersey chasers. The ones that need seducing.”

“Are you hoping I’m going to seduce you Mac?” He gives me a sly grin over his shoulder, just before we get to the edge of the ridge.

And the ridge is really more of a cliff. It spills out over the edge sharply below us and the view beyond finally reveals itself. The whole city of Denver sprawls out in front of us, the suburbs, every little street forms a vein, an artery of moving light that makes the city look like a beating heart. It’s gorgeous.

“Wow,” I whisper.

“Yeah. I come out here sometimes when I need to get away.”

“It’s beautiful. Your friend owns it?”

“His family anyway.”

“Wow. Lucky.”

“Yeah.” He nods back at the truck, and I follow him. “We can sit in the back and eat, still get most of the view.”

He pops the gate of his truck down and motions for me to hop up, offering me his hand for help, and I take it. His fingertips are rough, and his palm is calloused, brushing over mine as his hand engulfs my smaller one. I’d been too stressed earlier to notice how much I liked it.

I sit on the edge of the truck bed, staring out at the view and the stars.

“So why always shooting fish in a barrel?” I ask.

“What?” His eyebrow quirks up and confusion mars his face.

“Why do you only hookup with jersey chasers?”

“Who says I only hookup with jersey chasers?”

“All available evidence. Anytime I’ve seen you at the house, it's always with one of the regulars.”