Just Pretend Read online

  Just Pretend

  Alessandra Thomas

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Alessandra Thomas

  Chapter 1

  Toby

  Any guy who wore a worn-out striped shirt and a shaggy beard for a professional picture was a guy I was never, ever going to date.

  I’d dated pretty much every type of guy you could imagine. The workout obsessed. The health-nut guru. The rocker. The investment banker. The druggie. The frat boy. The nerd. But this guy? The one who quite obviously gave zero shits about his appearance, so little that he consented to be photographed in a dingy shirt and scraggly beard for an ad for his own radio show?

  Never.

  I’d been sent a packet containing my assignment in the mail. I squinted at the flyer that had come with it. Mark Mahler would be the perfect new co-worker for me; he wasn’t that interesting, I wasn’t attracted, done and done. This way, I’d be able to really focus, maybe start to make a name for myself in a field I was starting to get really, really good at.

  Six years ago, when I’d started college, I had no clue what I wanted to do with my life; fine by me. The world was my oyster. My parents, whose affection manifested via cash payout ten times more often than hugs and kisses, had gladly sent me to Stanford, with little to no conditions or instructions on what I was supposed to do with my time there.

  I never would have thought that I’d end up in the Master's program for Sound Engineering at UPenn, but here I was. Loving every minute of it.

  The feeling of finding my passion was so empowering that I'd decided that maybe I needed to just be me—me, alone—to finally try to figure out who I was. No dating for a good, long while.

  I peered through the glass-block windows of the small storefront that housed Sonic Wave Studios, then twisted the handle and walked in. Shoulders back. Stride confident. This is your new place, and you will own it.

  If you didn't think like a queen, my mother had always told me, you'd never rule at anything.

  The front room of the studio was flanked by clean and comfy couches and a freestanding desk that held only a business card tray, a small pad of paper, and a container of pens. I waited a few minutes, finally getting bored enough to spin around on my heel, when the door at the back of the room opened and a guy wearing a polo shirt with dark hair stepped through.

  My brow furrowed. “You’re not…?” I reached into my bag and tugged at the corner of the shiny show flyer.

  “Mark?” The guy chuckled. He was about my height, which made a lot of guys uncomfortable. But not this guy. He oozed confidence, maybe too much. “No. He wishes.” Ah, there it was. The cocky bastard. An easy grin spread over his face. “I’m Ethan. Mark’s co-host, though lately he’s been more like my co-host. He’s been a little pre-occupied with . . . life. Anyway.”

  I cleared my throat. “Well, I’m Toby. The new sound girl?” He took my outstretched hand and gave it a light handshake, something that drove me nuts. I was female, not avian. Nobody was going to break the bones in my hand.

  “Oh. You’re Toby. We thought you were a dude.”

  I just smirked. I’d almost come to expect that.

  “Hey, do I know you from somewhere?” He peered into my eyes, leaning in an inch or two.

  I fought to keep from rolling my eyes. It was a common line, especially among grad students. Of course, most of them had seen each other around campus. “No,” I said decisively.

  “You’re wrong. I do. You work out at Natalia’s gym. The Knockout?”

  “Oh. Yeah.” I deflated a little in shame for being so quick to judge him. “I do. Nice to have another woman to spar with.”

  “She’s amazing,” Ethan responded, and with that, I relaxed a little. He was clearly smitten with the girl who had just taken over the gym where I liked to spar, which was cute, if not tragic. I couldn’t see her ever being interested in a straight-laced guy like this one, but whatever. It meant that there probably wouldn’t be any weird vibes between me and Ethan, which was exactly the way I wanted it.

  “So, Shari asked me to get you settled when you came in. I’ll show you where the sound guys—uh, girls, in our case—sit. Shari’ll be glad you're here. Do you have any experience?”

  “With...”

  “With a studio like this,” Ethan said, looking into my eyes now, as if checking that I was all there. Mentally.

  Time to get it together, Toby.

  “Um, a bit. This is my second year in the sound engineering program, and our first year was a lot of theory.”

  “And being Professor Hawley’s bitch?”

  I grimaced and Ethan chuckled. “Yeah. I’ve heard that. You spin at all?”

  “I have, but I’m not great at it. Also don’t love being in front of a crowd. So this job is kind of perfect, especially if there’s a good amount of music on the show.”

  Ethan led me through the door and to a small dark hallway, where another two doors were located. The control panels took up an entire large desk, visible through a window.

  “I've seen a couple programs and dabbled in computer mixing. Never really had the chance to use a machine like this.” Though I’d been itching to. I knew it would seem strange to most people, but I loved having the understanding that every second of sound we hear over the radio or through speakers was made up of dozens of intricately balanced components.

  Ethan nodded. “This is a whole different world, from what I understand. Shari’s a great teacher. You'll be in the room to the left, and my buddy Mark and I are to the right. Hope you have fun.” With a crooked smile and what I would swear was a brief pursing of his lips, Ethan left my side and went in through the other door, leaving me with Shari.

  Shari had jet black hair cut into a slightly frizzy bob with bangs, and bright red lipstick that most women her age—easily mid-fifties—would never be able to pull off. But hell if she didn't. She wore all black and tapped on the control board with bright red talon-length nails.

  “You must be Toby,” she said, beaming and leaving a bit of lipstick behind on her teeth.

  “Yup. Short for Tovyah,” I replied, stretching my hand out. She reminded me of my high school friends’ moms, the friends with normal moms, unlike me.

  She nodded. “That’s right, your cover letter mentioned that. I'm glad you're here,” she said, sitting back down in a spinning padded office chair. “Take a seat.” She gestured to one beside her. “Do you recognize this system?”

  “A bit,” I said. “In theory.”

  “Fine,” Shari said. “So, today, you'll just watch. Jot down your questions and we'll take a few minutes to answer them after this session. Then next wee
k I'll give you a few aspects to take over all on your own. We learn fast and furious here, but we do a great job.”

  “Oh, I know,” I said. “I've seen the ranks of sound engineers you've helped train. It's an honor, really.”

  Shari Smith was a bit of a legend at UPenn, a star PhD who’d made a name for herself in revolutionizing national radio. She’d refused a traditional professorship at UPenn in lieu of offering hundreds of hours of hands-on apprenticeship on various local radio shows every year. I could name a handful of men and women who had interned under Shari and then come back to teach in the Engineering department. More than a few times, they’d played back tapes of their time in the studio with her as examples in class.

  She owned this studio, and she contributed to the next generation of sound engineers in her own unique way. She really had a handle on who she was, what she felt was important.

  That was exactly what I was after. The fact that it had eluded me this long was maddening, even if I couldn’t deny just how comfortable I felt in the studio after only a couple moments. Maybe this was really it. Maybe this is where I would get a handle on what I really and truly wanted to do with my life.

  “We have thirty seconds to show time, so get comfy,” Shari said, her voice a clear balance between sternly instructional and encouraging.

  Ethan slid into his seat on the opposite side of the glass, ducking down slightly to place his headphones and mike just so.

  Shari started the ten-second countdown, and just as she drew out the final ‘n’ on “Nine…” the door was flung open and a surprisingly tall figure skidded through the doorway. Dressed in a button-down shirt and dark jeans, he stopped inches short of his rolling chair and dropped into it, sending the chair careening into the wall.

  “Hey, Whiz Kid!” Ethan chuckled, clapping him on the back.

  “Six,” Shari warned, all while looking at the guy with a twinkle in her eye.

  “Mark, Toby. Toby, Mark,” Ethan said, gesturing back and forth through the glass.

  A head of sandy hair, framed by a heavy beard, lifted to look at me. Starkly blue eyes widened in surprise as they looked into mine. Then a wide smile stretched across his lips, pushing his mustache into two fuzzy hills over stunningly perfect teeth. It forced crinkles around his eyes that somehow warmed me completely from my heart to my toes. I couldn’t help but smile back. Yes, this was Mark Mahler from the brochure I’d stuffed in my bag, that much was clear, but something about seeing the real Mark, only separated by glass, stunned me. He was more than a person; he was a presence. Taller than I’d imagined, and smiling sunshine throughout the small space we occupied, he was larger than life.

  It was like that time my mother dragged us all on a family vacation to the Grand Canyon, a few months after she and Dad had gotten back together again. She’d spent countless hours on the way, showing us pictures of the sights we’d see, but the moment we got out of the car and stood at the edge of the canyon, it was like the whole world stopped. The colors were vivid, every dust mote and gently passing cloud rendered in sharp focus all around me for just that moment.

  For two fleeting breaths, something passed between us—something bigger than either of us—too unfamiliar to put words or emotions to. All I knew was that it was a connection, and it felt unbreakable.

  That is, until a hard elbow dug into my upper arm. “Toby? You with us?” Shari’s sharp, rasping tone broke through my thoughts.

  Right. I was here to work, not to think about why the unlikeliest of men had just knocked my focus off-kilter with one gleam of his eye. I let my hands skate over the controls and trained my eyes on the computer screen to my right. “Work,” I muttered to myself as I listened to Shari’s countdown and waited to start the show’s intro.

  This was going to be fine.

  Chapter 2

  Mark

  Toby Eisen was absolute pure brilliance in girl-human form.

  And I'd been thinking she was a dude this entire time. I'd never met a girl named Toby. Just when I thought I was safe.

  If I was going to get through the next several hours recording, I’d need to control my boner. Replaying the memory of my twin sister, Hannah, clipping her toenails in our shared bathroom was one of my go-to strategies, and the one I used now.

  I wasn't exactly avoiding girls, I just wasn't looking to hang out with them on a regular basis. Especially not pretty girls. Most especially not girls that I'd be staring at through a glass window, doing one of the sexiest things a girl could do, in my opinion: operating the studio sound controls like a boss.

  I'd just had a shitshow of a breakup with the only girl I'd ever loved. Kylie was so beautiful, so sweet. With her blonde hair, cornflower blue eyes, and sweet temperament, she belonged in the Sears catalog, modeling cardigan sets and baking blueberry bran muffins, or in a wholesome sitcom. She'd come from a good, solid, middle-class family, had belonged to a service-oriented sorority, earned an impressive 3.7 GPA in her education major, and sang with the voice of an angel.

  Kylie had been everything that any guy could ever want, and I’d somehow let her slip through my fingers.

  I'd be lying if I said I was anything but absolutely, devastatingly brokenhearted six months ago when it happened. At twenty-six years old, after being Kylie’s one and only for four years, I figured I was less than a year out from asking her to marry me. That was just the way you did things. Met a girl, thought she was pretty, got along with her, loved kissing her and holding her hand, introduced her to your parents, moved in with her...that was the next logical step, with the most logical girl I could imagine. Marriage.

  I figured it wouldn't change much about our relationship.

  That's what she figured, too, and it was the main reason she said she wanted to bail.

  Apparently, Kylie hadn't been happy. Hannah said I hadn't been particularly happy either. I didn't know about that, because being blindsided by getting dumped by the girl I had imagined the rest of my life with was pretty much taking up all the space in my brain. Through the years after college, while I hacked away at an MBA and tried to get my feet under me in a music career, Kylie had always been there. She was a girl I loved, one that I could count on to keep me company, help me with the housework, even heat up the sheets in our bed from time to time.

  When she left me—with tears in her eyes to match the ones streaming down my face, so I had to give her that—I felt like a sad, lonely island in the middle of the vast ocean of Philadelphia. A couple weeks later, I heard through the grapevine that she’d snagged an audition for Breathe Free, a long-running epic drama TV show out in La-La Land. I spent that day with my head under my pillow, while Ethan rigged my computer in about ten different ways via extensions and simple hacks, to block all news of the show, and her. Said it’d be for the best.

  Just because I couldn’t internet stalk her, though, didn’t mean she wasn’t constantly on my mind.

  Worst of all, I had my whole life ahead of me, and no clue exactly what I wanted to do with it, especially without the girl I’d always imagined by my side. Being with Kylie, who loved me no matter what—or so I thought—had given me the freedom to relax, let life take charge of me and not the other way around. I did know that drinking my face off and fucking anything with two legs was not how I wanted to react, despite what my co-host, Ethan, thought I should do. Forget one-night stands; I couldn’t even bring myself to think about being with another woman.

  Until now.

  Now, across the glass, sat the most gorgeous girl I'd ever laid eyes on. I'd loved Kylie—still did, I was pretty damn sure—known she was pretty, but I'd never understood what people meant when they described being absolutely captivated, enchanted, knocked off their feet at the mere sight of a woman.

  This woman changed all of that in an instant.

  Toby's hair was waist-length, chestnut and deep sepia waves tumbling over her shoulders and catching on her elbows as she moved. Her chocolate eyes sparkled just above the most statuesque cheekbones I'd ever
seen, which framed her eyes and formed an arrow pointing directly to her mouth. The pale pink, delicately curved pillows of her lips twitched as she watched me talk, like she was paying such close attention to what I was saying that she wanted to mirror every one of my words.

  Like she was captivated by me, too.

  Then, a thought unlike any I’d ever had, even for Kylie – I wanted to taste her.

  I took a deep breath, hating how my long-suffering and overly-sensitive crotch responded to one pretty girl who, now that I thought about it, offered me no more courtesy than any other girl coming to work with me at the studio would. If she was going to work with me for the rest of the semester—fourteen long weeks—I had to get this in check.

  Maybe Ethan was right. Maybe it really was time for me to start dating again.

  Dating. Not fucking. Which is what he told me to do four months ago, after I’d already spent eight weeks wallowing.

  So, maybe we were making progress.

  Shari's voice piped through the talkback. “Okay, boys, we're on in ten. And Mark? Sorry in advance. Ethan bribed me with coffee to let us lead with...the thing we're leading with.”

  The five-second theme for The Bro Show, the radio program Ethan and I had built from the ground up years ago when we were undergrads at Temple University, started playing, and I shot dagger eyes at Ethan. He just leaned back way too far in his stupid swivel office chair and ran his tongue over his stupid whitened teeth.