The Impostor, A Love Story (12 page)

“So, who is the lucky guy? I want to shake
his hand.” Chris laughed.

“Dylan.”

He motioned toward the stage. “Dylan
Richardson, the guitarist?” He nodded, pointing Dylan out on stage.
“You’re going out with Dylan?”

“You all are friends right?”

“Yeah, we go out together when he’s in town.
I’ve known him for years. He grew up in Anchorage.” He took a sip
of his beer. “Our fathers do some business together sometimes. They
live in Washington now.” He hesitated for a moment and then spit it
out. “He’s a great guy, but a bit of a ladies’ man.”

“I know. I don’t know what I’m doing.” I
decided, however, that I was going to forget about all his past
women and the other girls here tonight that longed for him as much
as I did. I wanted to get to know him more. He didn’t seem to be
the jerk I had labeled him as. For some reason, I was willing to
take the risk, even though it was probably emotional suicide.

“So you coming?” I knew Emily would come even
if Chris didn’t. But I figured she would have more fun not being
the third wheel.

“Sure, I’ll be in town tomorrow.”

I clapped with enthusiasm and gave him a hug.
Emily would thank me later. “A double date, this will be fun!”

I took a couple orders and went over to the
bar.

“So, you are into musicians, huh?” Brad
smirked, handing me the beers.

“Why? Do you play something?” I winked. I
couldn’t let him see how far I was falling. I delivered the beers
and went back to the bar, finding nowhere else interesting to wait
around.

“I never would have guessed Dylan would be
your type.” Brad raised an eyebrow.

“What type did you think I’d like?”

“I don’t know, not a musician though.”

Was this a warning
?

“I have watched you turning down so many
guys; I figured you were waiting for royalty or something. I still
can’t believe it. A musician—and Dylan, of all people.”

“What is wrong with him? I thought you all
were friends.” I leaned on the bar as if in counsel.

“I love Dylan. He’s like a brother. I have
just never seen him with one girl. He asked me to invite you over
the other night, but I never thought . . . He’s had a thing for you
for a while, but I really didn’t think he had a chance.”

“I didn’t, either.” I sighed. “I know he’s
your friend and all, but am I being completely stupid?”

“It depends what you are searching for. He’s
a great guy, but you know he’s leaving next month. And to be
honest, the longest I have seen him with the same girl is a few
days. If you are looking for something serious, well . . .”

“I know . . . I know I’m being an idiot.”

“A musician. I still can’t believe it.” He
shook his head again.

“I’m really not into musicians.” My eyes
gravitated to the stage. “I don’t know what he did to me, but he
did something.”

“Yeah, he kind of has that effect on girls,”
he said under his breath.

Were all his little comments clues for me to
run for my life?

“Do you have any clue where he’s taking me
tomorrow?”

“Probably somewhere outside. Dress warm.”

What do I wear on a first date in
Alaska
? I wanted to look cute, but not like I was trying too
hard. Turning, I saw a table of guys whose glasses were empty, so I
went over to get their order.

“Hi, my name is Nicole. I’ll be your server
now. Tammy is off. You about ready for another round?”

“That would be great. All around.” My eyes
drifted to the stage. I was trying not to stare too much—trying not
to get caught up in Dylan. I didn’t really want him to see me
watching him, but that didn’t work. Our eyes meet, and he gave me a
wink. I turned away, timidly biting my lip.

“They are good, huh?” one of the guys
said.

“They are, aren’t they?” I sighed like a
smitten schoolgirl but quickly snapped out of it. “Let me get your
drinks.” As I was walking back to the bar, I heard Dylan’s voice. I
turned back to the stage to see him peeking over at me.

“This is a song I wrote last night, so it’s a
little rough, but the guys said I could try it out on you all
tonight.” I loved it when he sang.

“I want to dedicate this to a lady I have
grown quite fond of and who I can’t stop thinking about. I know she
isn’t quite sure what to make of me, but I want her to know, I’m
pretty into her. Nikki, this is for you.” My eyes opened wide and
my breath fluttered. I glanced at Emily in disbelief. She gave me
that “you go girl” grin.

He gazed at me while he sang. I tried to look
away, but I was so caught up in his voice—in his words—I just
disappeared into them. I wanted to rush to the stage and go to him
like all those cheesy movies—she scurries to him through the crowd,
leaps on stage, and they embrace. Fantasizing, I wanted this moment
to never end. This instant where I was lost in his eyes, lost in
his lyrics.

“Excuse me, miss. Excuse me,” an annoying
voice pestered me. I couldn’t believe he messed up my moment. It
took me a minute to get out of my trance.

“Excuse me. Can we get some more beers?”

I wanted to smack him for his terrible
judgment in timing. Couldn’t he see I was hypnotized? Didn’t he
realize this Greek god was serenading me? Why couldn’t he
comprehend that this was one of the sweetest moments of my
life?

“Can we get some more beers, please?” he
repeated, inconsiderate of my bliss. I was kind of pissed. Two
minutes, couldn’t he wait two minutes? I shook off my
disappointment.

“Of course you can. What would you like?”

“Bring us three shots of Jose Cuervo and
three Buds. Do you want to do a shot with us?”

“No, thank you. I’m working.”

“You sure? No one will have to know.” As
inviting as it was, the last thing I needed was alcohol in my
system, especially tequila. I’d probably jump on the stage.

“Thank you, that’s really sweet of you. I’ll
take a rain check.”

I brought the orders to the bar knowing that
Brad would torment me about the song.

“Can I have eight Buds, two martinis, a glass
of white zin, and three shots of Jose Cuervo?”

“I think that’s a little excessive, even for
you. Look at you, you’re blushing.”

“Shut up, Bradley.”

“He wrote you a song. Is that what it takes?
I think maybe I will take guitar lessons.”

“Shut up, Bradley.”

Dylan was still singing. I was still
blushing. I tried to ignore Brad and turned back to the stage. The
song was almost over, and I wanted to savor every moment of it. No
one had ever done anything like this for me before.

“And we wonder why he always gets the girl.
You know every girl in this place hates you right about now. It’s
bad enough he likes you, but he’s singing a song for you.”

“Shut up, Bradley! Just give me the drinks.”
I proceeded over to the customers with a full tray, all my
attention savoring Dylan’s every word. He was staring into my eyes,
and I was gazing into his. I didn’t even notice the tiny step down
into the lower level. My foot twisted and drinks flew through the
air as I fell to the ground. So graceful.
Shit
. I was
covered in tequila and martinis. I scanned the room, completely
humiliated, praying nobody had seen me, but realizing on a slow
night like tonight, everyone had.

Dylan stopped playing for a second, but when
he realized I was all right, he winked at me with a grin. One of
the customers sitting at a nearby table helped me up.

“You okay, miss?”

“Just incredibly mortified.” I picked at my
wet clothing, trying to unstick my shirt from my body. He scrambled
to help me pick the glasses up off the floor.

“Thank you so much.”

“You sure you are okay?”

“I’m fine, thank you.” I snuck back to the
bar. Now not only was I bright red, but completely
self-conscious.

“That was classic. You fell with such grace,”
Brad picked at me.

“Shut up, Bradley. Oh my god, that was so
embarrassing.”

“Are you kidding? It made my night.”

“You are such a jerk. Give me some new
drinks, please.”

“You sure you can handle them with pretty boy
on the stage?”

“Bradley, shut up! Can I get off after this?
It’s slow and I’m all sticky.”

“It’s almost closing. You can handle thirty
more minutes. There are only three of you. Besides, if I let you go
home before he gets off stage, Dylan will kill me. He is bigger
than I am, so that wouldn’t be good.” He tried to lighten my
mood.

“Please? I feel so gross.”

“You are cute wet. Now give those customers
their drinks. And you are cut off.” He smiled. He knew I hadn’t had
anything to drink.

As I made my way across the floor, hoping no
one would notice me, I glanced to the stage.

Dylan winked at me again, mouthing, “You
okay?”

I just nodded, even though I was probably
damaged for life. I just wanted to go home.
Let me hide for the
next . . . eternity.
Why wouldn’t Brad let me leave? It was
only thirty minutes. Emily could handle the pitiful crowd.

“Thank you all. We will see you Tuesday
night.”
Oh, shit
. They were getting off the stage. I dashed
over to the bar.

“Brad, I gotta go. Can you call me a cab?”
Cabs didn’t fill the parking lot on Sunday nights the way they did
on other weekend nights.

Right then I felt Dylan’s muscular arms wrap
themselves around me as his warm body pressed against mine,
trapping me at the bar. He moved my sticky hair away from my neck
and his tongue gently savored it. “Mmm, you taste like Tequila. I
couldn’t wait to get off stage and taste you. You looked so
delicious.”

“That was so embarrassing.” I turned in his
arms, facing him.

“I’m just glad you are all right. You fell
with grace, I have to say.” Dylan smiled—such a lie. My legs and
arms had gone hurling through the air with all of the alcohol.

“Yeah, right.” I lowered my head, totally
horrified.

“You are so adorable when you blush.” He
lifted my chin. “You really do taste good. I can’t wait to get you
out of this place and get you home. We’ll have to get you out of
those sticky clothes.”

I playfully smacked him. “You’re so bad.”

I searched for a way to say goodnight, but I
couldn’t with him so close. I didn’t want to break free of his
arms. I wished I could stay there forever. They felt so safe.

“I can’t go home with you, Dylan. I’m
sorry.”

“Yes, you can. I promise not to bite.” He
kissed my neck.

I pulled away from him a little bit. “I’m not
ready to do anything. If you don’t want to go out tomorrow I
understand.”

He pressed his finger over my mouth. “Shh, I
just want to be with you. If you’re not ready, then I will
wait.”

“I understand if—”

“Shhh, not another word. I said I will wait.”
He pressed his forehead against mine. I could see my reflection in
his eyes.

I couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you for the
song. It really was… so beautiful!”

“Dylan, you coming?” I heard one of the band
members yell out from the door. Dylan had the keys in his pocket so
they couldn’t leave without him. I guess the guys had taken a cab
to work.

“Do you want a ride home?” He tucked the
sticky hair behind my ears.

“I’m fine. Emily already called a cab.”

“So where do I pick you up tomorrow?” I had
already written the address on a napkin for him. I realized if he
was a friend of Brad’s, we should be okay.

“Dylan, hey is it okay if Chris Anderson
comes tomorrow?”

“Sure. I’ll call him tonight. I’ll get you
around ten, that good?”

“Dylan, you coming?” they called out
again.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” He pulled me
close and kissed my forehead goodnight. He walked away still
staring into my eyes.

“You pussy, what’s wrong with you?” Trevor
from the band hit him.

Brad turned to me. “You’re not going home
with him?”

“Of course, I’m not.”

“I’m just saying. He wrote you a song. He
didn’t even comment on your sticky wet dog appearance, and you blow
him off for what? He’s getting in a car with a bunch of guys who
are ready to have a good time. You shouldn’t have let him get
away.”

“I can’t worry about what he’s doing. If he
goes out with someone else tonight, so be it. I don’t want to get
involved with anyone anyway.”

“Don’t make him wait too long, Nikki. He
won’t.” I think Brad was trying to remind me what kind of guy I was
falling for. I already knew.

When we got back to the motel, I stayed up
rummaging through my suitcase for something to wear. I had nothing.
There was a big pile of clothes on the floor that I had tried on
and eliminated. Some made me look too fat. Others made me look too
short. I didn’t have the right shoes. I drove Emily crazy.

“Nicole, just go to sleep. They all look
fine.”

How was I supposed to sleep? I hadn’t been on
a date in years. I was microanalyzing every pair of jeans, every
sweater, every . . . everything.

“Is this okay?”

“Just go to sleep!”

I ended up falling asleep in one of the
outfits I had been trying on—another one I had vetoed. We woke up
to the knock on the door.

“Shit. Are they here?” I examined the room.
Clothes were everywhere from my neurotic, middle-of -the-night
fashion show. I glanced in the mirror.
Damn. I look
horrible
.

“One minute,” I blurted out. “Emily, get up!
They’re here.”

“Five more minutes.” She turned over.

“Emily, they are really here!”

I ran to the bathroom, washed my face,
brushed my teeth, and put on some eyeliner in five minutes flat. I
was glad that I had taken a shower the night before. I stuck a clip
in my hair to tame it a little bit. I had gone to sleep with it
wet, so it was all kinds of crazy looking.