The Stand-In Read online

  The Stand-In

  Lauren Campbell

  Contents

  1. Chapter One

  2. Chapter Two

  3. Chapter Three

  4. Chapter Four

  5. Chapter Five

  6. Chapter Six

  7. Chapter Seven

  8. Chapter Eight

  9. Chapter Nine

  10. Chapter Ten

  11. Chapter Eleven

  12. Chapter Twelve

  13. Chapter Thirteen

  14. Chapter Fourteen

  15. Chapter Fifteen

  16. Chapter Sixteen

  17. Chapter Seventeen

  18. Chapter Eighteen

  19. Chapter Nineteen

  20. Chapter Twenty

  21. Chapter Twenty-One

  22. Chapter Twenty-Two

  23. Chapter Twenty-Three

  24. Chapter Twenty-Four

  25. Chapter Twenty-Five

  26. Chapter Twenty-Six

  27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

  28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

  29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

  30. Chapter Thirty

  31. Chapter Thirty-One

  32. Chapter Thirty-Two

  33. Chapter Thirty-Three

  34. Chapter Thirty-Four

  35. Chapter Thirty-Five

  36. Chapter Thirty-Six

  37. Chapter Thirty-Seven

  38. Chapter Thirty-Eight

  39. Chapter Thirty-Nine

  40. Chapter Forty

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Lauren Campbell

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright © 2018 by Lauren Campbell

  All Rights Reserved.

  Without restricting the rights reserved under copyright, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored, scanned, photocopied, recorded, or distributed in any manner via any method, whether electronically or manually, unless given written permission from the author, other than brief quotations for the purpose of writing reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, mentions of actual places, name brands, and all other content within this book are fictional or used in a fictitious manner as a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, events, or anything else is coincidental.

  Any band names, television shows, song lyrics, etc. are property of the copyright owners, and were used fictitiously.

  Editor: Madison Seidler (first seven chapters) and Erica Carboy

  Proofreader: Liz Taylor

  Cover Design: Lauren Campbell

  Paperback Formatting: Elaine York, Allusion Graphics, LLC/Publishing & Book Formatting

  Ebook Formatting: JP Epperson, Wicked Peach Publishing, LLC

  For my sister, Mackenzie, who actually reads my books.

  For my friends: Thank you for being there. Thank you for encouraging me. Your friendship means the world.

  And for my sons, always. (But please don't read this for a long time.)

  1

  Chapter One

  February 2018 –– Ten months earlier

  “...and then he told me if I didn't get rid of Tootie, he was moving out. So I said, 'Fuck it. Go!” Hailey's shoulders drop as she turns to look at me. “I didn't think when I got home, he'd actually be gone. GONE! Over a chewed sweater!”

  I take the hot chocolate from the cheery, sweating man in the food truck. “Come on, Hailey. It wasn't just a sweater.” No, it was much more than that.

  She scoops marshmallows from a jar on the counter into her cup. Shrugs. “Okay, so Tootie shit in Ralph's shoe too. Big deal. It's not like it was runny. It was hard. A fucking Tootsie Roll shit. I got it out immediately and sprayed the whole thing with Lysol.” She pauses, considering. “And that shit kills everything.”

  “You've also done some super crazy things. I mean, you aren't crazy, but it sure looks that way. Messaging his exes on Insta? Big no-no. Tootie being destructive was probably just the last straw.” I adjust my scarf around my neck one-handed, which reminds me... “And what about the blanket his grandmother knitted him before she died? Didn't Tootie rip that to shreds?” I don't wait for an answer. “Oh, oh … let's not forget those Italian leather couches––R.I.P. Two days. That's how long it took before he turned a sofa and loveseat into beef jerky and cloud casserole.”

  She rolls her eyes. Shakes her head. “Yeah, yeah. Well, they were ugly anyway.”

  “The couches?”

  “The exes.”

  I laugh, then let out a long sigh. She will never get it. Men, that is.

  We find a bench and sit down, intent on killing our five free minutes before walking into work, when groans float from behind us.

  “...and he wasn't the best in bed, anyway. I mean, really, whose safe word is ‘flamingo’?” Her face twists.

  I turn my head, attempting to locate the distressed sounds. “Shh!” I hold up a finger. Still my body.

  “God, what did I ever see––”

  “SHH!”

  I whip my head in multiple directions, my red hair flying into my face, but can't trace the cries of the injured.

  Hailey's brows raise. “What is that?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Sick dog,” she declares. “Anyway...”

  I shake my head. “Sounds more like a dying cat to me.”

  We shrug and turn back to our hot chocolate as an elderly man walks by, his starched shirt and Members Only jacket decidedly nineties. I'm taken aback by his deep scowl and the redness of his cheeks.

  “Pervert!” Old Man yells in our direction.

  “Excuse me?”

  The wind blows the few remaining hairs he has on the top of his head, and he marches over and stoops down at our knees, eliciting a prompt crossing of our legs and widening of our eyes. “This pervert here!”

  Hailey and I share a look, then pitch forward at the waist. To our horror, we find a man curled in the fetal position beneath the bench. We scream, jumping up, hot chocolate flying. My heel catches on Old Man's shoe, and I stumble. Catching myself on my knees, my elbow topples him over in the process, the bum of his pristine khakis meeting the wet pavement.

  More groaning from beneath the bench.

  I stand up. Slap my palms against my soaked knees, as if that will distract from the pain as the old man pulls himself up.

  “I am so, so sorry. Are you all right?”

  “I'm fine, little lady. But that pervert's not about to be!”

  “I guess you were right,” I mumble to Hailey. “It was a sick dog.”

  Groans.

  “I'm calling the police,” Old Man says. “That pervert's going to jail. You got a phone down there, Mister?” he says to the bench dweller, whose face none of us have yet to see.

  “Yeah, we're gonna need that evidence, you sick freak!” Hailey screams, kicking him with her shoe.

  More groans.

  Old Man, who now appears as if he has wet himself after his unfortunate date with the pavement, stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Now, I've seen a lot in my time, but never did I think I'd see a guy floggin' his log under a bench in broad daylight.” He pulls his Jitterbug from his jacket, and steps away for a minute as Hailey and I stand, dumbfounded. He comes back and cracks his knuckles. “Police are on the way.”

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “I'm gonna yank this snarf by his tiny beans and make chili!”

  Hailey and I step out of the way as he forcefully grabs the guy by the belt loops and drags him out. A smile plays on my lips, excited the perv is about to get what he deserves––though I'm not sure how much damage this old guy could do––but then my smile melts into a frown.

  And then my frown turns into a loss for words
. What did I expect? A ho-hum face, relish-stained shirt, and a veiny dick bulging from his pants? Whatever vision I'd had in my head, it was as wrong as Hailey is about why Ralph left her. Then again, she's not the only one who's naive when it comes to men.

  I blink a few times. Can a man covered in, hopefully, his own vomit look any more appealing? His eyes are shut, and I can't be sure he's okay. But, if necessary, I can't say I'd hesitate to give him mouth-to-mouth. Well … okay … maybe if I had one of those disposable toothbrushes handy.

  “Well, whadda ya know?” Old Man says. “A desperate flutter bum. Don’t see those every day.”

  Hailey eyes me. I lift a shoulder.

  “Hey, flutter bum … can ya hear me?”

  Groan.

  I make a mental note to Google ‘flutter bum’ later.

  Old Man kicks Flutter Bum in the leg. Hard. “How about now?”

  A deeper groan flows slowly from the guy's lips, and I step between them as he poises to kick him again. “Stop! I think he's harmless.”

  Old Man puts his hands on his hips. “Harmless!” Then, a smile. “I see. You think cuz he's a looker he ain't a sicko? You ever hear of Ted Bundy?”

  I narrow my eyes. “No. I mean, yes. I mean, no, that's not what … clearly the man just has a hangover.”

  More moans.

  Old Man shakes his head. “Deary, he's either a terrible actor, or you're a terrible judge of character. Either way, continue at your own risk, I suppose. I have to meet my wife in...” He looks at his watch. “Four minutes at the bakery.” Sirens blare in the distance. “They'll take care of him. Good luck. And don't get too close.”

  “Thank you so much for the help,” Hailey says. “We’re so appreciative you told us about this sick, sick man.”

  “Hailey!” I whisper, elbowing her.

  “We're going to flag down those officers now,” she tells him, then grabs me by the arm and pulls me toward the street.

  “Hailey...”

  She smiles. “That old curmudgeon wouldn't know a drunk guy if he had a breathalyzer for a nose.”

  I spin on my heel, and see he's gone. Flutter Bum––whom I decide to think of as Drunkie, since I have no clue what Flutter Bum means––is still sprawled on the street, a small crowd collecting around him. Shrugs, stares, a gentle kick as the sirens grow louder.

  “We have to get him out of here,” I say. “Find out where he lives and take him home or something.”

  She scoffs. “We don't have to do anything. But you are welcome to do whatever you want.”

  “They'll arrest him!”

  “Not once we explain it was a misunderstanding.”

  “They'll cite him for public drunkenness,” I protest.

  “So?” she asks.

  “So, I'm helping him!”

  I baby-run in my heels back to the bench. Hold up my hands to the few people around him.

  “You know this man?” a woman asks. She's barely of legal age to drink, if that, and appears to have used an entire compact of highlighter on her face.

  I can tell she'd love it if I said no, so I say, “Yes. My boyfriend,” and smile sweeter than a Fig Newton at her. Her nose flares, and I notice the half-eaten croissant in her hand from a nearby sandwich place, so I add, “I wouldn't finish that if I were you. He's been puking since we went there this morning, and it's only a matter of time before it starts coming out the other end, if you know what I mean...”

  Her mouth gapes a bit before she slowly walks off, tossing her sandwich in the trash. I smile.

  “All right, everybody,” Hailey says. “Nothing to see. Just a little Ebola is all,” and she shoos them away.

  I grab Drunkie by the arms, and with Hailey's help, pull him into a sitting position. She props up his back with her legs. I purse my lips. Give him a few hesitant slaps across the cheek.

  Hailey laughs. “You think those sissy slaps are gonna wake this guy up?” She pulls back her hand, then whacks him hard on the face. “Wake up, bitch!”

  “Hailey!”

  She's pulling back for another shot when his eyes open slowly, revealing a honeycomb so bright it's as if light is shining behind them. “Baby?”

  My stomach flips at the word. He has a girlfriend. And it sure isn't me. But of course he does. And of course it isn't.

  “No. Not baby. Tess. We have to get you home. Can you stand at all?”

  “Baby...” he whispers again, and I feel like I'm definitely going to puke. Not because I'm excited or nervous, but because he smells freaking horrendous.

  Hailey gathers her dark locks into a tie she has on her wrist. Points to the opposite side of the street. A cop is getting out of his car, eyes sweeping the groups of people. Hailey pushes, and I pull, and in a few seconds, we’ve managed to erect two-hundred pounds of muscle and wrap an arm around our shoulders.

  “What do you eat, dude?” Hailey asks. “Concrete steaks?”

  I look back to see the officer questioning a couple of women on a bench right as Hailey and I drag him around the corner, my lungs burning from the exertion. We set him on some metal stairs and prop him against the wall.

  A sudden ring.

  Hailey fishes her phone from her vibrating bra. “Crap. Crap, crap, crap. We're late.”

  I'd all but forgotten about work. I have the glamorous job of selling panties. Turns out my degree in Women's Studies meant I still needed to learn the many different shapes tits come in. And my boss, Veronica, is the worst. Literally the worst. That's partly why Hailey and I meet every morning. We have to talk each other out of quitting. Or killing our boss. One of those—often both.

  “Hello?” Hailey says.

  “Baby...” the guy mumbles again, and I really wish he didn't smell so bad, because besides the girlfriend he's obviously pining over, the odor is another strike against the already slim possibility of us making out.

  “...and then it spilled all over her, and I think she might even have second degree burns!” Screaming on the other end. “Thank you, Veronica.” Pause. “I'll be sure to tell her, and I'll be there soon.”

  She hangs up.

  “Did you just lie and say I burned myself with hot chocolate? Because that's really bad karma, and next thing you know, you'll probably burn yourself with hot chocolate.”

  She looks at me pointedly. “No. I said you had a wild night with a guy at the bar and had your first experience with ultra-hot wax on your hoo-ha.”

  My mouth drops.

  “And I'm totally fine with that happening to me, so bring it on.” She puts a hand on my shoulder. “I'm kidding. But if I don't get there within five minutes, I'm out of a job. You're off for the day, but you'd better show up with gauze and tape tomorrow, or you'll be off permanently. We both will.”

  I shake my head. Nod toward the guy. “Well, what am I supposed to do with him alone?”

  “I don't know. Force him into the shower? Hot sex after? Create your first child?”

  I roll my eyes. “No, I meant … he's too heavy for me to do anything with alone. I might as well try to push a whale out to sea.”

  “Hmm. Well, maybe this is the part where you find some other hot guy to help you, and then take them both home and have a threesome?”

  I close my eyes and press my lips together. Hailey, Hailey...

  “Love ya, girlie.” She kisses me on the cheek. “Call me if you need me!” She scampers off, then turns around. “But only if it's after I'm off work. Or, like, if he's a crazy guy or something. Wait … on second thought, don't call me if he's crazy.” She waves, then disappears around the corner.

  I sigh, then look down at the guy whose girlfriend would probably claw off my face if she found me with her man.

  Or wait...

  What if it isn't a girlfriend? What if he's gay? He is pretty. I shake the thought, then nudge him. He's slumped to the right, his cheek pressed against the brick. One eye opens a bit.

  “Mmm?”

  I think that was a question.

  I sit ne
xt to him. “Where do you live?”

  The other eye opens. “Angel.”

  My cheeks heat. This guy either thinks I'm his girlfriend or an angel or his angel girlfriend, and any of those mean he's absolutely plastered. And I have no idea how I'm going to get him into my car all by myself.

  The cop passes by, stopping with his back to us, head scanning in every direction but ours. And then he starts to rotate. I panic, grab John Doe by the face, and press my lips to his for one long, smelly kiss, my left eye peeking open to find a hint of disgust in the cop's eyes as he walks away.

  I pull back. Wipe my lips with the back of my hand and rub them furiously with the neck of my sweater.

  The stranger smiles. “Baby...”

  “Up you go!” I clap him on the back, but he doesn't budge. There's no way I'm going to get him a block down the road. I'm going to have to get him an Uber and have the driver drag him to it. I bend down and yell in his ear. “I'm going to get you an Uber. What address should I send it to?”

  “Uber...”

  Ugh. This is so frustrating. And then I remember...

  I open my purse and find just what I need. I twist off the cap, then dump the ice-cold water right on his head, his eyelids fluttering rapidly, hands reaching up in comical slow motion to shield him, as it soaks his hair and jacket. His wallet is probably in his jeans, but no way am I reaching my hand in there. Being a guy, he may get excited, and then I may get excited, and I am not trying to get excited with anyone's boyfriend … especially one in desperate need of a bath and some Colgate. But damn, if he were single and clean, then maybe I really would have my first hot wax experience.