Chapter 3: Fake names

Rejena

The Dalon Sorrin has my hand in his, shaking it and pretending to be someone else. Fine, I can play along. Instead of giving him my own name, I give him my pen name. Technically, I am not completely lying about who I am. I am Jane Carter, but only on the cover of books that can only be viewed on apps at the moment, but I am working on getting something on paper, getting it out there for the world to see. That is why I brought my typewriter that I was gifted by someone that always believed in me more than I ever believed in myself, but haven’t truly taken the time to actually write on. I am hoping that if I write on the typewriter, I won’t be able to post the books online again and I can actually take my time to finish the book and try to get it published through a company or go the self-publishing route. I know a typewriter is probably not the ideal way to go about it, but I have found a really cool app that can take scanned documents and turn it into a word document, so that is how I will be able to edit it and get it out there, but until then, I need to learn to finish a book before I put it out there for the world to see. 

“At my service, you say.” He says with a teasing tilt of his lips, and I nearly melt. How I am going to keep this up and not ask him all three hundred questions I have about how it feels to drive a Formula 1 car, I have no idea. Something tells me though he needs a break from his life, and I can understand that. So, if he needs to be someone else, then I will give him the space to be someone else. 

I allow myself to let my eyes wonder over him, taking in the shorts and the fact that he is bare chested in front of me, sweat glistening on his very tanned skin. I wish I could run my hands up his body, but that is not what you do the first time you meet someone. He has his trusted hat on, this one without any logo’s to say that he is a driver for Maclaren. His eyes are this beautiful hazel that reminds me of a grove of trees with all different colors, but somehow when you take it in as a whole, they turn into his eyes. He licks his lips and I have to focus really hard on the fact that he was saying something and I probably need to respond.

“I realize now that it sounds like I am offering myself up, but that is not the case.” I tell him, a blush staining my cheeks. I can’t remember the last time I slept with a man and honestly, every time so far has been a real bad disappointment, and I am not interested in going down that route again any time soon, not even with Dalon freaken Sorrin. 

“That is a shame, but I do have other ways for you to be of assistance.” He says and I really wish I could stop blushing. It is then that I realize my hand is still in his, and I slowly start to pull it out. He quickly let’s go as if only now realizing the same thing I did. “I seem to be in need of someone that is able to speak Italian as I can’t even understand more than five words of Italian and my friend and I are starving. English doesn’t seem to be a big deal around here.” He says, looking down at his hand in confusion before looking back up at me with that smile that is going to make me pregnant without even having to touch me. 

“Well, you are out of luck in that area. The best I can do is order you a coffee. I didn’t think much further than that when I decided to book my ticket and come here.” I tell him, which is more or less true. I know how to introduce myself and say where I am from, not that anyone has asked. Other than that, I can order coffee, tea and a croissant. I am far more efficient in French than I am in my Italian.

“I could really do with a coffee.” He says, running a hand through his hair, starting to look nervous. I was making Dalon, the man who drives a car at impossible speeds around curves that would have me up against the wall quicker than I can drop my panties. 

Just as I am about to tell him to sit, a man comes up behind him. “Da-“ Dalon turns around quicker than he drives and stops his friend before he can say his full name.

“Mario, this is Jane. She is another tourist in this very tiny town. She was just laughing at how my mother must have loved Titanic if she named me Jack Dawson.” He says, clearly trying to bring his friend up to speed about the fact that he lied about who he is. I just sit back and watch the show, and I must say, it is the most entertaining show I have watched in a while. Mario, that name sounds familiar. It clicks then that this is Dalon’s trainer and also his close friend if the news were right about that. 

“Oh yes, his mother was completely in love with that man. Don’t tell his father.” Mario looks like he is trying not to laugh at Dalon while also trying to support his friend. “Are you staying in the guest house?” He asks and I try not to laugh at that. There is only one guest house. Where else would I be staying?

“The one and only.” I say with a chuckle. 

“Well, we need to head back.” Mario says, giving Dalon a look that says there is no space to argue. “It was nice meeting you, Jane.” He says, practically dragging Dalon away from me. I wave after them and then wonder if it was Dalon that I heard in the room next to where I am staying. Only one way to find out, I guess. 

I spend a few more hours wondering through the streets after I got my coffee. I can already feel the jetlag pulling me under, but I refuse to go down without a fight. When I start to feel like I am sleepwalking, I head back to the café and order a coffee and a cappuccino, not sure which he would prefer, and I also ask for some sugar on the side. When the coffee arrives, I make my way back to the guest house. Luckily the guest house isn’t took far from where we are staying and I can at least still keep my eyes slightly open as I make my way up the stairs. I quickly put the coffee down on the ground and for a moment I struggle to get back up. I consider for a moment just staying here, knock on the door and wait for him to open, but the wave of darkness that clouds my vision tells me that I would probably end up falling asleep against the door before he can open it. Instead of waiting, I just knock on the door and then slip into my own room. He will probably know who it is from. 

When I make it into my room, I fall face first on my bed, not bothering to undress or to take off my glasses. I have contact lenses somewhere in my bag. If my glasses break, I can just stick to wearing my contacts, even if the things irritate me to no end. 

I don’t last long enough to listen for his door opening.