Not So Fake (The Real Thing Book 1)

by Emma Lyon

  I closed my eyes and imagined it was Zach’s hand on my dick and not mine. Thought of him stretched out next to me with his hand down my boxers, taking me apart stroke by stroke. Imagined those green-brown eyes on me as the singular object of his focus, and I spread my legs to give myself more access, groaning when I pressed a finger to my taint.

  My phone buzzed and I opened my eyes to look at the screen. Are you close?

  I bit my lip and typed out, Yes.

  Tell me when you finish.

  Oh, God. I sped up my stroking and fell into a familiar rhythm. My dick ached from the roughness of my palm but the mild pain just spurred me on more. Arching into my hand, my balls tightened as a wave of pleasure washed over me, and I came in spurts all over my stomach.

  I closed my eyes and rode the shockwaves of pleasure until they tapered to a few tingling jolts. The only way that could have been better was if Zach were lying here with me.

  Fighting through post-orgasm lethargy, I typed, All done :).

  His response came a moment later. I wish I could see you right now.

  I almost wrote, I wish you could, too, but hesitated. Zach probably just saw this as just some fun light sexting without anything more serious than that. So I settled on, Falling asleep. Good night.

  Sleep tight :).

  I smiled at the words then forced myself out of bed to clean up. What a crazy, weird day with an unexpectedly great ending. I managed to brush my teeth before collapsing back into bed.

  “If you want to know if he’s interested, just call him,” Cassie said sensibly, as we went down rows of auditorium chairs placing the brightly colored event programs on the seats. We were a quarter of the way through with a couple of hours to go before my father was due to arrive.

  Two weeks had passed since the wedding, which I was pretty sure was past the statute of limitations for calling someone after a date. Sort-of date.

  “I can’t call him now. He’ll think I’m a freak.”

  Cassie turned and gave me her kind look. “Lane, he’s met you. He already thinks you’re a freak.”

  I considered balling up one of the event programs to throw at her, but we didn’t have any to spare. “My point is, if I had a shot, I’m pretty sure I lost it.”

  Once the alcohol had worn off, embarrassment at the sexting had kicked in. I’d basically gotten myself off while the poor guy was trying to get home, and the fact that Zach hadn’t followed up with a call or text since then made me think he’d just been humoring me. Or that it had been fun enough for him at the time, but not worth a repeat show.

  Cassie’s mouth straightened into a more serious line. “Look, I don’t want to psychoanalyze you or anything—”

  “Thank you for that.”

  “—but you’re still coming off a long-term relationship and unexpected breakup—”

  “Bryce broke up with me in January.”

  “—so maybe you need to take some pressure off yourself and just have fun? Call him, ask him out. If he’s pissed you waited two weeks, or if he’s not interested, then screw him. I mean, not literally. Unless you want to.”

  “You make it sound easy.”

  “It is easy.” Cassie grinned. “For me to say, anyway. I’m just saying, you deserve to have some fun. This wouldn’t be the worse way to have it.”

  Fun and I had never been easy dance partners. My mother once told me that I’d been so serious as a child she’d worried something was wrong. I didn’t remember that—I’d always had friends around, never felt like I didn’t fit in—but I’d been accused on more than one occasion of not being able to let my hair down.

  I didn’t really see the problem.

  What was a problem was how much time I’d spent thinking about Zach the last two weeks. Zach and our weird date-slash-not date.

  I’d spent last Sunday at my parents’ house—my brother Ethan was home from college—but not even Ethan’s presence could deflect my mother’s well-meaning inquiries into my non-existent love life. It didn’t help that she knew Bryce’s mother and thus knew about the whirlwind engagement and wedding. She hadn’t mentioned the wedding Sunday, presumably to spare my feelings, but it loomed in its absence, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it—not because of Bryce, but because of Zach.

  Zach with his too-hot grin and enviable confidence, his talent for putting me at ease while stringing me tight with tension. The way he’d looked in his suit. The line of his throat when he’d tilted his head back to drink his beer. The feel of his lips when I had kissed him in the car, and how much I had wanted to kiss him again at the barbeque pit, and later, when Zach had walked me to my door.

  Where Zach had said no. Because I was paying him. Zach might have managed to turn the night into one of the most enjoyable I’d had in a while, but at the end of the day, Zach was just doing his job.

  A screech from the microphone up on the podium had me wincing just as my phone buzzed in my pocket. I took it out and saw the name of my father’s campaign manager blazoned across the top.

  I moved to the side of the auditorium and through the double doors to avoid the sounds of my father’s advance team testing the mic before taking the call.

  “Jeff, what’s up?”

  “Lane, glad I caught you.” Jeff’s nervous tone was out of character enough that I was about to ask if something was wrong when he said, “Listen, I know you hate standing in as a surrogate for your father—” my stomach dropped, “—but I fucked up and could really use your help. As a favor. To me.”

  Jeff was not one to fuck up—he was the best campaign manager my father had ever had, actually—and my curiosity was piqued. “What happened?”

  Jeff sighed. “I double-booked a dinner with the donors and your father’s speech at Johns Hopkins. We can’t cancel the speaking engagement, and it will cost the campaign a small fortune to reschedule the dinner now. I’m hoping you can stand in for him with the donors. You won’t have to do much. Just mingle a bit, talk to some of them, be your charming self.”

  I snorted. “Have you met me?”

  “Yes, I have, and you’re absolutely charming when you let yourself be.” Jeff’s voice lowered, and I caught his note of desperation. “I know you hate this kind of thing, but it would really help me out. I would owe you for life if you said yes.”

  I hesitated. I did hate standing in for my father, but I liked Jeff. “You swear that no public speaking will be required?”

  “None,” Jeff said quickly. “Just social mingling and dinner. If we can get your father there for the tail end of it, he can talk to the donors then.”

  I was still going to hate it, but it wasn’t like Jeff asked for favors often. “All right. When is it?”

  Jeff let out an audible sigh of relief. “This Saturday. I’ll send you the details. Oh, and Lane?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Bring a date.”

  8

  Zach

  As dates went, this one was quickly devolving into can’t get out of here fast enough.

  It had started out fine. It was a new client—mid-forties, businessman just in for the week, was interested in dinner and maybe a club after. I’d gotten a few of his type. They liked the idea of a younger guy hanging off their arm, could get a little handsy sometimes but backed off when asked nicely.

  This one had a wedding ring, however, which was skeevy enough. Then, when we’d left the club and I’d said good night, the guy put an uninvited hand on my back and said, “Who says it has to be good night?”

  I put on the smile I reserved for asshole clients. None had been so bold as this one, however. “Early day tomorrow. I had fun, though.” I hadn’t, but for the money, I’d had fun enough.

  The guy looked incredulous. “You’re fucking with me, right? I paid for you for the night. So let’s get on with it.”

  My smile vanished. “I’m pretty sure Max went over the terms of the arrangement with you upfront. If you have any issues with it, call him.”

  I’d made sure that
the club was in a well-lit, public place, and even at the late hour there were enough people around that I wasn’t worried if the guy started to make a scene.

  “Fucking whore,” the guy muttered, before stalking off to one of the waiting cabs.

  I took a few minutes to get my cool back before getting into another one. I texted Max on the ride home: Take this fucker off the list.

  I got a reply the next morning, once I’d dragged myself out of bed. Got it :(.

  I threw on my running shorts and shirt to head out for a morning run. For the first time I was seriously rethinking this escort thing. I couldn’t deny that the money was great. I’d been able to arrange a payment schedule with the law school, and my savings account was a lot less pathetic these days. By the end of the summer, I should have enough to get through my final year, and after that, hopefully I’d land a job and put my money worries behind me.

  But then there were the assholes like the businessman from last night. Not that I’d had many, but even with the decent ones, at the end of the day it was still fake. I might be connecting with people on a superficial level for the span of an evening, but it never went further than that.

  And then there was Lane. Who I’d definitely wanted to connect with further but who hadn’t called. I’d resigned myself to the fact that my date with Lane had been a great night that apparently wouldn’t be repeated, and I’d have to live with that.

  All of that went out the window when I got back home and saw the new text from Max.

  Hope this one will be better than last night! Lane G. wants to know if you’re free Saturday for dinner.

  I stared down at the words, not sure how to feel. Because A, Lane had gone through Max, which meant that as far as Lane was concerned, this was just another paid date. But B, it was an opportunity to see Lane again, which filled me with an inordinate amount of pleasure.

  Which was ridiculous. Despite Lane’s invitation to his apartment that night and the surprise texting that followed—both of which could easily be chalked up to the warm fuzz of too many beers—the absence of contact from him these last two weeks had been a pretty clear indication of his lack of interest. I supposed I should be flattered that Lane had been impressed enough with my fake boyfriend abilities that he was hiring me for more, but I couldn’t deny a certain amount of disappointment that it was all he wanted.

  I waited until after I’d showered and eaten breakfast before calling Lane, knowing I was bordering on a line but rationalizing that he had given me his number. Not to mention that he’d gotten himself off while texting me. I could be forgiven for presuming.

  “So, I hear you need a date,” I said, when Lane answered with a cautious, “Hello?”

  Lane’s huffed laugh rolled through me like hot chocolate, warm and sweet. “Guess you made a good first impression.”

  I couldn’t stop the grin spreading over my face. “Did I.”

  “You must have, since I seem to be coming back for more.” A brief pause, and Lane’s voice shifted from its teasing tone to something less certain. “It’s all right, isn’t it? That I called Max, I mean.”

  “Yeah, of course.” I cleared my throat. “So, what’s this dinner?”

  “It’s for my father’s donors. He can’t make it, so his campaign manager asked me to step in for him. The small talk will be excruciating, but hopefully the food will be good.”

  “I don’t mind small talk.” Lying back on the couch, I put my bare feet up on the opposite arm and rested the hand not holding my phone on my bare stomach. The air conditioning was weak in my building, so I’d thrown on shorts after my shower but hadn’t bothered with a shirt. “I’m actually pretty excellent at small talk.”

  “Why does that not surprise me?” I heard something rustle, and wondered where Lane was and what he was doing. Wondered if it would be creepy to ask. “You seem to be excellent at a lot of things.”

  “Oh, I am,” I said, enjoying our back and forth, even if it was only meaningless flirting. “I can’t say I’ve ever been invited to a fancy donor dinner before, though.”

  “Not that fancy,” Lane said, then paused. “Well, a little fancy. To be honest, it’s been a while since I’ve been to one of them. It’s not really my thing.”

  “What is your thing?”

  Another half-laugh. “Didn’t we already have this conversation?”

  I shifted my phone to my other ear and played with the seam of the couch cushion. “I’m not sure you answered it.”

  A long silence, then Lane said, “Honestly? I’m just as good with takeout and a movie.”

  “Ah, you’re one of those Netflix and chill guys.”

  This time Lane’s burst of laughter sounded more genuine. “I have to go. But I’ll see you Saturday?”

  “Sure. Send me the info.” A moment later the line went dead.

  I held the phone in my hand a moment more then tossed it on the couch cushion, thinking that I should really not be feeling this glow of pleasure and anticipation for something that, at the end of the day, was a job.

  I was about to get up when the phone buzzed on the couch. Thinking it might be Lane calling me back, I grabbed it to look at the caller ID.

  Not Lane, which was disappointing, but my older sister Angela, whose calls I’d been avoiding these last few days. Not because we didn’t get along, but conversations with Angela could sometimes last hours before I could get away.

  I really couldn’t avoid her any longer, though. “Hello, Angel of Darkness.”

  An unladylike snort greeted me. “That stopped being funny ten years ago.”

  “Doesn’t make it any less true.” I had to save my teasing for Angela, because Jamie was decidedly less tolerant of it. And scarier. “How is her highness?”

  “Pissed that her little brother has been blowing her off. Seriously, Zach, where have you been?”

  “Here,” I answered, knowing it didn’t matter what I said; I’d have to take my lickings. “Busy.”

  “That’s no excuse when I’m trying to call you to tell you something important.”

  I sat up on the couch. “Is everything all right? Is mom okay?” A year ago she’d had a scare with dizzy spells, but the doctors hadn’t been able to find anything and she’d been fine since then.

  “Mom’s fine. Mad you haven’t called her, though. Everything’s fine.” She took a deep breath on the other end of the line. “Everything’s great, actually. I’m pregnant.”

  It took a moment for the words to sink in. “Holy shit.”

  “I know, right?” Her voice sounded a little shaky. “We found out a few weeks ago, but wanted to wait until I was further along to tell anyone.”

  “How is Daniel?”

  “Thrilled. Scared. But not as terrified as I am.”

  “Why? You’ll be a great mom.”

  “You think?”

  It wasn’t often Angela was unsure of herself, but this was enough of a life change it would throw anyone for a loop. “Yes,” I said firmly. “Wow, this means I’m going to be an uncle.” I ran a hand through my hair, thinking about it. I was definitely down with being the cool uncle. “Please say you’re having a boy. Or a girl.”

  “We haven’t found out yet, but I’m pretty sure it will be either a boy or a girl.”

  “Seriously, Ang, I’m really happy for you. With any luck, mom will be distracted enough with her new grandchild to lay off me for at least the next few years.”

  She released a laugh that sounded steadier. “I wouldn’t count on it. She asked me the other day if you were seeing anyone.”

  “If I were, I wouldn’t tell any of you lot.”

  “Huh. That’s not a denial.”

  I levered off the couch and went into the kitchen to look for something to drink. “Nope. Not letting you fish.” My sisters were worse than bloodhounds when it came to my love life. Even when it was nonexistent, which they seemed to think they needed to fix.

  “Still not a denial,” Angela said musingly.

  �
��Bye, Angela,” I said, then added, “Congratulations. Seriously. Love you.”

  “Love you, too,” she said, before ending the call.

  I hadn’t been lying, I reasoned, as I opened my fridge to peruse my options. Just because I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about a certain politician’s son didn’t mean there was anything there.

  It didn’t mean I was looking any less forward to Saturday.

  9

  Lane

  The private dining room at the Hay-Adams overlooked Lafayette Square and offered a gold-and-candlelight ambience to the mingling guests. I had no opportunity to enjoy it, trapped as I was in conversation with the chair of the county Chamber of Commerce and his wife, who looked just as bored by her husband’s in-depth recitation of outdated local business regulations as I was.

  Zach had texted earlier to say he would be late. Dinner wasn’t for another hour, so that was more time to spend nursing my wine glass and mingling. On the plus side, with this many egos in a room, I was barely able to get in a word even if I’d wanted to. My face felt permanently fixed to an expression of attentive listening.

  “We have to look at the big picture.” Considering the chair also headed one of the largest banks in the state, I thought privately that his big picture was a rather narrow one, which was why I left the frustrations of juggling competing interests to more tactful people like my father.

  It was with profound relief that I spotted Zach entering the side door looking ridiculously handsome in a charcoal gray suit and subdued navy tie. He scanned the room before spotting me, and I couldn’t help but smile when our eyes met and he flashed that grin at me.

  It felt like the most natural thing in the world to tilt my head up when Zach approached, and even more natural for him to dip his mouth to mine in a greeting kiss.

  I blinked when the kiss ended, the instinct that had felt so right giving way to the reality that Zach was not, in fact, my boyfriend. As well as awareness that we had an audience.