by Ray, Marika
“What the hell did I get myself into?” I muttered as the engine cranked over with a press of the gas pedal and a little give on the choke. I’d only be pretending to be rich before I returned to couch surfing and hoping for a real job.
5
Gabby
A gunshot reverberated down the sleepy beach street, pulling me from my computer screen where I was typing out my latest article for the newspaper. I jumped up and ran to the front door, pausing to grab my phone and jam my feet into flip-flops. I peered through the windows bracketing my front door, finger poised and ready to call the police if I saw anything fishy. Gunshots in the middle of the day, or any time of day, were not normal in this section of Manhattan Beach. A verbal argument over a parking space, yes. Guns, no.
Instead of an armed man running through the street, I saw a giant redish-orange rust bucket pull up in front of my house. The gunshot fired again and I jumped. I realized with dawning horror it was actually the car backfiring. Normal reaction should have been relief that an armed robber wasn’t on a killing spree near my house. Instead, I was mortified to see Rhett, with his gorgeous bright hair, climbing out of the contraption. In a daze, I couldn’t quite comprehend the truth.
That virtual stranger, with that car, was moving into my house and pretending to be my boyfriend for the next three months.
It wasn’t too late to call the whole thing off. I gnawed on my thumbnail, knowing I had to make a decision in the next thirty seconds. Once he moved his stuff in, it was a done deal. I mean, I still had seventeen days to find a suitable fake boyfriend. Maybe I’d been a little hasty in picking Rhett.
Still peering out the window, I saw Rhett grab a small suitcase out of the back and then turn toward the house. His bright yellow T-shirt had a picture of Fabio with the words Fear The Hair.
I guffawed, trying to muffle it with my hand. The guy had weird taste in clothing, that was for sure. But the shirt did bring to mind the real life Fabio wannabe I’d met just yesterday. My options were grim and grimmer. I didn’t really have much of a choice. Rhett or one of the other disasters who showed up yesterday. It was an easy decision.
I swung open the front door. “Hey, Rhett. Welcome to my home.”
He trotted up the stairs to land on my porch, the bag in his hand looking light as a feather. His muscles seemed bigger than yesterday, testing the limits of his crazy T-shirt. He was smiling like he never stopped. Like the world was one big funny carnival ride from which he gleaned all the entertainment he could ever want or need.
Stepping back, I let him come through the doorway, closing the door behind him. The ensuing silence was deafening. Just two strangers in a house, pretending to be madly in love. Not awkward at all.
I gestured to his bag while he twirled in a circle, taking in my modern beach house. “Did you bring more stuff or is that it?”
He glanced over at me and then down at his bag, like he forgot he was holding it. “Oh, just this and my board shaping gear, but that can wait.”
“Board shaping gear?” I was on high alert for crazy roommate red flags. Axes, chainsaws, rope, excessive figurine collections, stuffed animals, dolls, or juicing machines were automatic get-the-hell-out items. When I couldn’t sleep the night before I’d put together my list and I was sticking to it.
Rhett set his bag down on the tile foyer area. “Yeah, I make surf boards and stand up paddleboards. Thought with living this close to the beach, maybe it would be a good time to get my board shaping business up and running.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Huh. Just make sure it doesn’t interfere with being on the show.”
His grin grew bigger and I could practically feel his excitement. “I thought about it on the way over here. Every lazy househusband has a hobby or a special cause that he spends his time on, right? This would be mine. I’ll be the eccentric rich guy who wants to be a board shaper because he thinks surfers are cool.”
I shrugged. He had a point and board shaping was a hell of a lot better than many other hobbies. Like fire breathing or baton twirling or basket weaving with your toes. Ew—feet—gross. “Works for me. I have a potting shed in the back that I never use. Perhaps you can set up your stuff there.”
He rubbed his hands together. “Awesome. So, you going to give me the grand tour of my new house?”
My clothes felt like sandpaper, chafing against my skin and ramping up my irritation. I couldn’t have regrets about this since I was already committed. And yet I did. Sharing my personal space was difficult. This little beach house was my private area. No one besides my best friend, Lily-Marie, had been here. After Hewitt and I broke up, I’d renovated the place and moved in, testing the limits on becoming a hermit. I’d always owned the house, but had renters using it since my father died and his whole estate went to me. I guess I just needed new surroundings to get my footing after the shit show that was Hew.
“Gabby?”
Rhett was looking at me with the silliest face, half smile and half confusion, his eyebrows not in agreement with which emotion to go with. Guess I’d spaced out there. On the bright side, that was happening less and less, the more room I got between me and that loser ex of mine.
“Yes. Sorry. Let’s take you through the place so you know where everything is.” I walked past him and into the front living room. “As you can see, this area doesn’t get much use, but feel free.” The television was huge, taking up one whole wall, with tall fake palms on either side. A couple framed photos of my parents and me were on the console under the television. Leather couches took up most of the space, along with a white, shag rug.
“We need to get pictures of us around here.” Rhett’s head was swiveling, taking in the place. It felt weird to see my home through his eyes. This was the first place of mine that I’d decorated with only my own input. No significant other or roommates or parents who chose what went where. It was all me.
That was a good idea Rhett had. I lifted a finger and hustled to my kitchen to grab a notebook and pen. When I came back to the front living room, he was inspecting my photos up close. “I’ll start a list so we know what we need to do to make this whole relationship look believable.”
He straightened up and moved into the formal dining area, a small room that had huge windows to the backyard. I had yet to use the room, but I had a nice table and chairs ready to go in case of a rapidly forming dinner party.
I trailed behind him, suddenly the one being taken on a tour, not the other way around. He looped into the kitchen and let out a soft whistle as he took in the state of the art appliances, marble counters, and steel and glass lighting fixtures.
“I like food,” I said sheepishly.
Rhett spun around and gifted me with a grin, his eyes twinkling. “Did you even see my shirt yesterday? I love food too.”
I returned the smile and gestured to the teal eight-burner gas stove. “I’ll show you how to use this later. She’s a bit finicky, but once you get the hang of her, she’ll knock your socks off.” She’d better. She cost me eight thousand dollars and that wasn’t even the high-end of that appliance line.
“Add that to the list,” Rhett mumbled, opening drawers and peeking inside, making me feel highly uncomfortable with that level of scrutiny.
I told myself to calm down, forcing deep breaths to slow my heart rate. I could do this. I just needed to keep my eye on the long-term goal: make my ex jealous with my fabulous life, in which I’d clearly forgotten all about him.
“Downstairs bath is over there. Washer and dryer is in the hallway on the way to the garage. Is that, um, SUV the only car you have?” I’d better watch myself. I almost called it a rust bucket. I didn’t know a whole hell of a lot about men, but insulting his car seemed a pretty obvious mistake.
Rhett paused with his nose in my junk drawer. Fuck a duck, did I leave a tampon in there?
“Yes, that’s the only one. I can park on the street, right?”
“Sure.” Shit. That ugly thing was going to be parked outside my hou
se all the time? “Except for Tuesday mornings when we have street sweeping. I might be able to move things around in the garage so you can fit it in there.”
Rhett finally closed the drawer and came up to me, grinning, of course. “Oh, you don’t need to do that. I’ll see if there’s room. If not, I don’t mind parking on the street.”
I nodded weakly and kept walking, needing to speed up this little tour. “Upstairs are three bedrooms and two bathrooms. There’s also an office off the master that I use when I have a heavy deadline.”
I was keenly aware of Rhett climbing the stairs behind me, his eyes level with my ample backside. My Italian heritage liked to show itself in my curly dark hair and a booty that didn’t stop. Regular Brazilian blowouts had taken care of the hair, but no amount of gym time seemed to make a dent in the butt. I could diet, but as I’d mentioned, I loved food. The breakup had been the only thing to stop my constant eating, but sadly, as my heart healed, so did my appetite.
“Here we are. This is the master.” I opened a door to the left at the top of the staircase. My huge Cal King bed, with its fluffy white comforter and bazillion pillows, dominated the space, along with a turquoise chaise lounge by the window where I read books on occasion.
Rhett crowded into the doorway next to me and there suddenly wasn’t enough oxygen in the room for this situation. I was keenly aware of his presence, that soap smell I caught a whiff of yesterday, and even the way his arm brushed against mine.
“You want the left or right?” His voice rumbled in my ear.
“Wha—”
He looked down and grinned at me. “Do you want the left side of the bed or the right?”
My face heated immediately, which I absolutely hated. Blushing was a dead giveaway to your inner feelings, and as a lifelong blusher, I remained irritated my cheeks defied my well-practiced poker face.
“Slow down there, Rhett. You’ll take the guest room until taping begins.”
He tilted his head. “Are you sure that’s wise? We gotta flow around each other like a well-oiled relationship. If we jump into bed right before taping, that might make things look super awkward. I don’t know about you, but I’m all for putting on the best show we can, shared bedrooms and all.”
I chewed on my lip, hating this conversation with a passion. Mostly because he was right. And I hated to be wrong.
I blew out an exasperated breath. “Fine. I’ll take the left, and let’s make this crystal clear: don’t even think of touching me in that bed. This is all fake. Period. Understood?”
He straightened and brought his hand to his head in a salute. “Understood, ma’am!”
Without thinking, I flicked my wrist and backhanded him in the stomach. He let out an oof and busted up laughing. He kept chuckling as he stumbled his way over to my pristine bed. That laugh was like a virus, contagious in nature and sure to make me grumpy. Turning around, he looked at me, still laughing, of course. Then he leaned back and crashed onto my bed, sending several pillows to the ground.
“Oh my God,” he groaned. “It’s so comfortable! Like sleeping on a cloud.”
I folded my arms across my chest, tapped the pen against the doorframe, and stared at him laid out on my bed. It had been over five years since anyone but Hew had been in my bed. It was a shock to the system to see another man there. As much as I wanted to keep things on a business level with this fake relationship, two facts were becoming very clear. One, Rhett was an incredibly easy person to like. And two, he was flat out gorgeous with that ripped body, dimpled smile, and auburn hair that was never quite lying properly on his head.
As much as I hoped he was a good actor and we could pull off this reality show as a couple in love, part of me feared for the safety of my heart. Part of me hoped he wouldn’t be able to act and it would be easy to send him on his way after the show because there wasn’t any chemistry between us.
My cell phone rang downstairs, popping Rhett’s eyes open and pulling me from my musings. “I have to go grab that. Feel free to look around.” I swallowed hard at the thought of him going through my underwear drawer or looking under my sink to see that yes, in fact, I did have zit cream and hair remover.
I dashed downstairs and picked it up before it went to voicemail. It was Rob, the director of the reality show.
“Hey, Rob, how are you?” I was out of breath from my mad dash. Seeing Rob’s name on my phone didn’t help my heart rate any.
“Hello, Gabby. I have some bad news, unfortunately.” He barreled right into it, not even bothering with pleasantries. “We have to move up the timetable of the show due to the station’s schedule. Any chance we can send a crew by tomorrow to start the interviews?”
Oh, shit. I coughed a couple times to clear my throat enough to speak. “Um, tomorrow? Sure. That would be just fine. What time?” I jammed a hand into my hair, gripping it in my fist in frustration. This was so not good.
“Good, good. They’ll be there around ten. Shouldn’t take longer than a couple hours. Thanks, Gabby.” And then he hung up.
I set the phone back down on the kitchen table and closed my eyes. Maybe I was just dreaming. How the hell did they move the schedule up sixteen days? Why was this my life? How did I even get here? I was having an existential crisis, which always seemed to happen right when things went to hell. It was a form of mental punishment, tracing back all your decisions that led to this place you didn’t want to be.
“Gabby?”
I nearly jumped out of my skin. I grabbed my chest and spun around to find Rhett right there, a concerned look on his face.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. Are you okay?”
I pasted a sick smile on my face, hoping it was as convincing as my freakishly high-pitched voice. “Oh, sure. Just fine. Everything’s fine. That was the director. He wants to do our interviews tomorrow. Sound fine?”
Rhett’s eyes went comically round. “Oh, shit.”
“You got that right.”
6
Gabby
“You have a lovely home, you two.” The interviewer, Amy, had gushed about how quaint my house was when the crew first arrived. Funny how a “quaint home” can be worth several million dollars due to its proximity to the ocean. Now, she was back at it, the cameras rolling behind her.
“Thank you. We’ve really done a lot to renovate and make it shine,” Rhett answered, his arm around the back of my chair.
I glanced over at him, amazed at his acting and just a little irked he took my compliment about my house. Like he had anything to do with the months of renovations. His thumb kept swiping along my bare shoulder, distracting me. I knew I shouldn’t have worn this off-the-shoulder shirt.
“So tell me, how long have you been together?” Amy asked.
“Only six months,” I rushed to answer. “Seems much longer, though, in some respects as we’re just so happy together. I’d been searching for Mr. Right for a while and now I’ve found him.” I looked over at Rhett with a look of utter adoration. He smiled back and pulled me into his side even tighter.
“And how did you two meet?” Amy wiggled her eyebrows.
We knew she wanted some drama. Which was why we’d stayed up almost all night going over our backstory, our individual histories, quirks we had as a couple, and our favorite things. Since we were making it up anyway, we tried to use a combination of the truth and something wild to keep the viewers’ interest. We also ran our considerable asses off—okay, mine, not Rhett’s as his was quite perfect, not that I was looking—making the house look like Rhett actually lived there. If no one looked too closely, we’d pass inspection.
Rhett swiveled to me first. “I got this one, Snookums.” He looked back at Amy, which was a good thing because I might have eviscerated him with the lasers shooting out of my eyes. We certainly had not agreed on that pet name. “We met at a little coffee shop here in LA. She was researching a story on third nipples in the porn industry and I thought the images on her computer were quite interesting. I grabbed a tab
le next to her and got her talking. They say couples bond over intense experiences and the graphic nature of her work that day really bonded us.”
Rhett grinned like a lovesick puppy, pulling me in tight again, like nipples and porn were the basis for all great relationships.
Amy blinked a few times and sputtered to ask her next question, duly impressed with our meet-cute story. “Okay, well, that’s certainly a story I haven’t heard before! Let’s move on to family. Rhett, I see in my notes here that you have a mother and half-brother. Do you get along well with them both?”
I could feel Rhett tense up beside me, his smile looking a bit on the fake side. He had a lot of different smiles, I was finding out, but this one was downright icy. “Yes, my mother and I have a great relationship. She moved back to Indiana to be with her sister now that they’re getting older and I’m out of the house, but we talk all the time.”
There was a brief pause. “And your brother?” Amy prompted.
Rhett cleared his throat. “Half-brother. And no. We aren’t close.”
Amy flipped some pages on her clipboard. “Oh, that’s too bad. We always like involving family on the show and Hewitt would have been an interesting addition.”
My whole body froze, my brain coming to a complete halt. “Hewitt?”
Two pairs of eyes shifted to me, so I must have said his name out loud. It wasn’t a common name. Not at all common. What were the odds they were talking about my ex-asshole, I mean, ex-boyfriend?
Amy chuckled nervously. “Yeah, Hewitt O’Donnell. Have you not met Rhett’s brother?”
“Half-brother,” Rhett growled through clenched teeth.
The walls were closing in on me, pressing against my rib cage and possibly causing the dark spots floating across my vision. Rhett squeezed my shoulder, where his hand lay so innocently. My brain kicked back into gear and I realized the bastard had played me. What a motherfucking train wreck of O’Donnell brothers. I was well and truly stuck. In front of a national audience, I’d be pretending to be madly in love with my asshole ex’s brother!