Boyfriend Maintenance

by Helms, Lauren

  “Oh no, Jakey-pooh, I hope Grammy isn’t hurt too bad. Do you want me to go with you?”

  “No!” After nearly yelling, I clear my throat. Shit, get it together. “No, no, she really doesn’t like new people, so if I have to take her somewhere, it’s just going to be a long and stressful night.”

  She stands as I stand and I’m immediately worried about what she’s about to do. She walks to me and kisses my cheek. I let out a breath. Thank god. But unfortunately, she doesn’t stop there. She moves to my ear and licks it. She holds on to my shoulders and she sucks my earlobe into her mouth. Then she moans.

  I gently push her way.

  “Would you like me to hail you a cab, Sara?” I’ve now put a full chair length between us. I’m hoping she declines my offer, but I’m a gentleman, I don’t want to leave her here.

  “Oh, that’s sweet, but I need to get laid tonight, so I’ll stay.”

  Well then. She should probably add horny and honest to her dating profile.

  I say goodbye and get the hell out of here.

  * * *

  “So, let me get this straight. She immediately started talking about getting down and dirty within the first five minutes?” Kevin sits across the table from me. He smacks his hand down on the dark wood table, throws his head back and laughs.

  I roll my eyes as I take a pull from my beer bottle. We are at our favorite bar, Monterey’s, after coming from the Mets game. It’s a hole-in-the-wall place. From the street, it looks a little seedy, but one foot in the place and you immediately feel welcome.

  “Oh, and Mom will get a kick out of your dick’s new nickname. Little Handyman. Way better than Little Jake.” The laughter in his eyes and the smile on his face makes it hard for me to really be mad at him for poking fun at my date with Sara the other night. I used him as a fake emergency, I expected as much.

  “Dude, shut up. I haven’t called him that since I was like seven.” I shake my bottle a little to confirm it is indeed empty.

  “Maybe so, but still. Mom will love hearing about this. I’m going to call her.” He moves to pull out his phone from his pocket and I just give him a glare.

  “Fine. I won’t … right now. But answer me this, big brother. Why do you refuse to sleep with any of the single ladies of 425 Madison?” He tips his bottle toward me.

  “Simple. I don’t want to shit where I eat.” I can tell Kevin wants to razz on me more. So, I explain further. “Do you know how many times I go on a call and find myself being watched with lust-filled eyes? At first, it was flattering, but it’s gotten old. I’ve just recently been able to reduce the amount of fake calls.” I air quote that last part. “If word got out that I was open to the idea of sleeping with the residents, my calls would triple.”

  “Oh, poor Jake. Would you like some fucking cheese with that wine? Are you really complaining about all the women in your building enjoying a little eye candy while they wait for something in their apartment to be fixed?” He really doesn’t get it.

  “Yes, Kev. I’m really complaining. I’m not just talking about smoking hot twenty- and thirtysomethings. The teenage girls living in the building, married women, and even the Q-tips are all guilty of it. Hell, my week wouldn’t be complete without some kind of sexual advance or come-on. Seventy-year-old Mrs. Jenkins is a repeat offender.”

  “I dunno, man, you’re not that attractive.” He leans back in his chair, crosses his arms over his chest and studies me.

  “Pfft. Just last week, someone told me I could pass as a body double for one of the Jonas brothers.” I brush the nonexistent dust off my shoulder.

  Chuckling, Kevin reaches for his bottle of beer. “Fine. I might see it. Still, I think you’re missing out on some hot and passionate resident sexy time.”

  “Whatever. Not going to happen.” This isn’t something I’m going to let up on. I don’t want to mess with my job, a job that pays the bills and allows me to tuck some money away here and there for some high-society tail.

  “Oh, that reminds me. My buddy told me that there is a house up for sale in Great Kills. He said it’s a great starter home. You should check it out.” Kevin knows I’ve been looking.

  “Oh really? Any idea what they are asking?” I’ve been saving to buy a house on Staten Island for nearly two years now. That pesky down payment is keeping me from really getting serious with my realtor.

  “I think like seven hundred thousand. Which isn’t bad at all for that neighborhood.”

  “No, it’s not. I’ll have to check it out.”

  “Speaking of buying a house, how’s that down payment fund coming along?” He motions to the server for another beer.

  “Very slowly. I’m a little more than halfway there, but it’s slow going.” And so help me, if I have to put any more money into my apartment, then it’s just going to slow me down even more.

  “I don’t understand why you are so hell-bent on buying a place on the island. Why not just get a better apartment, or buy a unit in a nicer place?”

  “I need to be able to get out of the city. This place is crawling with tourists twenty-four seven and sometimes it’s just nice to escape it.”

  “So, visit Mom more.” He chuckles. “She would love that.”

  “I visit Mom plenty. No, I want my own place, away from the city that never sleeps. I want to fucking sleep once in a while. Preferably in a place that isn’t in major need of fixing up. Even though growing up like we did—struggling to make ends meet, having that house in a friendly neighborhood—it’s important to me. Someday, when I settle down and start a family, that’s where I want to raise my kids. Not in the city. City kids are spoiled little shits.”

  He laughs at my last point. “Aw man, when you have kids, your little shits will be spoiled to hell by Mom, and you know it. It doesn’t matter where you live, it’s how you raise them.”

  I eye him. That was rather profound for a twenty-six-year-old with no goals of settling down anytime soon.

  “Huh. Didn’t know you were that deep, little bro.”

  “I’m as deep as the ocean. And if anyone knows what it’s like to be raised in a shitty situation, it’s us. But Mom raised us, and she did a fucking amazing job. And you know we would have turned out the same way whether we grew up in a shitty apartment in Queens, a high-rise on Madison Avenue, or the tiny three-bedroom on Staten Island.”

  Stunned by the revelation, I sit back in my seat. He’s so fucking right.

  “Shit. That’s true. I feel like I need to buy Mom a medal or something.” We both laugh. I run a hand through my hair and think about the larger than normal hug she’s getting next time I see her.

  “So, new plan?”

  “Nope, I’m still buying a house on the island. Your revelation was good, but not that good.”

  He mutters something under his breath as I buy him another drink.

  I’ve got a busy week ahead. I’m back on call for the next six days. Three of those days I’m on call overnight. So, after we make plans to meet up again for another game in a couple weeks, we go our separate ways.

  Chapter 5

  Emmy

  “Oh, hey, Olivia! I have some new samples for you. We were prepping for a trade show and just restocked our samples and all that fun stuff. I brought you some.” I hand a small, Envirogal tote full of samples to her. I was planning on running it down to her apartment tonight after dinner, but since we are both checking our mail, it’s perfect timing.

  “Ooh, thank you, Emmy. You know how much I love this stuff. You’re so good to me.” She takes the bag and peers in.

  “Of course, I’m just happy you finally found a line you love.” I was talking to Olivia one day a few months ago in the gym about skin care. She wasn’t loving her current products, so I told her about Envirogal and offered to bring her some samples. I might have gone overboard and brought her a sample or two of every product we had. Look, I stand by the product and I love sharing it with friends and neighbors. Since then, I like to bring her fun stuff
from the office.

  She waves goodbye and I turn to unlock our mailbox. Becca is horrible at checking our mail, so I make it a point to check our box every night when I get home. I pull out a small stack of mail and head home.

  It was a long day at work. We are doing some market studies on women's hair care, which Envirogal is considering branching off into. Before we can do that though, hours upon hours of market research, focus groups, and multiple surveys need to take place. Needless to say, I’ve been working some very long hours over the past couple of weeks. I could use a glass of wine and a good book before passing out for the night. Standing in the elevator, I causally look through the mail. Bill, bill, junk, the latest copy of The Progressive, and a letter addressed to me.

  The handwriting is sloppy, and I know immediately who it’s from. Levi. Turning over the envelope in my hand, I carefully open it. It's a notecard, “from the desk of Levi King” in gold embossed script. I fight an eyeroll. I open it up and read.

  My dearest sister, I wanted to formally remind you that you are required to attend all the previously requested events leading up to my wedding. Since you have not RSVP’d to any of the events, I assume you are trying to figure out a way to get out of them. No can do, little sister. You must face the King family and support your amazingly talented, extremely handsome brother. If I have to be in attendance, so do you. Yours truly, best brother in the world.

  I stifle a laugh as I unlock my door and walk inside.

  “What's so funny?” Becca is sitting on the couch with her laptop in her lap.

  I shut the door and drop the mail on the small console just inside the front door and place my keys in the dish that sits on it. “Oh, just this letter from Levi.”

  “He sends you letters now? Can’t he just text like normal people?”

  I sit down next to her and lean back into the comfy cushions. “Apparently, I haven’t RSVP’d to any of the upcoming wedding festivities. He was just reminding me that I needed to.” I close my eyes and sigh. I love just being home.

  “That’s right, it’s all coming up soon. The wedding is in what, three months?” Becca shuts her computer and slides it onto the end table.

  I don’t bother opening my eyes, but confirm, “Yes. But the engagement party is next weekend and then a couple weeks after that is the shower, which is a couples event. Barf. Clearly, I’ll be at the wedding, so I guess I didn’t see a need to RSVP right away. I’ve had the actual wedding invitation for all of two days. But you know Kitty.”

  “I’m sorry I’m unable to attend the wedding with you, but I’m already booked at that conference.”

  I can hear the sadness in her voice. She dislikes my family as much as I do, but she is always my plus one. I need someone to have my back when I have to spend time in the lion’s den. I don’t know if I mentioned this but Becca is a bartender. Since she comes from money, she’s what people lovingly refer to as a socialite. She doesn’t have to work. But she has a degree in economics from Columbia. And instead of actually working in that field, she bartenders at a swanky little place called Bar Eros.

  “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” I crack a smile, on the brink of falling asleep.

  “I just hate that you have to face the vultures alone.”

  “I won’t be alone. Levi will be there.”

  “Um, he’s the groom. He’s not going to be able to hang out with you the whole time. He’ll be busy.”

  She has a point. Ugh. Now my excitement level for the wedding events went from a solid three to a point-five.

  “You know what you need?” she says.

  I lift my eyebrow in question.

  “You need a boyfriend. That way you drag him with you to those events and not only will you have someone who has your back, you’ll have that same someone to sneak off with when things get boring.”

  Opening my eyes, I turn and look at her. “Sure, let me get right on that. I’ll just go get a boyfriend and on our second or third date tell him I want him to meet my family.”

  “Ooh, you know what you should do? You should hire some guy to be your fake boyfriend.” She tucks her legs up under her and turns toward me. She looks excited.

  I sit up, no longer relaxed. “I feel like this came out of nowhere.”

  “I stumbled upon that old Debra Messing movie today. You know, the one where she hires Dermot Mulroney's character to be her wedding date. But he's a male escort, so it's pretty funny. I forgot how much I loved that movie. Then after that, Pretty Woman came on. So … it’s been festering in my mind all day.”

  I chuckle. “Well, two great movies, but I’m not hiring a male escort to take home to my family who already has labeled me the black sheep.” I stand and head to my room to get into more comfortable clothing. A pair of leggings and a hoodie have been calling my name all day.

  “Oh my god, Emmy. You would only hire an escort if you wanted to have sex with him too. And by the way, ew. I think you could find some nice guy—from work maybe—and ask him to do you a favor. Offer him some money for his time. Give him some basic family details and call it a day,” she says from the doorway of my room.

  I’m standing in my hose and underwear as I hang up my dress. “No way. I don’t think I have enough money to offer up to the poor soul I would willingly take to meet my family. Plus, I don’t even know what the going rate for a fake boyfriend is these days.” I roll my eyes, sitting down to take off my stockings.

  “Hmm … I would say since it's all wedding related, two grand an event.”

  My eyes bulge. “That’s eight thousand, Becca. I’m not made of money.”

  “Actually …” she trails off with a smile.

  “I don’t even know why we are still having this conversation. I’m not hiring some random guy to pretend to be my boyfriend for a few weeks.”

  She shrugs just as someone knocks at our front door.

  I look at her quizzically and she turns away from me. “Must be maintenance to fix our garbage disposal. I’ll let him in.”

  I stand from my bed and shut my door. Thank you, Becca, for leaving my door wide open to let some guy into our apartment while I’m standing here in my bra.

  Behind my now closed door, their voices are now muted. I finish dressing and pick up my phone just as it rings. It’s Levi.

  “Hey! I got your note today. How thoughtful of you.” I smile in greeting.

  “I just needed to make sure you were coming to the wedding.” He chuckles, but I can tell he’s just playing.

  “I don’t know, I might be busy. I might need to wash my hair.”

  “Ha, ha. Look, Kitty is driving me mad. She keeps bitching about how you’ve not RSVP’d yet.”

  “I got the invitation in the mail two days ago, Levi.”

  “I can hear the eyeroll, Ems.” He knows me too well.

  “Side note, when is Kitty not bitching about me?” I offer, because the answer is all the time.

  “True story.”

  “The end.”

  “I should probably warn you now, I just got word that she’s expecting you to come alone, and she’s inviting Craig. She’s seating you together. So, you might want to bring a plus one.”

  “Why?” I moan and throw myself onto my bed, very dramatic-like. It would be GIF worthy for sure.

  “Don’t shoot the messenger. Hey, I have another call I’ve got to take.”

  “Okay, later.”

  “Bye, Ems.”

  The line goes dead.

  Shit.

  In addition to dealing with my family, the last thing I need is having to put up with Craig, my fucking ex-boyfriend. His family and mine go way back. When we were kids, we got along pretty well, then we dated for a few years in college. We ended it for few reasons. One, he fully expected me to become his wife, to put my brand-new diploma in a cabinet somewhere and tend to his beck and call. And two, I suspected that he was not being faithful. Plus, I really wasn’t that into him. I didn’t like him enough to put my career and dreams in a drawer and b
e the wife of a cheating, high-powered douche-lord.

  Damn Kitty. She knows he’s a dick. She’s doing it to punish me, that’s for sure. If only I did have a boyfriend. But I’ve been so focused on my career, I haven’t really had time. I have dated a little, but there’s been nothing serious.

  Mentally, I start to run through a list of single men I know who might be interested in being my date. There’s Seth, from the marketing department. He’s nice. Single. But he’s also kind of my direct report. Hmmm. Mark from accounting, he’s nice. But I think he is dating Janice from sales. I’m going to have to inquire about that tomorrow. I’m racking my brain for more men, when my phone beeps with a text.

  Bex: I’ve just had the most brilliant idea ever.

  Me: Oh, yay. Can’t wait to hear it.

  Me: Why are you texting me?

  The three bouncing dots show up on the screen while she types. I’m tempted to just get up and open my door to talk to her. But just then a picture comes through. It’s from our kitchen. Front and center is Jake the maintenance man, bending over our sink. He’s wearing a heather gray T-shirt, highlighting his muscular back. The snug-fit jeans, I suspect would hang low on his waist if it weren’t for his belt.

  My god, that man is sexy.

  Me: Are you creeping on him?

  Bex: I’m allowed to take pictures of my kitchen whenever I want.

  Me: So, what’s your brilliant idea?

  Bex: Hire him as your fake boyfriend.

  No way. I couldn’t.

  No, I couldn’t ask Jake. I don’t even know him. I mean, I see him around the building. He’s worked here for a few years. Everyone loves him. He seems like a nice guy. He would probably think I’m a crazy woman if I just ask him to pretend to be my date.

  There’s no way I can ask him.

  No way would he say yes.

  Chapter 6

  Jake