“Stop rubbing it in, you bitch,” I snapped as I scanned the restaurant for our server so I could order another drink.
Sutton cracked up, doubling over onto the table. I had to smile. I'd always loved to make people laugh… Especially by annoying them. It was a two-fer deal since I enjoyed the annoying part just as much as the laughing part.
The server finally came by and I begged for another beer.
“Just one of those days, you know?” I mused, looking for sympathy.
The server, a young guy who clearly had feigned plenty of sympathy over the course of the evening, put on a slight pout.
“Oh, you poor thing,” he said in a monotone voice. “I'll be right back.”
“Thank you so very much,” I emphasized before he walked away, matching his unenthusiastic tone. His uniform khakis weren't unflattering on his backside, though. I enjoyed the view.
Sutton caught me checking out the server and rolled his eyes at me. I had barely opened my mouth to defend myself before he changed the subject.
“So, how's your latest video coming along?” he asked. Good friends always know the best questions to ask.
“Fine. Good, actually,” I said, perking up as I thought about it. “It's a hardcore hot yoga sequence and I totally nailed my Dandayamana-Bibhaktapada-Paschimotthanasana—” I ignored Sutton's quizzical look and dismissed his ignorance as I continued on. “— but someone in the class farted right in the middle of it. Which, you know, no judgment, shit happens in yoga classes... I mean, usually not literal shit, thank God. But, a little gas is to be expected. It's just thrown a wrench into my sound editing. I don't think everyone needs to hear that, you know?”
Sutton let out a vague chuckle, “Yeah, I guess… if you like toilet humor, then that'd be pretty distracting?” Sutton attempted to sympathize with my plight but I could tell he was amused.
“Well, I can tell you’re clearly not into toilet humor, since you’re not laughing,” I snapped.
“Hm… I guess it depends on the context?” Sutton wondered aloud, scratching at his goatee absentmindedly. I moved on, if only to keep myself entertained.
“Yeah, no, I just don't think it's adding value to my content. My followers like serious yoga practice and occasional pranks, not unscripted gaffes. That's what I give them. That's what I'm known for —”
“Oh my god, Tripp?!” someone blurted into my ear.
I turned to my right see who the intruder was. He looked to be around twenty-five, with bleached blond hair combed into a quiff. He had a mustache -- also bleached blond and finely manicured -- and was wearing a pressed white button-down shirt and salmon-colored khakis.
“Do we know each other?” I asked, frowning and struggling to recognize his face as I wagged my finger back and forth between us.
“Yeah, I recognize you from your channel! I guess you don't know me, but, uh, you're so awesome. Your pranks are hilarious. Could I get a picture?” he asked perfunctorily as he already had his giant phone out and switched to selfie mode.
“Yeah, sure!” I agreed. I loved to give my fans what they wanted, even if this guy seemed irritating as hell.
“Oh my god, amazing,” he gushed as he struck a few different poses, including one where he appeared, by virtue of the camera angle, to be kissing my cheek. His lips didn't make contact until he put his arm around my shoulder and leaned in. Then he pretended to accidentally “bump into” my cheek. Charming.
“Oops!” he said after the peck, giggling.
I just kept smiling for the photo, while making the peace sign and then pretended to pick my nose for another laugh. Then I let him know it was time to go.
“Well, nice to meet you. Always great to meet a fan. Now, I've got to get going —,” I started.
“—oh, are you leaving?” the guy asked, and I felt his hand move down from my left shoulder, grazing my back.
“No, I'm –”
“—'cause I was just going to leave too. Maybe we could hang out, you know. Get to know each other.” His hand moved even lower and I felt a shiver of disgust run up my back.
“That's okay, I--” I started to refuse, still being polite even though this guy was pushing my boundaries. But he interrupted again, leaning closer to my ear for this one:
“Come on, Tripp. I heard you're really open-minded.”
I smelled whiskey on his breath. My wolf growled inside my chest. I knew where this was going. I had heard the rumors going around about me — everyone was saying that I was easy. It wasn’t true. I technically did sleep with plenty of guys, but I still had high standards. I liked sex but I wouldn't do it with just anyone. I was very selective, and this guy clearly was not up to snuff. I started to scoot further back into the booth but he kept at it.
I don't know if Sutton heard exactly what Mustache Dude had said, but my friend started to stand up and warned the guy, “Hey. Blondie. Back off.”
It was sweet of Sutton to try and intimidate the guy, but I had been pushed to my limits already and it was time to lay down the law. Just as I was about to tell him to fuck off, Mustache Dude snarled at me, “And I heard you open your legs pretty easy too,” as he curled the fingers of his right hand around my right arm.
Before he had even finished the sentence, my wolf snarled inside me and my martial arts reflexes kicked into gear. My left hand immediately clamped down on his wrist and twisted his hand off my right arm. In less than a second I had twisted his whole body around, out of the booth and onto the floor. I found myself on top of him, pressing him face-down into the carpet with my knee pinning him down in the center of his back while I held his twisted arm against his lower back. He grunted in surprise and then groaned in pain.
“No means NO, motherfucker!” I shouted at him, holding him in place.
I could feel the eyes of everyone in Tuck It turn toward me so I added in a hair flip to let them know this was a casual, everyday move for me. Then I continued my lecture, for Mustache Guy and all of Tuck It's patrons to hear.
“You don't seem to know the definition of the word, so let me enlighten you. When someone says they're not interested in you, that means you leave them the fuck alone! You shouldn't even be feeling up strangers in the first place. If you keep at it, you could end up in a much worse position than this, trust me. This is me being gentle,” I growled. “You're lucky I'm a yoga teacher who believes in ahimsa—that's nonviolence toward all living things, by the way, which you've clearly never heard of. Nama-stay away from all my social media channels, bitch.”
A roar of applause came from the crowd as I finished my monologue, and the loudest cheering of all came from Sutton. Tucker, the owner of the establishment, stood over me and raised his eyebrows.
“What’s going on?” he asked. “You turning this place into a wrestling joint, or what?”
Sutton explained to Tucker what had happened while I held the guy in place and winked at someone who had their smartphone out, recording my victory.
Tucker gave his security crew a fun secret hand signal and mere moments later, two burly security guards helped me up and had Blondie under the armpits. They were escorting him out of the restaurant when I heard the mustachioed creep mumbling to the guards about how he “didn't even do anything.” I scoffed, pushing my hair out of my face again.
“What a drama queen,” I said, rolling my eyes at Tucker.
He laughed and gave me a sweet smile as he said, “Let me get you a drink on the house.” What a sweetheart.
“Thank you, Tucker,” I said, bringing my hands together in a prayer position in from of my chest, right in front of my heart chakra, to show my genuine gratitude.
I sat down again with a heavy sigh and shook my hands to get rid of some of the bad vibes. I hoped that creep hadn't penetrated my aura. I prided myself on my strong constitution. Although some of the adrenaline had settled, I still felt an uneasiness rumbling away in my chest. Without thinking, I looked to the right and met its source — in Decker's unwavering gaze. His piercing
blue eyes were fixed on me, his perfectly thick arched eyebrows were raised, and his lower lip hung slightly away from the top one. He seemed shocked. But more than that… It was undoubtedly a look of respect.
3
Decker
Ding! Ding ding ding! The next morning, notifications were going off on my phone and dragging me out of a deep, booze-induced sleep. A few drinks at the Tuck It had turned into a full night of drinking with Owen and Nash and I had no idea what time I'd stumbled home to my apartment in the new developments off Main Street.
Ding!
“Oh my god,” I groaned as I reached for my phone.
Ding!
I squinted at the screen and cursed myself for getting so wasted that I'd forgotten to switch off my phone before passing out. Comments were begging for my latest video.
My eyes zeroed on to one that said: Yeah - where is it, big boy?
Without a doubt, that must have been Tripp...
I groaned and leaned my head back against my pillow. My mouth tasted like whiskey and garbage, and all of a sudden a headache started pounding behind my eyes. Worse of all, I checked myself out in my front-facing camera – a deep mistake. I looked dehydrated as hell – the wrinkles around my eyes were deeper than usual and my lips were peeling.
Ding!
Didn't Deck say he'd drop the new video today?? I need to bulk up! C'mon man!
I groaned, but at least my platform was getting some attention. I made my second mistake of the morning and clicked over to Tripp's account, telling myself that I just needed to check it out for market comparison.
Sure enough, comments on his account were flying in even faster and harder than mine. He'd just posted a video from a dawn yoga session he'd done at the top of a bluff overlooking Blackwater, and it already had ten times the number of likes that any of my posts had ever had.
“What the fuck?” I breathed. “Don’t you never sleep?”
I wondered if he had prerecorded the video, so I watched the whole thing just to be sure he had literally woken up early and started filming before dawn, after such a big night. He started off by talking about how he'd gone out to the bar last night, so he was feeling “a little seedy”. His face screwed up in the most adorable way and I wanted to punch the screen.
“So I'm going to take us through a detox flow,” he purred. “All right, kittens, let's hit the mat and stretch it out!”
I groaned and rolled my eyes, annoyed as hell whenever anyone claimed that you could “detox” your body, and I threw my phone across the bed.
“Better show people how it's really done,” I said to myself, and hauled myself out of the covers.
I took Nash's joke advice seriously and slathered on a hydrating face mask before I hit the shower. I even played around with filters on my camera, but decided to keep it natural.
My workout space was pretty pathetic compared to Tripp's elaborate yoga studio set-up, and I didn't have any fancy lighting or anything. It was just a couple of weight benches in the corner of my living room, a few pull-up bars, gymnastic rings, and a range of standard weights. I set myself up on the bench, switched on the camera, and hit record.
“Hey, everyone, I had a big night at the bar and I'm feeling a bit seedy... I'm not going to talk bullshit about detoxing – the honest truth is that nothing will fix a hangover except time, hydration, and maybe some good quality B vitamins. But pumping some iron can seriously shift your mood and make you feel a lot more energetic – so let's work out!” I smiled into the camera, and got to work.
I was halfway through the instructional workout when my phone started buzzing. I did my best to ignore it, hoping to edit out the annoying sound in post-production, but a nagging feeling in my gut told me that I should put down the weights and check my phone.
Come over today – Nona xoxoxo
My grandmother lived on the other side of Blackwater, in the house that I'd grown up in since moving to the small town as a teen to get the hell away from my parents. A text message from her definitely wasn’t unusual -- even after I’d moved out, I visited at least twice a week. While I didn’t exactly feel up for socializing, she did have the world’s best hangover cure... I pumped out a few more sets for the video, took a quick shower and headed over.
“Nona?” I called out as I let myself into her house. No sign of her, but the waft of turpentine and linseed oil told me that she was painting in the back room.
“It's hella cold in here,” I grumbled and headed straight for the thermostat in the hall.
I was adjusting the temperature when I heard my grandmother scuttling out of the living room. I looked up to find her hurrying down the hall towards me with a deep frown on her face as she wiped her hands with an oily rag. A shock of worry moved through me as she came closer and I could see that her expression was almost panicked. She was seventy-five years old and her health had been fairly stable, but there was always something in the back of my head that made me worry about her, conscious that she was getting older and weaker.
“You look hungover,” she said, her frown deepening.
“I am. But what's up?” I asked, frowning just as hard as she was.
“I fucked up,” she said frankly. She wasn't exactly a demure granny.
“What'd you fuck up?” I asked, searching her eyes.
“Don't swear, Deck. It doesn't suit you like it suits me.”
“What'd you muck up?” I corrected myself. “Is it serious?”
“Oh, yes, it's serious,” she laughed nervously and shoved the oily rag into the pocket of her paint-splattered apron.
“How serious?” I asked, looking her over for any signs of injury.
“Your parents called.”
“Oh, great,” I groaned and ran a hand over my face. “How are they?”
“Oh, you know, the usual. Rich. Mean.”
“Is everything okay with the allowance?” I asked, suddenly panicked that my parents might have cottoned on that the allowance they sent me was going straight to supporting Nona.
“Yes, yes - for now,” she tried to wave me off.
“For now?”
“They were going on and on and on about a friend of theirs whose son just graduated from medical school...”
I felt the hairs on the neck of my arms stand up as I bristled against the mention of my parents and their adoration for all things academic.
“Mm, good for them,” I grumbled. “They've always loved anyone who has the same degree as Dad...”
“I just couldn't deal with the way your mother was talking about you. I had to stand up for you,” Nona cleared her throat.
“Uh huh…,” I nodded and gestured for her to cut to the point.
“And... I told them how well you were doing so well with your social media videos, and getting the football team ready for the season, and...” she trailed off.
“Mhm...” I crossed my arms and waited impatiently for her to spill the beans.
“I may have had to stretch the truth... Just a little,” Nona gave me an apologetic smile.
“About what exactly?” I pushed.
Nona grimaced and whispered, “I told them that you were dating someone really famous.”
“What?!” I exclaimed. “Why!? They don’t care about who I date.”
“Oh, please, Deck. We all know that a celebrity always tops a doctor! Your mother finally made a noise that sounded like she was vaguely impressed.”
I let out a laugh that sounded more like a squark. I wrapped an arm around Nona’s shoulders and walked with her down the hall towards the kitchen.
“Don't sweat it then, Nona. Let them believe that I'm in a celebrity relationship. I don't care, because they don't care either,” I gave her a squeeze, and felt her shoulders clench up with stress.
“Normally... that... is true,” she mumbled as she broke free and went about busily opening the fridge and pulling out two cans of ginger ale and a Chinese ceramic dish.
“But this time it's different?” I pushed as I
grabbed glasses from the tall cabinets that lined the kitchen.
“This time... Well… they... are worried that the money they're sending us is going towards some party boy lifestyle -- they think you met this fake celebrity boyfriend while you were out partying... And they... would like to visit so they can meet your fake celebrity boyfriend and they'll be here at the end of the month – oh, Deck, I'm so sorry!” she cried and put her hands on her cheeks like she was terribly embarrassed for her mistake.
“Nona!” I groaned and put my head in my hands.
“I'm so sorry,” she repeated. “I just hate that your parents can't see how great you are. And we can't afford for them to cut us off!”
“It's fine, Nona, I don't blame you at all. But what the hell are we going to do? Pretend that my fake celebrity boyfriend is off on some last-minute world tour while they're here?”
She sighed, pouring out a glass of ginger ale for me and opening up the ceramic dish to reveal dark-colored, fermented eggs. “You'll need a century old egg to get through the rest of the day,” she said, handing one to me.
“This is just going to make me more sick,” I grumbled, but still took a big bite of the sulfuric-tasting, salty egg and washed it down with a swig of ginger ale. Sure enough, my stomach turned, but my headache immediately disappeared.
“Listen, don’t worry about your parents. We can find someone to be your boyfriend in two weeks, that's plenty of time,” she reassured me and gave me a soft pat on the back.
“Are you kidding? You seriously think we should pretend that I have a fake boyfriend?”
“We should pretend you have a real boyfriend who is a real celebrity!” she insisted.
“Nona…,” I groaned.
“You’re a good actor,” she said, patting my shoulder. “I’ve seen your shows on the computer.”
“That’s different… I can only put that on for an anonymous audience, about topics that I know a lot about. I can’t pretend to have a boyfriend!”
“Deck...” she sighed. “Please? For me?”
I swallowed the last of the egg and looked at my Nona, who appeared small and fragile. I hated thinking about what might happen to her if she didn’t have the money coming in from my deadbeat parents.
Claimed By My Pretend Boyfriend: Blackwater Pack Book Six Page 2