“Kyle. Slow down. You are not a dad. Not by me, at least.”
“Jesus Christ, you can’t do that to a man, Sophie. Text him out of the blue three years after you last slept together with a cryptic ‘call me.’ What the hell else was I supposed to think?”
Oops. I hadn’t thought of that. The idea of having a kid with Kyle from three years ago was the stuff of nightmares. I shook away the vision of him coming home stumbling drunk and waking up a cranky baby.
“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to scare you. But I do have a problem that I need your help with. My sister is getting married in Hawaii next weekend, and I somehow told Mom that I was bringing my boyfriend.” I’d likely have to limit his drinking, but the sex had been incredible and he’d look handsome in a suit.
“Do you need me to come by and water your plants and get your mail? It’ll be rather difficult from Indiana.”
“Not exactly.” This was harder than I thought it was going to be. I let out a breath. “I need you to be my boyfriend for a week. In Hawaii.”
Silence.
“I’ll pay for everything, there are no expectations, and you can go back to living your normal life after we get back. No strings. The only problem is we fly out tomorrow.” Kyle wasn’t my last option, but he was my best hope. We could have been a great couple, but he’d turned to alcohol when his dad passed away, and it was difficult to watch. Last time we’d seen each other was three years ago when he left New York to check himself into rehab. He moved in with his mother back in Indiana, got himself clean, and started over.
“As amazing as a week in Hawaii with you sounds, I can’t. I’m a grief counselor now and unfortunately, death doesn’t take a vacation.”
“If only he did.” I grabbed a notepad and scribbled “death on vacation?” at the top, thinking it was an interesting premise for a novel.
“If he did, nothing would stop me from Hawaii. But I can’t leave these people at their most vulnerable, Soph. It would be selfish. And I’m trying to make decisions with the head on my shoulders and not the head in my pants.”
“I think you’re on the right track, Kyle. Call me if you’re ever in New York, okay?”
“Will do.”
I ended the call and took a peanut butter cup from my emergency candy stash. Maybe I’d just go alone and say I broke up with my boyfriend in order to join the nunnery. Mom would have a field day with that.
4
Turns out, finding a fake boyfriend with twenty-four hours’ notice was impossible. I’d called everyone in my contacts, and nothing. The few that I had ended on good terms with were either engaged or married, and it did nothing to boost my self-esteem. Unwrapping another peanut butter cup, I stared at my phone, dreading the next call. Why couldn’t I have had a stash of emergency whiskey instead? Maybe I’d just tell Mom I had the swine flu and couldn’t go. No sense in delaying the inevitable. I hit the call button.
“Sophie, I am so glad you called. I know you said you were going to wear those little flats, but you look so much better in heels, so I bought you some pumps to wear with your bridesmaid’s dress.”
“Mom, the dresses are long and Rebecca said she would prefer us to wear flats.” Heels at a beach wedding sounded like a disaster waiting to happen.
“Trust me, you’ll look better in heels. Now, Maisy called and told me that you were bringing your boyfriend. I don’t know why you couldn’t call and tell me yourself, but I’ll let that slide. Now, I need to add him to the seating chart. What’s his name?”
Shit. I opened and closed my mouth, trying to dig a name up from my frozen brain. Make something up!
“Hello? Sophie?”
I looked around my office, scrambling for a name. Any name. Grant walked past the glass wall of my office, flipping through the pages he had just gotten off the printer.
“Grant. His name is Grant.” Oh my God, what was I thinking? Peter, Andrew, Sam, Patrick, Chris. Oh, now the name fountain was unstuck.
“I assume he has a suit to wear?”
I couldn’t speak. My heart was pumping in my throat and I had no idea what I was going to do. Thankfully, Mom plugged on.
“I wish we could have met him before this, but it’s not like you ever call me and fill me in on your life. You’re still getting in on Saturday, right? We’ll be getting in on Sunday evening. Our room number is 406. I’ve got everyone else’s written down. What rooms will you and Grant be staying in?”
“My room number is 510.” At least there would be one floor separating us. Though, it wouldn’t stop the meddling.
“What’s Grant’s room number?”
“It’s the one room, Mom.” As fake as everything was, if I was paying for it, I wasn’t about to book two separate rooms. Besides, we were adults. It wasn’t like two adults couldn’t share a bed with no strings attached.
“Well. I certainly didn’t raise you girls that way. Maisy and Derrick are staying in two different rooms.”
“That’s because Derrick is a piece of shit and she wants a break from him.” I hadn’t known that Maisy and Derrick weren’t sharing a room, and I needed to remember to ask her about that.
“Watch your language. That may be the case, but there is still something to be said for propriety. I don’t understand why you insist on being difficult—”
“As much as I’d like to listen to where you went wrong with me, I have work to do. I’ll see you in Hawaii, Mom.”
Jesus Christ. I’d called to tell her I’d be coming to Hawaii alone and I wound up digging myself in deeper. Should I just pull a Pretty Woman and hire someone? God, how much would that cost? I may be doing well in the world of literary agents, but I couldn’t compete with Richard Gere’s wealth.
“I can’t believe I’m about to do this.” I checked my mouth for remnants of chocolate, and made sure I looked halfway presentable. I’ve really reached my last option.
The short walk to Grant’s office was like swimming the English Channel—long, and I was certain I would drown in embarrassment. All of my best clothes were packed, and I was wearing an outfit that hadn’t seen the light of day in over a year. I was about to grovel, and I looked like a slob. Brilliant.
“Knock, knock.” I plastered a shaky smile on my face.
“Come in. I’m glad you dropped by. I’ve got this chapter I printed that I want your opinion on. I think she’s got a real talent; I’m just not sure if we should wait for her to hone, or go ahead and snatch her up and help her. I’m leaning towards snatching her up.”
My knees felt like pudding as I took the steps to his desk.
“Grant. I need to ask you something.” Unprompted, I sank into the chair in front of his desk.
He stopped, mid-staple and put the papers back on his desk, eyeing me with concern. “You look like you just ate a slug. What’s wrong?”
“Will you go to Hawaii with me and be my fake boyfriend?” I spat out, squinting my eyes shut so I wouldn’t have to see his reaction, even though I knew it would be smug satisfaction.
“Well, well, well.”
I opened one eye to see him leaning back, with the exact grin I knew he’d have. Asshole.
“If you draw this out to torment me, I’ll just go alone.” And he knew I would. I’d cut my own nose off to spite my face and I’d bleed to death before admitting it was a mistake.
“Sophie McAllister wants the Grant Johnson boyfriend experience. I’m not going to agree without a little teasing,” he wheedled.
“Nope. I’ll go alone.” I stood, resolute in the fact that I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, even if it meant going without a fake boyfriend.
“Okay, okay. I’ll go. But you know what this means, right?” He raised a devilish brow.
Oh, I didn’t like that. I didn’t like it one bit.
“What?” I asked, unsure if I wanted to know.
“It means we’ll have to be affectionate in public. Hand-holding. My arm around you. Kissing.” He emphasized the last part with a bit of
sensuality and I scowled.
“Absolutely none of that.” I might be desperate, and it may be fake, but I wouldn’t be just another woman who Grant kissed and didn’t care about. I did still have standards. Somewhere.
“So you mean to tell me that we’re serious enough for me to go with you to Hawaii for your sister’s wedding, but not serious enough to kiss? Do you want this to be believable?” He had me, and he knew it. Damn him, he knew it.
“Fine. Hand-holding is fine. You can put your arm around me, but no kissing.” That sounded like a fair compromise to me. We met halfway. Look at me, being a reasonable woman.
“Kissing has to be part of it or no deal.” Returning to stapling his papers, he dropped the sensual teasing and turned into the tough bargainer he was known for being.
“How about kissing isn’t a part of it, and if you find a woman stupid enough to sleep with you, I won’t say anything and just let you carry on?” He wouldn’t win this one. He wouldn’t.
“And have it get back to everyone that I’m a cheating cad? Absolutely not. In Hawaii, you’re the only woman receiving my affection.”
“Two kisses.” Okay, fine. I’d compromise.
“Per day.”
“No.”
“One per day,” he countered.
“Fine.”
“On the lips.”
“Fine,” I ground out.
“I didn’t say which lips.” He was back to the teasing.
“You’re disgusting.”
“Here’s how this is going to work, if you want it to be believable. First off, any time I show you affection, don’t pull a face. Second off, you’re going to have to reciprocate affection, or this will look one-sided. Third, couples kiss. I know you don’t remember what it’s like to be in a relationship—”
“Fuck you.”
“—but that’s what couples do. Tell you what. I promise not to take it too far, if you just let me lead. I promise I’ll be respectful. I’ll make it believable. And if you want, we can stage a dramatic breakup at the end of the week so no one asks about me after the wedding. Then we’ll come home and act like it never happened.” Leaning back, he gestured that he was finished bargaining, and all I had to do was sign on the dotted line.
“If I feel like you’re doing too much, I’ll shut it down.”
“Deal. We can even have a safe word. Pineapple.”
“Pineapple?”
“Yeah, pineapple. If you’re uncomfortable, just say pineapple, and I’ll back off. We’ll be in Hawaii; people will just think you want pineapple.”
I mulled it over. He had a point, as much as I didn’t want to admit it. And I believed that if anyone could make it look real, it was him. He was probably a really good kisser…
“Deal.” I stuck my hand out, and we shook on it. “I’m taking a half day today. There’s still some things I need to get.” Like a one-piece swimsuit. Now that Grant was going, I’d likely get a muumuu, too.
“I’m just going to let Brenda know that I’m going with you. I’ll take some of my submissions with me, do some reading on the beach. Let’s grab lunch, because don’t think we’re not about to discuss this.”
Back in my office, I packed my things that I’d need for the next week. I’d at least try to get some work done, so I wouldn’t be as swamped when I returned. At least I wouldn’t have to hear Mom complaining for an entire week over my relationship status. That was one worry off my shoulders.
“Brenda said it was fine, as long as I sent her pictures of me in a speedo. Which is oddly unsettling and sexual harassment now that I think about it. Let me grab my bag.” He took one step away and turned back. “How do you women deal with that every day?”
“Carry pepper spray.”
“Right.” He paused for a moment, and I could see that he was considering my words. Nodding, he went to his office to gather his things. Maybe he was going to get mace for Brenda. Creepy old bat.
“Ready?”
“Yep.” I slung my heavy purse over my shoulder, settling it into the familiar groove.
We agreed on a local deli for lunch and shared a cab. I wanted a quick lunch so I’d have plenty of time for errands this afternoon.
“Our first date,” I joked.
“Good God, you’re right. I can’t have a first date at a deli. They sell meat by the pound, for Christ’s sake!” He turned to hail another cab, but I pulled his arm down and he followed me into the deli, grumbling.
“Relax.” I laughed. “It’s a delicious deli. And I’m sure it won’t be my worst first date. Once I had a guy throw taco meat on me, so you’re already ahead.”
“That doesn’t help.”
In the brief moment, I’d let my guard down, and the dimples came out to play. So, that’s how he hypnotizes them. I had to force myself to look away and open the door to the deli.
“Hey! Sophie!” was called to me as I stepped inside.
“Hey! Sal! How ya doing?” I replied across the store.
“He knows you by name?” Grant asked.
“Yeah, I live a block from here. I’m a regular. I even have a, uh, sandwich named after me. I pointed to the menu. The Sophie Special boasted loads of salami, pepperoni, and turkey, topped with provolone cheese, black olives, and Sal’s signature seasonings. It had once been the Italian Special.
“I stopped some kids from vandalizing this deli once and I don’t have a sandwich named after me.” Grant sounded disappointed.
“Mio amico è geloso di mio panino,” I said to Sal over the glass covering the deli spread.
“Eeehh, poverino.” Sal signified a single tear running down his cheek.
“What was that?” Grant pointed to the bread he wanted.
“I said you were jealous of my sandwich and he said ‘poor thing.’”
“I’m not jealous. I just think saving the man’s store is worth something.” Grant shrugged, turning down the banana peppers.
“È lui tua ragazzo?” Sal asked.
I couldn’t resist snorting a laugh at Sal asking if Grant was my boyfriend.
“Sono troppo intelligente per quello. Donnaiolo,” I answered. I was too smart to make that mistake. Grant was a womanizer, and I’d had my fill of those in my college days.
“I’ve got to learn Italian.” Grant took his tray to find a table, and I snuck a peak at his backside. He would probably look really good in a speedo...
I offered my card to the young girl at the register, but apparently Grant had already taken care of it. I sighed, returning the card to my small purse.
“Sei sicuro?” Sal had seen me checking out Grant’s butt.
“Sì.” I took my tray and followed Grant to the table, hiding the embarrassment that I’d been caught ogling him. Yes, I’m sure.
“Ciao, bella.” Sal waved me to my table with the rag he kept over his shoulder.
“So, who threw taco meat on you?” Grant unwrapped his giant club sandwich, studying it for the best point of entry. We were back to our terrible first dates, and boy, did I have plenty of horror stories to tell.
“His name was Jacob and it was awful. He wore black crew socks with shorts and a shirt with the sleeves cut off. Apparently, he thought a food fight would save the date.”
“And it didn’t?” Grant rescued a fallen pickle from his basket.
“Not even a little.” I’d been livid at the time, but we’d turned into friends and laughed about it later.
“I once got caught on the subway with a girl. Three hours.”
“What happened?” If it had been me trapped on the subway for even an hour, I would have gone off the deep end. Unless Dostoevsky had been there. An hour was a decent start to teaching him English. I found myself getting sidetracked with thoughts of falling in love with him over hour-long English sessions on the subway.
“Some malfunction on the track. It was the middle of summer, and it was unbearably hot. One lady had a deck of cards in her purse, and I tried to get a game of poker going. This girl played o
ne round of speed with me and then sulked.”
“I once had a date that barely spoke a word to me.” Sal had packed my sandwich with olives, and they were falling out the end. Of course, he’d put a fork in my basket for the rogue bites.
“Now how’d you let that happen?”
“Well, I was only eighteen at the time, and very naive. It was one of those friend hangout date type things. He walked up, said ‘hey’ and that was it. For the rest of the night.” To be fair to him, I was so terrified, I didn’t say anything, either. Taking a huge bite of my sandwich, I thought back to Brittany, Grant’s date that had ordered a small salad with dressing on the side.
“This one happened a month ago. I took a girl to a swanky new place in Brooklyn, and she got absolutely hammered. Then proceeded to get in a fight with one of the bartenders, who I later found out was the woman who’d stolen her boyfriend. I called the cops and left. And speaking of boyfriends. Tell me about this Hawaii deal.”
I groaned. For a few minutes, I had forgotten all about Operation Fake Boyfriend.
“What do you want to know?” I sipped my soda, giving myself a moment to word this in a way that didn’t make me sound like a weirdo. Although, I was certain that no matter what, it was going to sound bonkers.
“Why you need a fake boyfriend in Hawaii, why you waited until literally the day before to ask someone, why you—”
“Okay, okay, you want everything,” I stopped him. “My mom is super traditional, and in her eyes I should be married, settled, and working on a family. Not living alone in a tiny apartment in Brooklyn with a collection of succulents and a bookcase full of Virginia Woolf novels. It’s my little sister that’s getting married this week, and I guess that’s made her even more crazy. Her oldest daughter is a spinster whose eggs are drying up without a single prospect in sight.” I wished the soda had whiskey.
“Maybe she just wants you to be happy,” he offered, seemingly sincere.
“While I appreciate giving her the benefit of the doubt, that’s not the case. It’s not 1953. I am happy. I love my little apartment, and I love my plants. I like to read and travel, and I don’t feel empty because I don’t have a man. And I’ve told her that I’m happy. But she’s meddlesome. Terribly so. Before I moved to the city, she’d tried to set me up with every single son from her knitting Bible study. At first, I humored her and went out with a few, but when one thought I owed him something because he paid for dinner, I let her know that was the end of that.” I licked the herbs from my finger and washed the last of my sandwich down. “Of course, she refused to believe that such a fine Christian man would act such a way, but I assure you, he was a rake.”
Faking Paradise Page 3