Faking Paradise

by Lily Montgomery

  Gently, he pulled me over, and as I leaned on him, he kissed the top of my head.

  “What’s your favorite color?” he whispered.

  “What?”

  “Your favorite color. I don’t know what it is.”

  “Blue,” I answered. “And yours?”

  “Red,” he said. “What would you do if you had a million dollars?”

  “I’d pay for Maisy to go to Juilliard.” I didn’t even have to think. “You?”

  He was still drawing tiny circles, and I closed my eyes, memorizing it. Keeping it.

  “I’d buy a house in Hawaii.”

  Our plane was announced, and we sat for another moment, neither of us wanting to move.

  “Well, I guess that’s us,” I finally said, slinging my backpack on.

  “Yeah.” Grant picked up his messenger bag and we boarded.

  I buckled in and fiddled with the screen in front of me, trying to find a decent movie to watch or album to listen to while the last-minute checks were performed. Romantic comedies filled the screen, and finally I shut it off.

  “Nothing good?” Grant asked.

  “Nah,” I said, biting my thumbnail.

  “That’s worse than—”

  “Licking a toilet seat, I know.” I took my thumb from my mouth and turned my attention to staring out the window as we began our ascent. After we leveled, Grant asked the flight attendant for our drinks. A whiskey neat, double, and an orange juice. This time I sipped it as I listened to some sad country album about a woman with a cheating husband. She set the house on fire.

  The memory of crossing sex at a wedding off Grant’s bucket list floated to the surface of my mind, and I glanced over at him as he read a recent literary magazine that heralded Angela Norwood’s latest book as a “smash hit” and “the best psychological thriller of our time.”

  Remembering the evening at the bookstore and how he’d been there to help gave me a devilish idea that was likely a terrible idea, but I didn’t care. I picked up a magazine and thumbed through it, not reading a single word.

  “You know, we’re still over Hawaiian waters,” I mentioned.

  He raised a brow at me.

  “And there’s something I’ve always wanted to cross off my bucket list,” I continued.

  I didn’t have to prompt him any further. He was up and in the bathroom in seconds. I gave it a few moments before following him. Partly so that it wouldn’t be suspicious. Moreso because I felt like being a tease. When I felt like enough time had passed, I joined him in the tiny lavatory.

  “Is this your first time?” he asked as we tried to situate ourselves.

  “Definitely.” We changed positions a couple of times before we found one that worked. He suggested sitting, but I vetoed that one. He lifted me up on the counter and raised my shirt, pushing my bra up. I held his face in my hands, looking in his eyes before kissing him. This was our last encounter, and I intended to drink it in and make it memorable. I wanted him fast, hard, and now.

  Not being able to call out while his teeth teased my nipples was torture, and I had to bite my lip to keep quiet. I laced my fingers in his hair as he nicked and lipped my breasts. He gave a soft growl when I gave a slight tug, and I found myself already on the edge. I locked my legs around him, holding him still while I tightened and contracted my muscles around him.

  “Christ,” he said against my chest.

  I loosened my legs and angled my hips toward him, signaling for him to start moving again. I must have flipped a switch as his movements were deeper and harder. God damn I could feel him hitting my brain.

  “Fuck, Grant,” I said, almost shocked at his ferocity.

  “Are you close?” he whispered.

  I nodded, completely unable to form any coherent words. Taking us there at the same time, I used my legs to push him deeper, and this time my muscle contractions weren’t voluntary. He collapsed against me, breathing heavily and sweating.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Anytime.”

  I pulled a paper towel from the dispenser and wiped his brow, which made him laugh. I slid from the counter, and Grant caught me as my legs gave way.

  “I think you fucked me right proper, Mr. Johnson,” I said as my noodly legs tried to hold me up. I kissed him.

  “You did a hell of a job yourself there, Ms. McAllister.”

  “If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the facilities.” I gave him another kiss as he left and I tried to angle myself so no one could see me, locking it behind him.

  When I looked in the mirror, I saw that I’d done a fair share of sweating myself, and I wiped my own face with a paper towel, cleaning up the eyeliner that had smudged.

  “Well, that was it, Sophie. I hope you had fun. Hope the heartbreak was worth it.”

  I peed and washed my hands, readying myself to rejoin him. He lifted the arm rest and we watched a few romantic comedies together, sharing a bag of peanuts.

  “These are so predictable,” Grant said as the last movie was ending.

  “Yeah, they are. But sometimes you just want to watch a happy ending.” I buckled my seatbelt to prepare for landing and looked out the window as we approached New York. Back to reality.

  The landing was smooth, and the cabs were plenty. It was cold in New York where it had been balmy and warm in Hawaii, and I was grateful for my layers.

  “Do you want to grab dinner before we head home?” Grant asked as the cab pulled out into the city, surrounding us with metal, concrete, and glass.

  “Nah, I’m pretty tired,” I said. It was a half lie. I was tired, but I couldn’t handle prolonging the inevitable.

  “Yeah, I’m pretty beat.”

  We were sitting at opposite ends of the cab, but my heart ached to be under his arm as he drew those little circles on my shoulder. Traffic was abnormally clear, and we were at my apartment fairly quickly.

  “I’ll walk you up.” He pulled my suitcase from the trunk.

  “No, that’s okay, I got it. My neighbor, Mrs. Klaxton, complains if too many people come and go.” I reached out and took the handle from him.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, no, I got it.” I couldn’t look at him. “Well, Mr. Johnson, it was a pleasure doing business with you.” I extended my hand, which he shook apprehensively.

  “Likewise, Ms. McAllister.”

  “I’ll see you Monday.” I turned and dragged my heavy suitcase up the front steps of my apartment into the small lobby and to the stairs where I began the tiresome climb. As expected, Mrs. Klaxton was standing in her doorway, holding her ugly dog and scowling at me. I ignored her, and half hoped she’d say something. I wasn’t in the mood, and I’d likely snap.

  I pulled my keys from the pocket of my backpack and opened my apartment door, staring at the tiny space. Alone.

  God, I’d forgotten how small this damn apartment was. I wiped a tear on my sleeve and looked in the fridge for something to eat that didn’t require any preparation, even though I wasn’t really hungry. I took a bottled breakfast smoothie from the door and cracked the top. I leaned against the counter, drinking and listening to the silence. I touched the hibiscus necklace as I sipped.

  I should have just told Mom the truth when Maisy called. I didn’t have a boyfriend and she’d just have to live with that. I wasn’t gallivanting in New York; I was a successful literary agent and made decent money and liked what I did.

  Mrs. Klaxton knocked on my door, and I had half a mind not to answer. Likely, she was about to tell me that I was walking or talking too loud. Usually, I’d just tell her I’d try to keep it down, but today I was more likely to tell her to blow it out her nose. The temptation to not answer grew, and I kept sipping my smoothie. She knocked again.

  I pushed off the counter and opened the door, but not before she got another forceful knock in. “Miserable old biddy,” I mumbled. “Mrs. Klaxton, I promise I wasn’t—”

  It wasn’t Mrs. Klaxton. It was Grant, standing there with his suitca
se.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “I don’t want it to end in Hawaii,” he said.

  “What?” I wasn’t sure I heard that correctly.

  “I said I don’t want it to end in Hawaii,” he repeated.

  “Look, Grant, we had fun. But I don’t want a fuck buddy right now.” Truth was, I couldn’t handle having him as only a fuck buddy. I needed to shut the door before he saw me crying, but he stopped me.

  “I don’t either,” he said.

  “What are you trying to say, Grant?” I was tired and not following.

  “I’m trying to say that this week was unlike any relationship I’ve ever had. You make me laugh. You make me question my tastes in existential literature. You make me better. What I’m trying to say is… I love you. I love you, Sophie, and I have for quite some time now. None of the women I’ve ever dated could ever hold a candle to you. I’ve filled my life with meaningless bimbos because I was trying to fill the void. I tried to just leave in the cab but I couldn’t. Not until I tried. I know you think I’m just some playboy, but I’m not. If you’ll give me a chance, I’ll—”

  I stopped his words with a kiss, wrapping my arms around his neck.

  “I love you, too,” I whispered against his lips.

  He smiled, kissing me again and picking me up, wrapping my legs around him. Taking a few steps into the kitchen, I stopped him.

  “Your suitcase and the door!” I reminded him.

  He pulled his suitcase in just enough to close and lock the door before carrying me to the bedroom. I would certainly be getting a noise complaint from Mrs. Klaxton the next morning, but I didn’t care. Grant Johnson loved me, and that was enough. Maybe I’d be a little extra loud tonight, just for her sake.

  Acknowledgments

  Turns out writing the acknowledgement section is more difficult than writing the book itself, but my formatter said it was my first book, so I had to ;).

  Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve created stories. I forced my mom to watch productions in our living room with costumes that I’d gotten from the thrift store. Looking back, I don’t know how she sat through them, but she did. I’m grateful that she did, because I was able to let my imagination grow and thrive. Now, I have more stories in my head than I can keep up with. I still force her to listen to me ramble. She taught me the importance of being a strong, independent woman and I strive to make characters that she would be proud of.

  Both of my grandmothers were pivotal in the development of my imagination. My maternal grandmother read to me from day one, and my paternal grandmother always taught me to look at what something could be.

  My dad taught me that no matter what I did, I better do it to the best of my ability. I jokingly mentioned being an erotica author to him and he said "then you strive to be the best damn erotica author this world has ever seen."

  I owe a lot to my best friend Ashley. From reading Ella Enchanted in 6th grade to letting me borrow her Harry Potter books in high school, she's been there, sharing my love of storytelling.

  Thank you to my best friend Kristina, who hates reading (especially romance) but still celebrates every milestone with me, no matter how minor.

  To my best friend (yes, I have three best friends) Elisha, thank you for always calling me a future New York Times best-selling author. It may seem silly, but it lets me know you think I can go far and you believe in this dream.

  Trey, thank you for always making me laugh. This whole process can be overwhelming and frustrating at times. You have no idea how much help a good laugh can do. I hope I make our mother proud.

  Jerrod M, thank you for being a part of that first writing group and always pushing me. Thank you for believing in me.

  Jared B, thank you for answering my incessant marketing and advertising questions.

  Laura Ann, thank you for every time you've "read something real quick" before I pressed the send button. You and your red pen are irreplaceable.

  Miranda, once again, thank you for being my number one and first fan. None of this would exist without you.

  To my BBC girls, thank you for all your support.

  Mandi, thank you for holding my hand and answering all my stupid questions during this process.

  To the amazing Amanda Walker, thank you for cover designs beyond what I could imagine.

  Brandi, thank you for making sure I didn't publish garbage and make a fool out of myself.

  Christina, thank you for all that you've done. And thank you for the beautiful formatting.

  To anyone who had a hand in this process- THANK YOU!

  If you're still reading this, allow me to impart a bit of wisdom that I've learned along the way. No matter what your dream is- chase it. Find your tribe of people who support you no matter what, give you HONEST feedback, and who let you cry and have your breakdowns, then pick you up and sit you back in front of your dream to keep pushing. You can do this alone, but the adventure is so much richer with friends.

  About the Author

  Lily Montgomery is a southern gal with a love for travel, writing, and gardening. She currently resides in her childhood home with her husband, three cats, and rescue dog, Violet. While always knowing she wanted to be an author, she never quite pictured herself as a romance author, but it seems as though things change.

  Sign up for Lily Montgomery’s Newsletter Today!

  Also by Lily Montgomery

  Faking Paradise

  Discovering Paradise — Coming Soon!

  Rekindling Paradise — Coming Soon!