Pretend You're Mine

by Francisco, Fabiola

Wendy takes our basket with a huff. “This is heavy,” she comments.

  “Heavier than a five-pounder, right?” I lift my brows.

  “Oh, yeah.” She nods and places the apples on a scale to weigh them. “Seven pounds, one ounce.”

  “Boo-ya!” I jump and mock Harris. He shakes his head, hiding his smile with his hand. Wendy laughs as she packs them in a cardboard box for us to take.

  “Never underestimate my apple picking knowledge,” I gloat. “Pizza it is.”

  Harris chuckles and murmurs under his breath, something I don’t catch. He pays for the apples and carries the box.

  “I can’t believe I lost that.” He shakes his head, Wendy laughing at us.

  “You were an apple picking virgin,” I pat his bicep, feeling the flexed muscle as he holds the box. I give him a gentle squeeze, and his eyes burn into mine.

  “Well, you did a good job of being gentle with me,” his innuendo deep. Wendy snorts, and my cheeks flush. Another type of activity clouds my mind.

  Harris chuckles and cups my cheek, his thumb brushing back and forth against my heated skin. Leaning in for a chaste kiss, he smiles against my lips. After thanking Wendy, he puts an arm around my shoulder. When we walk out of the orchard, I step away a moment and remove my jacket.

  “Hot?” He cocks an eyebrow.

  “Walking around is making me hot,” I explain, tying my jacket around my waist.

  “Hmm,” he muses. “I have a feeling the real winner of the bet is me.” He winks and drops the subject. I think we both won.

  Harris

  “How are things going with Poppy?” Knox asks as we take a break and walk up from the studio basement to his kitchen.

  “Is this that woman you told us about?” Sutton looks over at me with raised eyebrows.

  “Yeah,” I nod. “Things are good,” I answer Knox.

  “Hey, y’all finished?” Ainsley looks up from her laptop.

  “Taking a break,” Knox tells her.

  Sutton walks over to Ainsley and takes a seat next to her, probably wanting to see what she’s working on. She’s fascinated by Ainsley’s marketing career.

  “When are you seeing her again?” Knox leans against the counter and unscrews the cap off his water bottle.

  I think about this past weekend with Poppy. We spent the rest of Saturday together after we had pizza at Howdy’s. Then, I was able to get her to myself for a bit on Sunday for a cup of coffee.

  “Tonight.”

  “Wait, I thought you were just doing her a favor. What have I missed?” Sutton pouts. She hates being left out.

  “That’s what happens when you don’t live in Everton,” I tease.

  “Stop,” she whines.

  “Do you want to move here, too?” Ainsley closes her laptop and looks at her with hopeful eyes.

  “Maybe a vacation home. Doubt I could put up with all that snow for longer than a couple of weeks.”

  “But, your label is here.” Ainsley would recruit everyone she cares about to Everton if she had it her way. “The snow isn’t too bad, either. I love it now.”

  “You know what would make me move here?” Sutton’s eyes shimmer with mischief.

  “What?” Innocent Ainsley is falling right into her trap. I hold back my laughter.

  Sutton stalls, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “If you were my marketing manager.”

  Ainsley huffs and leans back on her high top chair, rolling her eyes. She then looks at Knox. “Did you put her up to this?” Her eyes narrow.

  “Not this time, babe,” he chuckles, raising his hands. “This is all her.”

  “Sutton, I love you, but no.”

  “Come on, Ains! You’re amazing at what you do. I could really use the exposure, not to mention some estrogen on my side with these two.” She tilts her chin in our direction.

  “We’re not that bad,” I defend.

  “The other day you said my pink dress was pretty. Pink! It was magenta.” Her eyes bulge out of their sockets.

  “Same thing. Magenta is like a shade of pink,” I shrug.

  Sutton stares at Ainsley and sighs dramatically. “Do you see what I’m dealing with?”

  Ainsley laughs and shakes her head. “They’re pros. They know what they’re doing a lot more than I do when it comes to the music industry.”

  “But we need a team, and well, you fit our budget.”

  Ainsley laughs and shakes her head. “You know I’ll help any way I can, but I’m strict on the don’t work with your spouse rule.”

  “You’re not married yet,” Sutton points out with raised eyebrows and her know-it-all expression.

  “She’s got a point,” Knox smirks, probably happy this is working in his favor. He’s been wanting Ainsley to help with marketing for the label since he and I started planning it.

  “If you want sex at night, or morning, I suggest you leave things the way they are.” Ainsley tilts her head and winks at Knox.

  “You couldn’t turn me away.”

  “Watch it, Knox, you know I’m stubborn and proud.”

  He laughs and walks over to her, kissing the top of her head. “We may need some help, though,” he adds.

  “What’s going on?” Ainsley is now serious, looking between the three of us.

  “Sutton’s EP is done, and we need to make some noise, so people learn who she is and demand her music,” I explain.

  “Maybe some social media help?” Sutton pouts.

  “I feel like this is a trap,” Ainsley sighs.

  Sutton keeps her pout perfectly placed on her lips, blinking her eyes quickly.

  “We need people to buy my single on iTunes.” Man, she’s really laying it on thick, guilt-tripping Ainsley. I almost feel bad for her, but we really could use her help.

  “I’ll look over what you have,” Ainsley sighs.

  Sutton claps her hands, now smiling wide. “Thank you! You’re the best.”

  She shakes her head and stares at Sutton, then at Knox, who has a cocky smile.

  “Just until she’s being talked about. You can take it from there.”

  “Yes, yes, yes. I promise.” Sutton jumps from her seat and dances. “Now,” she turns to me. “Tell me about Poppy.”

  So much for being off the hook from her interrogation. I catch Sutton up on my relationship and promise she’ll meet Poppy on Friday at Cocktails, Dreams, & Mischief, the bar where Sutton and Knox will be singing live, something we’ve been doing every few weeks.

  We’ve also scheduled a few radio station interviews for her. It helps that Knox has a reputation and a career and that I’ve managed him for years. Pulling all our contacts together, his name, and my expertise, we haven’t had to struggle like some indie labels do when they’re just starting up.

  Regardless, every tiny bit helps, especially with a new artist like Sutton. Knox and I are both aware that we can’t compete with one of the big labels, and that’s not our goal. However, we offer a lot of positive benefits to artists that a big label will want to take away. For instance, we won’t change their image, make them do something they don’t believe in, and we respect their music and their voice. Knox Bentley’s loyal fanbase will race to the box office and buy tickets for any show he announces. When the time comes, having Sutton open for him will be the perfect opportunity for her.

  By the time we finish working, I’m ready to head home. Poppy’s coming over tonight, and I’ve missed seeing her these last few days. Apparently, seven pounds of apples is a feat to eat alone before they go bad, so we’re going to make dessert. She guaranteed she’s an expert, which is good because my knowledge around a kitchen is limited, unless I have a clear YouTube video or the guidance from someone. Tonight, it will be the guidance of the beautiful woman who has taken up residence in my life.

  I look around my apartment and make sure everything is neat. The studio I live in is small, and my bed will be staring at me as we bake. I’m taking this slow with Poppy, respecting her pace. After not dating for a
long time and from what I’ve heard around town, I want to make sure she’s ready for the next step. Besides, our official relationship is only a few days old, even if my feelings for her started before we went to the ball.

  I like her too much to let me dick screw this up.

  I check the time on my phone. She should be getting here any minute, so I open the bottle of red wine I bought and place two glasses next to it. We’ll order something for dinner after we finish, but I know she loves this wine.

  A soft knock makes me grin widely. She’s here.

  When I open the door, Poppy is smiling shyly, holding a canvas bag that says, Let’s Get LIT-erary.

  “Hi,” I smile and lean in for a kiss, taking the bag from her. It’s surprisingly heavy, and my arm drops with the weight. “Did you bring everything you own?”

  “Hey.” Her gorgeous smile widens, and her eyes light up. “And just everything we need to make the perfect dessert.”

  “Come in.” I step aside for Poppy to enter my apartment and check her out while she glances around. Dark jeans hug her curves, and a light pink sweater accentuates her narrow waist and perfect breasts.

  After closing the door and placing the bag on the small counter, I walk up to Poppy and hug her waist.

  “It’s small, but it works for me. Apparently, Everton real estate is in high demand in the summer. I hope to find a bigger place soon.” I’m not sure why I’m explaining this to her.

  “I love it,” she says with honesty.

  “I’m glad.” I give her a chaste kiss and look back at the counter. “So, what did you bring?”

  “I was thinking we can make apple pop-tarts. They’re really good.” Her eyes light up to emphasize her love for them.

  I chuckle and nod. “Whatever you want. You’re the pro here. I already warned you that my baking and cooking skills are minimal.”

  “If I can teach first graders how to do math and read, I think I can teach you how to bake.” She must really love a challenge.

  “Okay,” I shake my head. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “You’re cute.” She kisses my cheek and starts pulling things out of her bag. I hear rattling as she places flour and sugar on the counter. Next, a small container of cinnamon, I think.

  While she empties out her bag, I serve us each a glass of wine. She smiles in approval as I hand her the glass.

  “I brought a cookie sheet just in case you didn’t have one.” She holds it up. “Do you have mixing bowls, though?”

  “Yeah.” I nod proudly. I may not know how to cook, but I do have the basics in my kitchen. “Does this work?” I hold a glass bowl.

  “Perfect.” Her excitement is contagious.

  “Okay,” I clap my hands. “What do you need me to do first?”

  “We need to make the dough first because it has to refrigerate for an hour, so let’s measure the dry ingredients and put them in the bowl.”

  Poppy guides me, telling me how much we need of each ingredient. Flour puffs around us as I pour it into the measuring cup.

  “You’re making a mess,” Poppy giggles, looking at the white dust on my shirt.

  “Easy clean-up,” I shrug with a smile.

  Once the dry ingredients are combined, Poppy blends milk and eggs. She pours it into the dry ingredients.

  “Okay, we need to use our hands now.” She looks from my eyes to my hands, then back up again. Her cheeks turn pink, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what she’s thinking.

  “Use our hands for the dough, right?” I tease.

  “Uh, yeah.” She looks away and shows me what to do, and I follow.

  With the dough mixed and patted out into two rectangles, we place them on the cookie sheet, and I make space in my fridge to slide it in.

  “That wasn’t too bad.” I cross my arms and lean against the fridge.

  “You did pretty well,” she gives me a slanted smile.

  “Now, we need to peel the apples and core them, so we can cut them into small squares,” she instructs.

  We each take an apple, doing just that. I watch Poppy’s concentration, how her tongue peeks out a bit from the side of her mouth, and the slight furrow of her brows as she cores the apples. This feels extremely domestic, and yet I don’t want the night to end. It’s the first time I’ve ever cooked with a woman.

  “How was work?” I ask Poppy as we continue working on the filling for the pop-tarts. Poppy steals a few chunks of apple and eats them.

  “Good, but I’m looking forward to the weekend. It’s just been a long week,” she glances over at me. “And today has given hump day a whole new meaning. I thought it’d never end.”

  “My hump day involves something else,” I wink.

  “Perv.” She nudges me with her foot and laughs.

  I wipe my hands on a dishtowel and loop my arm around her waist, pulling her to me. Poppy squeaks, dropping the mixing spoon in the bowl. My hand presses into her lower back, and I kiss her. She sighs into me, and her arms come around my body, flattening into my back.

  Poppy tastes sweet, of apples and wine. I stroke my tongue with hers, exploring her mouth at a lazy pace. I’ve got nowhere to be but right here with this woman. She scoots closer, her chest pressed against mine, and her arms tighten around me.

  I’d bake with her every day just to have her in my arms like this. I move my lips from hers, leaving a trail of kisses along her jaw and neck. She shivers in my arms.

  “Harris,” she whispers.

  “Hmmm…” I brush my lips across her collarbone right above the neckline of her sweater.

  “Pop-tarts,” she murmurs.

  “We’ll finish them in a sec.” I suck on the skin below her ear, scraping my teeth gently. When Poppy moans, I do it again.

  “That feels really good,” she sighs.

  “You feel really good.” I move my hand to her backside, pressing her hips to mine so she can feel what she does to me.

  Her small gasp encourages me to continue, and I move my hips against hers, my erection rubbing against her.

  Suddenly, she moves her head and catches my mouth with hers, thrusting her tongue in search of mine. Desperate, she kisses me with a force that catches me off-guard and leaves me at her mercy. Poppy takes control of the kiss, running her tongue along mine. I groan as my dick gets harder. My bed in the corner taunts me, and I have to do everything in my power not to guide her in that direction.

  I move my hand up the side of her ribs and palm her breast. Fuck, her nipples are hard through her sweater and bra. I pinch the puckered nipple, and she gasps into the kiss. My hand continues to roam up and down her body, causing Poppy to shiver and moan because of my touch.

  A shrilling sound breaks us apart. Poppy jumps back with her hand on her chest. “Oh, my goodness.” Her wide eyes stare at me and then at the offending intrusion. I catch my breath as I watch her try to do the same, her chest rising and falling at a quick speed.

  “I guess the hour is up,” she shakes her head and turns off the timer.

  “Crap.” I run a hand through my hair. “Give me a sec, and I’ll remove it from the fridge.” I close my eyes and focus on my breath.

  When I hear a giggle, I peek one eye open and look at Poppy. “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing.” She bites her lip and shakes her head as she pretends to stir the apple chunks with cinnamon and sugar.

  “Poppy,” I warn, finally able to take a step forward. She eyes me up and down, focusing her attention on my crotch.

  “Thought you were going to have difficulty walking.” She holds in her laughter, but her eyes widen when I pounce in her direction.

  She laughs as I hold her, tickling her.

  “Stop,” she begs.

  “You’re way too sexy for my own good,” I whisper in her ear, my hand moving across her ribs.

  “Oh my goodness,” she screeches and tries to get away from me.

  “What’s so funny now?” I tease.

  “N
othing, nothing. I promise.” She gasps for air.

  When I don’t relent, she places her lips on my neck and kisses me. Then, she sucks my earlobe into her mouth and scrapes her teeth over it. My hands instantly freeze, and I hold her tightly.

  “You play dirty.” My words come out hoarse, and she knows she’s won.

  “I didn’t know how else to stop you.” She leans back and stares into my eyes. We’re pushing our boundary, going further than either of us probably expected to go while baking pop-tarts.

  “We should finish this.” Her voice is breathy.

  “That’s probably a good idea.” I nod and remove the cookie sheet with the dough.

  Once the pop-tarts are formed—mine look like a little kid made them—we drink the rest of the wine in our glasses and wait for them to bake.

  “The pop-tarts will last longer if you freeze them and simply warm them up in the oven when you want to eat one. They’re so good for breakfast with a cup of coffee.” Poppy is practically salivating, running her tongue over her bottom lip.

  The idea of eating breakfast here with her tomorrow morning is torturing me.

  “How about we order dinner?” I ask.

  “Sounds good.”

  I refill our glasses and lead her to the couch that creates a small living room in the studio. Taking a seat, I ask, “What do you want to eat?”

  “I could have anything.” She takes a sip of wine. “How about pizza?”

  “You don’t mind that we ate that on Saturday?”

  “Not at all.” She shakes her head. “I could eat pizza every day.”

  “Perfect.” I stand to get my phone and place the order. Then, I sit back down next to her and hold her hand.

  “Thanks for coming tonight. I didn’t want to wait until the weekend to see you again.”

  “Me neither.” Her admission makes me smile.

  “I like you a lot, Poppy Powell.”

  “That’s a good thing, Harris Miller, because I feel the same way. I don’t let just anyone dry-hump me on hump day.”

  I chuckle and hold her face, her hands instantly wrapping around my wrists. “That’s a good thing to hear.” I kiss her forehead. “Sutton and Knox are playing at Cocktails, Dreams, & Mischief on Friday, and I would love for you to go with me. I’ll have to do a few things before the show to make sure everything is set for them, but then I’ll be all yours.”