So I make myself get up and get dressed, and I head out for brunch.
It’s a little weird to still be going to Lucien’s cousin’s cafe after I called it off with him, but they have the best pastries I’ve ever had and make a damn good cup of coffee, so oh well. He can deal with it for another three weeks or so.
I order my food and coffee and when I hear someone laughing behind me, I’m not even a little surprised to turn and see Ian standing there.
He looks particularly good in the late morning light, all windswept hair and long black coat with black leather gloves on his hands.
The gloves catch my eye, and my mouth waters at the sight of them before I pull it together and look up at his face. “Are you stalking me?” I demand.
He pulls a face like I’ve hurt his feelings. “Why would you even ask that?”
“Because I’ve seen you more times in the last week than I have in the last decade?”
He grins and shrugs before spreading his hands in a gesture of peace. “Not stalking you, I promise. This place just has the best pastries on this side of the city. I can’t stay away.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that,” I allow.
“Anyway, how do I know you’re not stalking me?”
“Because I was here first?” I say.
“So? You could have been tracking me. You knew I was going to come here, so you rushed ahead of me so it’d look like I was following you.”
I arch an eyebrow at him, and he grins brighter. “You have a very active imagination.”
“Hey, I have to get through the days somehow. You want to have brunch with me?”
I don’t really have a reason to refuse, and it feels less pathetic than eating on my own, so I agree and we pick out a table to sit at together.
He really is unfairly handsome, I think while I watch him. He’s got that sort of wavy hair that just sits perfectly on his head and frames his face nicely. His eyes are bright, and his jaw is perfect, and I’d probably hate him if he wasn’t so nice to talk to.
He could easily be one of those pretentious dudes who only likes to talk about themselves and the things they find interesting, but he asks me just as many questions about myself as he answers from me, asking how work is going and when I’m heading back to America.
Thinking about going back makes that pit in my stomach open up again.
I’ll only have a little bit of time between getting back and settling in to figure out what to do about Nana’s party.
I can’t not go. That’s just not an option. Annie’s idea comes back to me while we sit there, drinking coffee and eating pastries, and I find myself looking at Ian in a different light.
He’d be good for this.
He would be really good for this.
He’s got a good career, he’s funny and charming. People like him, including me, and he’d probably devote himself to pulling the lie off well.
But I can’t ask him, can I? We’ve known each other for a while, but a lot of that was us not talking for years because we lost touch.
I don’t have anyone else, though. It can’t be a stranger. No one would believe that.
“Libby?” he asks, waving a hand in front of my face, a teasing smile on his lips.
I blink and shake myself out of my thoughts. “What? Sorry. I was … ”
“A million miles away,” he finishes, grinning. His grin makes his whole stupid face light up. “Is everything okay?”
I nod because there’s no way I can drag him into my family bullshit. “Yeah. Everything’s fine. I was just zoning out. Work’s been crazy, like I was saying before, and I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”
“Ah, that would explain it,” he agrees. “And here I was thinking you’d found some new partner who’s keeping you up at night.”
I can already feel my face coloring like it apparently always has to do when he talks to me about stuff like this.
“Why would you think that?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “I guess I didn’t really. But you’d deserve it.” He winks at me and drinks the rest of his coffee, and I can’t get the idea out of my head.
That night when I’m back at my apartment alone, I still can’t get the idea out of my head. Ian’s handsome, and he’s got enough money that he can take a holiday in Paris before the actual holidays. Most importantly, he’s someone I don’t have to pretend to know. We have actual chemistry. We can hold a conversation, and I think he might be petty enough to want to help me just to spite someone else.
I don’t know what I can offer him to make it worth his while, after all, he has a lot more money that I do, but it’s worth a shot. If he says no, then it’ll be a sign that this was a bad idea to begin with, and I’ll move on and just deal with it, I guess.
I make myself bite the bullet and call him.
He answers on the second ring, sounding out of breath, and for a second I worry I’ve interrupted him having sex with some gorgeous woman who’d never ask him to pretend to be her boyfriend.
“Oh,” I stammer. “Um. Sorry if I’m interrupting something.”
“You’re good,” he says. “I’m on the exercise bike, but I can pedal and talk at the same time. What’s up?”
God. Now that I’ve got him on the phone, I have no idea what to say.
“Um. So. This is going to sound stupid. Like. Really, really stupid.”
“Maybe I like stupid,” he says, voice warm.
“You say that now, but it’s just because you have no idea how truly dumb what I’m about to ask you is.”
He laughs softly, and the sound is warm and almost touchable. God, fuck him for being so handsome and charming. If he wasn’t unappealing, I wouldn’t even be thinking about doing this, but of course he’s perfect.
“Libby, will you just ask me whatever it is? You never know; I might just say yes.”
I can’t decide if that will make things better or worse, honestly. But I have him on the phone, and he’s waiting, so I let the whole stupid story spill out, ending with the fact that my ex will be there and I don’t want him to see me alone and lonely. “So my sister suggested I get someone to pretend to be my boyfriend for the night. To save face. And I told her that’s a terrible idea, but … ”
“But it’s actually a pretty good idea,” Ian finishes. “You know, that’s not even a little bit close to what I thought you were going to ask me.”
“What did you think I wanted?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he says, and I want to insist he tell me, but I guess I can’t really do that if I’m calling him asking for a favor of this magnitude. “Just for one night?”
“Maybe a couple nights, honestly. I have no idea how my family’s going to react to me having a boyfriend all of a sudden. They might want to have dinner or something, I don’t know.”
“Hmm. Free food, too. Not a bad deal. I’m assuming you want me to pretend to be this boyfriend. Show up, lay on the charm, brag about my accomplishments and all that? Maybe get a little tipsy and go on a loud rant about how I can’t believe anyone would be so stupid as to let you get away from them, but it worked out pretty well in my favor?”
I can feel my cheeks flushing as he talks, and I can just picture it now. Ian, in all his over the top glory, making Chris jealous. It’s what I want, but I’ll admit it feels kind of bad to think about using him like this.
“Honestly that sounds perfect,” I tell him. “If you agree, I’ll owe you a huge favor. Massive favor. Anything you want.”
“Anything?” he asks, and there’s definitely something flirty in his tone.
“Within reason,” I amend. “My first born child is off limits, for instance.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
There’s a moment of silence, and I clear my throat, waiting. Ian seems to be waiting for something, too, so I sigh internally and speak up. “Does that mean you’re agreeing to do this dumb, dumb thing for me?” I ask, trying to disguise the hope in my voice. Now that I’ve asked him, I k
ind of hope he says yes because it actually might work.
“I’m waiting for you to ask me properly,” he says.
“Oh my god,” I groan.
He laughs delightedly. “You could at least pretend to fake woo me, Libby. Honestly. I think our fake romance deserves that.”
“You’re a mess, and I take it all back,” I say, but now I’m laughing, too.
“No you don’t. You want me. You want me so bad. Who else can nail being obnoxious to your ex the way I can?”
Probably no one. Maybe Lucien, but he’d be just as obnoxious to me, and I don’t even want to deal with that. Ian’s my last hope, and he knows it, which means I have to do what he wants. So I sigh and shake my head, a little shocked that I’ve gone and done this.
“Ian Black, you’re the most obnoxious person I know,” I say. “Would you do me the honor of being my fake boyfriend for about a week at the most so I can show my ex I don’t give a shit about him anymore?”
He gasps, and it’s the most over dramatic and overdrawn thing I’ve ever heard. “Oh, Libby, I can’t believe it! I’d be honored. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes! You’ve made me the happiest man in the world.”
“Oh my god.” He’s such a mess, but he makes me laugh so much, I can’t be mad at him. At the very least, I’ll have a good time with him at this party.
Ian
Libby invites me over to her apartment the next day to go over the finer details of this little ruse of hers. Honestly, I’m surprised she’d go through with something like this. It’s devious and involves a lot of lying, and if we’re going to pull it off, then we’re definitely going to have to practice.
She said she owes me a pretty large favor for doing this for her, but honestly, I can’t think of anything I want from her. It’s like nineteen-year-old me is cheering me on, telling me this is my chance to make her fall for me now that she’s not off limits anymore.
She’s just so different from all the other women I know, and I don’t mean that in a trite way. It’s not like I’m putting her up on some pedestal for being different, but I can’t deny it’s a breath of fresh air to be around her.
All the things I liked about her before are still there. She’s still sarcastic and teasing, a little gloomy sometimes. Her eyes are just as bright when she talks about something important to her, and she still wrinkles her nose when she’s upset.
When I get to her apartment, she’s even eating out of a pint of chocolate ice cream, and it’s like being back at that kitchen table all over again.
She also looks nervous as hell, so I flash her my most disarming smile as she lets me in.
“This is going to blow up in my face,” she says, shoving the spoon in her mouth moodily. “I just know it is.”
“No, it’s not,” I tell her. “Maybe if you were dealing with an amateur, but I know what I’m doing. I’m going to make this work for you. Even better than you or Annabelle could have imagined. You just have to trust me.”
She takes a deep breath, then sighs softly. “Okay. I trust you.”
“Good. So, I’ve been thinking about it, and I think we need to start with the hardest part.”
“Okay,” she says again, leading me to sit on the couch in the living room. “What’s the hardest part?”
“You’re going to have to tell me about your ex.”
Her face freezes for a second, and I can see her retreating from the subject of it. It’s like watching her shut down, and I know something bad happened. There’s no other explanation for how she looks at this moment.
“Libby,” I say, reaching for her hand. “It’s okay.”
“It’s really not,” she says back, but she doesn’t take her hand away. I stroke the back of it gently with my thumb, and when she shifts in closer, I start feeling bold.
I didn’t come over here with the expectation of anything other than talking being on the table, but, well ... There are other aspects of a relationship we could practice.
It’s obvious she doesn’t want to talk about her ex, even though we definitely need to for this to work, but I don’t press. Yet.
I let her get as close as she wants, and then I pull her in that much closer until she’s almost in my lap.
With my free hand, I cup her face, lifting her chin with my fingers. I let my eyes trace over her freckles and the little dimple beside her mouth, devouring the sight. She’s so pretty, so much smaller than me right here on her couch, and I want to press her back against it and claim her mouth with my own.
Her eyes are wide and she’s looking right back at me, lips parted. “I-I didn’t know this was going to be part of it,” she murmurs, licking those tempting lips for a second.
“It doesn’t have to be,” I tell her. “We can keep it clean and not touch at all. We can be totally chaste if that’s what you want. Maybe we’re the type to wait for marriage.”
She snorts a laugh, eyes losing some of that dread that filled them just a second earlier. “Yeah, right. Because anyone would look at you and believe you were waiting for marriage.”
I give her a look of mock offense. “Are you calling me a slut, Elizabeth Chastain?”
“No,” she says. “But you know what I mean.”
“I do,” I agree. “I was going to suggest that if we really want to pull this off, we’re going to need to be as authentic as possible. Actually pretend to date each other up until the party so we have habits to fall back on and all that.”
“Makes sense,” she whispers, and she isn’t pulling away.
I take that as a cue to up the ante, just a bit. I lean in closer, my mouth just a breath away from hers. “It’s got to be realistic, right?” I murmur. “And no one would believe that I have you all to myself and don’t kiss you senseless every chance I get.”
I can see it when she swallows hard, and her eyes are wide. If she says no, I’ll back off, but I don’t think she’s going to say no.
“Verisimilitude is important,” she says, and I lunge for her, seizing her mouth with mine, kissing her hard.
She makes a soft noise against my lips, but it isn’t a protest. One hand curls into the fabric of my shirt, and she holds on, so I keep going, kissing her like I want to devour her.
I don’t give her a chance to catch her breath at all. Instead, I make sure all she can focus on is me. I kiss her mouth again and again and then make my way down to her neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses down the line of her throat.
When she moans, desire roars through me, and all I want is to make her make that noise again. I want to hear her moan my name and see her fall apart, knowing I’m the one who did that to her.
I grab her roughly and haul her onto my lap, letting her straddle me and get comfortable. She looks like a fucking treat sitting there, astride me like some queen on her throne, and I want to keep her there for as long as possible.
When I kiss her again, I wind fingers into her hair, holding her still and close while I make love to her mouth with my own. My tongue slides past her parted lips, dipping in to taste her. She lets me in, her tongue teasing and tangling with mine in a way that has me letting out a soft groan of my own.
There’s nothing passive about her. She’s giving back just as good as she gets, and I can feel myself getting hard under her.
I don’t want to push her, though. Kissing her is amazing, and all I want is to lay her down on the couch or the floor or the bed and make her feel good. I want to watch that blush spread down her chest and see just how many freckles she has on her body.
I want to know what she tastes like everywhere and chase sweat down her skin with my tongue.
When I pull back, she’s breathing hard, eyes still wide and dark with arousal. Her hair is messy, and her lips are kiss bruised, and I just want to kiss her again.
But I make myself stop for just a second. I open my mouth to ask her, to make sure she wants this, but before I can get a word out, she’s pulling me back in, taking control of the kiss and laying claim to my mouth in retur
n.
All I can do is grunt with surprise and grip her tighter, fingers digging into her skin through her clothes. I want to leave fingerprints all over her, mark my territory, however temporary it might be.
She kisses me with passion, fiery and intense, grinding down on my lap while she does. Her arms are around my neck and she trails her fingers through the hairs on the back of my neck, making me shiver under her.
She wants this. I can tell. The heat of her is incredible, and she’s probably wet already.
I want her, too, so it’s all good, and I let my hands wander, trailing up her back and down her sides, feeling how soft her skin is in the places where I can touch it.
We break for air again, and her lips are shiny. Her hips don’t stop moving, don’t stop grinding down against me, and I groan her name softly.
“What are you doing to me?” I mumble, and she smiles, teasing.
“Verisimilitude,” she says again, and I don’t know if it’s the word or her display of intelligence using it, but it makes me want to throw her down and have my way with her right then and there.
“I want you,” I tell her, keeping it honest and simple.
It seems like hearing it makes her stop short for a second, and I can see the uncertainty enter her expression. I wonder if it’s her ex that made her this unsure of herself. I can see her second guessing everything, but I know she wants me, too, so I don’t let her.
“Hey,” I murmur, fingers dipping under the hem of her shirt. “Do you want me?”
Her eyes snap back to mine, and she licks her lips before biting the lower one. I can see her teeth worrying at the tempting pink flesh, and it sends my mind down a dirty spiral. But I make myself focus.
“It’s a yes or no question, sweetheart,” I tell her, grinning.
“Yes,” she says finally, and that’s all I need to hear.
Chaoter
I kiss her one more time for good measure and then ease her off my lap. She stands there, looking confused, but then I undo the button and zipper on my jeans and her eyes go dark.
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