Man of the Moment (Gentlemen, Inc. Book 1)

by Thea Dawson

  “Glad I could help,” I answer.

  This conversation is getting a little personal for my taste. I steer it back toward less emotional topics, then we finish our burgers and hit the road.

  13

  Annabelle

  Late in the afternoon, we pull into the driveway of my parents’ lake house. It’s at the end of a long, dusty road, and I can see the gleam of blue water beyond the trees that line the driveway.

  My parents bought the house when I was just a toddler, and we’ve been coming here several times a year ever since. It’s not nearly as grand as our Bel Air home, but it’s still spacious and sunny. There’s a covered deck at the back of the house that overlooks the lake. A flight of wooden stairs leads from it to a little path that in turn leads to a small boathouse and a dock. On the way up, I promised Archer that I’d teach him how to sail, and I’m excited to take one of the boats out.

  It feels good to get out of the car and stretch. The air is cooler and cleaner here than in LA, and I gratefully inhale the scent of pines, fresh water, and nostalgia. For me, it’s the smell of vacation, and it brings back memories of chilling out here with my family when I was growing up.

  I feel a thrill of anxiety as Archer gets out of the car behind me. I’ve brought friends up here before, but never a boyfriend … and Archer doesn’t really fall into either of those categories anyway. But after we got past the bumpy beginning, the ride up was actually pretty pleasant. He’s smart, funny, observant, and easy to talk to.

  And he’s hot as hell, which doesn’t hurt.

  I’m nervous … but I’ve decided I’m mostly looking forward to this.

  There’s a white van parked in the driveway with the logo of a local construction company printed on its side. I glance at it as Archer and I pull our bags out of his car and wonder if my parents are having something repaired or installed.

  Like a gentleman, Archer takes my bag out of my hand and slings it over his shoulder. “Lead the way,” he tells me and follows me up the porch steps and through the front door.

  “Ah, you’re here! I was just starting to get worried!” My mother glides in from the kitchen and gives us both hugs.

  “Sorry. I texted you that we were running late, but you probably didn’t get it.” Cell reception at the lake is pretty much non-existent. If we need to make a call, we typically have to go at least to the end of the long dirt road that connects us to the main road.

  Mom shrugs. “Well, you’re here now.”

  “What’s with the van in the driveway?” I ask.

  Mom sighs. I don’t miss her sharp glance in Archer’s direction before she focuses on me again. “There was a leak in one of the bathrooms since we were last here. Big mess. We’re going to have to replace part of the floor. We’ve got some men in right now working on it. Archer, have a seat, you must be tired from the drive. Annabelle, give me a hand in the kitchen for a moment, I’m just putting together some hors d’oeuvres.”

  Archer sits down obediently, but I sense something is off. My mom wouldn’t normally leave a newly arrived guest completely alone as soon as they arrived.

  I follow her into the kitchen where she’s been compiling a lavish platter of cheese, crackers, and fruit. I help myself to a grape and she swats my hand in mild exasperation.

  “Mom, what’s up?”

  She turns to face me. “It was the third-floor bathroom that leaked, and it’s pretty much ruined the spare room. I need you to tell me what you’d like to do with Archer.”

  I can think of several things I’d like to do with Archer, but I’m certainly not going to share them with my mother. “What do you mean?” I ask stupidly.

  “Archer was supposed to go in the spare room,” she says with a touch of impatience. “Half the floorboards are missing and one of the walls is torn out. We’ve had to move the bed into the hallway. Do you mind if he sleeps with you?”

  I freeze, my hand halfway to snitching another grape. “Oh …”

  “If you’re not comfortable with that, we can just put him on the couch,” she says.

  “Um …” I try to think quickly. As long as the spare room had been decreed Archer’s room, I’d been able to step back from taking any responsibility for where he slept. But now, if I choose the couch for him, it’s pretty much an admission that we’re just friends.

  But if I put him in my bed …

  I wish I had a chance to talk to Archer and see how he feels about this. It’s presumptuous to expect that he won’t mind sharing my room just to help me save face. But the house is full of extra blankets and spare sleeping bags. I’ll sneak some up to my room and make up a cozy bed for him on the floor. He’ll be fine with that.

  I hope.

  “You can put him in my room.” I make an effort to keep my voice casual. I just hope my cheeks aren’t as red as they feel.

  My mother nods briskly, and I reflect on how strange it is that my mother is more comfortable with this situation than I am. “All right then, let’s get the snacks out, and you can show Archer where to put your bags.”

  A few minutes later, I’m standing in my room with Archer, looking uncomfortably at the queen-sized bed that dominates my little room on the third floor. It’s bright and sunny and overlooks the lake, and ordinarily it’s my favorite place in the world.

  But right now, I wish I could just melt away into the floor.

  “I’m really sorry. It was this or the couch,” I explain. “I can set up a place on the floor for you to sleep. We’ve got sleeping bags. You don’t mind, do you?”

  He looks a little surprised but neither as put out as I might have expected nor as pleased at the thought of sharing a room with me as I might have hoped.

  “I’ve slept in stranger places,” he says with the cheerful air of someone determined to make the best of a bad situation.

  I try to hide a flinch of disappointment. I know I’ve put him in an awkward situation by having us share a room, so it’s not fair of me to expect him to be thrilled about it, but I didn’t think he’d find it actually distasteful. Some part of me hoped he’d be secretly pleased.

  He turns to me. “But listen, if the goal here is to make it look like we’re together, a camp bed probably isn’t the best way to do that.”

  “Well, no … but if we make sure to tidy it up every morning …” I shrug awkwardly.

  He cocks his head at me and gives me that smile, the one that makes something deep inside me quiver. “Let’s just share the damn bed. I promise you, no funny business. I’ll sleep better, and you won’t have to worry about anyone catching me sleeping on the floor.”

  I frown, considering this. Would I get any sleep at all if he were lying next to me all night? I doubt it. But even though my brain knows this set up will be platonic, my stomach is doing this odd fluttery thing and practically insisting that I give in and let him sleep with me.

  Near me, anyway.

  “It’s a big bed,” Archer continues. “We can make it work. We can … put a pillow between us or something.”

  I wait for the sensible part of my mind to come up with a reason why this is a bad idea, but my fluttery stomach seems to have overruled it. There’s another moment of awkward silence before I say, “Well, if you’re okay with it, let’s go down and … see if Mom needs some help with dinner.”

  “Good idea,” he agrees, a little too quickly.

  We leave our bags and make our way downstairs.

  Dad and Brianna have come in from taking one of the sailboats out. Even in shorts, a sweatshirt, and tennis shoes, Brianna still has that cool elegance to her. Carina, who can’t resist the opportunity to be social, has gone to say hello to our nearest neighbors, an elderly couple that live about a ten-minute walk from our house.

  Even though I know it’s ridiculous, I’m unreasonably self-conscious. Part of me thinks that everyone in my family is thinking about me and Archer sharing a bed.

  If I don’t think about it, no one else will, I tell myself. I leave Archer makin
g small talk with my dad. Brianna and I go into the kitchen to help my mom, but she assures us that everything is under control.

  Unlike me, my mom actually likes to cook. Despite working a demanding job as we were growing up, she cooked dinner for us almost every night and insisted that we all eat together. Now that we’re together only once every few months, I realize how much I miss those family dinners that I took for granted when I was a kid. I think of Archer, who lost his mom so young and then didn’t even have the support of his dad. I’m filled with gratitude for my own parents, and once again, I’m impressed that Archer has turned out as well as he has.

  Or so I think.

  I remind myself that I don’t really know him at all, which reminds me that I’m sharing a room and probably a bed with him later, which reminds me that I came into the kitchen because I was too embarrassed to be around him, and I feel my face start to warm up again.

  “I just have to make a salad and then dinner will be ready. Go rescue that poor young man from your father,” Mom says.

  I give her a “just because” hug, which makes her smile, then go back to the living room to see if Dad is giving Archer the third degree.

  I’m pleased to see that my dad has offered Archer a drink. The two of them are sitting near the fireplace, Archer on the couch and my dad in a chair, and they seem to be chatting amiably. Brianna has vanished upstairs to change.

  My dad and Archer both stand as I walk into the room, which makes me feel both pleased and self-conscious. It’s so old-fashioned and unnecessary, yet totally charming.

  I start toward the chair next to my dad but Archer raises his eyebrows in a subtle but meaningful gesture. Somewhat awkwardly, I change course and sit on the couch next to him. He smiles at me, just like a boyfriend would, and stretches one long arm casually around my shoulders. Once again, I’m impressed with his acting skills.

  “Your dad says you guys have sailboat races,” Archer says with an eager smile.

  “Sure. I’ll take you out tomorrow for a lesson. Maybe in the afternoon we can have a race with dad and Brianna.”

  “You think I’ll be up for racing that quickly?”

  I laugh. “You don’t really need much skill for a lake this quiet. I’ll be captain, you be crew. As long as you do what I say, we’ll do great.”

  He smiles. “I always do what you say,” he says, like a dutiful boyfriend.

  “That’s the recipe for happiness,” my dad says with a chuckle. “Sweetheart, can I get you something to drink?”

  It’s a long tradition—at least since we grew up—at the lake house that we have drinks before dinner. “I’d love something, Dad. Archer, what are you having?” I ask.

  “Just soda water,” he answers. He’s no longer technically on the clock, and I wonder if he doesn’t drink because of his dad or because he doesn’t want to let his guard down. There’s so much about him that I don’t know.

  “Vodka tonic,” I tell my dad, who gets up to mix one for me.

  With my dad’s back turned, Archer gives me a quick wink and a smile that tells me I’m doing a good job keeping up appearances. I smile a little shyly back, suddenly aware of the comfortable weight of his arm across my shoulder and the crisp cotton of his dress shirt against my skin. My heartbeat kicks up a notch or five. The scent of his citrusy cologne makes me think of the kiss we shared in my room—was it just last night? Twenty-four hours ago, my parents’ party hadn’t even started, and it seems like so much had changed since then.

  My dad comes back from the bar trolley and hands me a cold highball glass. I thank him and take a sip, grateful to have something to occupy my hands and also that it’s not too strong. My dad knows I’m a lightweight, and given how nervous and distracted I am, I could easily down this in a few gulps without really thinking about it.

  Just as I’m starting to fret about what to talk about, Carina comes home. She hugs all of us and begins telling us about the addition that Mr. and Mrs. Ostrowski are adding to their house, then Brianna reappears. She’s changed into yoga pants and a hoodie and still looks absurdly elegant. Finally, my mom comes in to tell us that dinner is ready and ushers us all into the dining room. I’m grateful for the various distractions, but I also feel like a fifth wheel next to my charismatic family members.

  But as we walk into the dining room, Archer give my shoulders a gentle squeeze and winks at me again, and for a moment, I feel like he and I are the only people in the room.

  14

  Archer

  My job is to keep Annabelle happy for the weekend, and despite getting off to a rough start in the car, so far I feel pretty confident that I’m succeeding. I suspect from the shy way she looks at me every now and then that she’s got a bit of a crush on me, which is fine; it makes our act more believable, and it’s actually kind of sweet.

  I’m used to dealing with a more jaded type of woman, someone more like Annabelle’s Aunt Mila, who sees life as a series of transactions the way I do. Yes, Annabelle and I have a deal, but there’s something so wholesome about her and her simple desire for a decent boyfriend that I hardly feel like she’s using me at all.

  I’m still after a connection with Zac Borstein, of course, but if I play my cards right, the Winters will think that putting me in touch with him was their idea all along. No harm, no foul.

  As long as I’m careful not to lead Annabelle on too much, we’ll all get what we want.

  Dinner with Annabelle’s family is fun. They joke and tease each other, but I can tell they really enjoy each other’s company. There are a lot of in-jokes and references that I don’t get, but they go out of their way to include me in the conversation and make sure I’m not left out.

  Annabelle is quiet relative to the rest of her family, but she gets in a few funny one-liners, and when her dad asks her about her research, I’m impressed with how passionate she is. What she does is directly related to creating better hearing aids; it sounds like the perfect hearing aid is her personal Holy Grail. I’m tempted to ask her why she’s so interested in hearing aids, but I imagine that’s the sort of thing that as her boyfriend I should already know, so I don’t.

  “What about you, Archer?” her dad asks. “What do you think of Annabelle’s obsession with hearing aids?”

  “Annabelle is way, way too smart for me,” I say, truthfully enough. “I’ll be honest, I don’t understand half of what she just said.” Her family chuckles. “But I love how excited she gets about the subject,” I continue. “Going deaf must be pretty hard on people. If I were losing my hearing, I’d definitely want her on my side.”

  I’ve tried to sound like a proud boyfriend without crossing the line into kissing ass, and from the approving look on her parents’ faces, I’ve succeeded.

  Annabelle, too, flashes me a grateful look. “Aw, you’re sweet to put up with my geekiness,” she says, giving my arm an affectionate pat. She’s getting the hang of this pretend girlfriend bit.

  Annabelle’s dad begins to grill me on my acting career. I’ve been braced for this since I met him—struggling actors probably aren’t a protective father’s first choice of boyfriend for his daughters—but I’m used to fielding questions, and I know how to strike a balance between projecting a positive attitude and sounding arrogant.

  I mention the commercials, the radio ad voice-overs and sitcom walk-ons, and a few other things. I don’t even bother mentioning the handful of stage performances I’ve been involved in since moving to LA; they were just little community theater gigs, and the stage isn’t really my thing. Movies are where I want to be. The main point that I want to get across is that I’m serious about acting and that I’m getting steady work—enough to give me the confidence that I have what it takes.

  “And he was in a Taylor Swift video!” Annabelle eagerly interjects. She goes on to describe the video in detail. The knowledge that she’s watched it since I last saw her gives me a funny warm feeling in my chest.

  The video gets attention, as it usually does. I’d probabl
y have brought it up eventually, but I have to admit, it’s kind of nice having someone else brag about me for once. Carina and her mother immediately pepper me with questions. People are usually disappointed to hear that I never actually met Taylor, although the video was cut to make it look like we’re in the same scene, but Carina brushes past that and asks me all about the production itself. Turns out she works for a high-end marketing firm. The director of my video has done a lot of commercials, and Carina has met him several times.

  It occurs to me that Carina, too, is a good connection to have. I’m even more grateful now to have the opportunity to hang out with Annabelle’s family. I silently promise Annabelle that I’ll be the best weekend boyfriend she’s ever had.

  After dinner, I try to help Annabelle and her sisters do the dishes, but the three of them have a routine that they’re used to, and I mostly just get in the way. They’re good sports about it, though. Even Brianna, the ice queen, cracks a smile at my ineptitude and makes a joke about how I’m just trying to make sure I don’t get asked to do any more chores.

  After dinner, Brianna, Carina and Mr. Winter play cards, while Annabelle, her mother and I work on an enormous, 5000-piece jigsaw puzzle which is spread out over a table in the living room. Normally on a Saturday night, I’d be in a fashionable club or bar, trying to be seen, or on a date with an attractive woman. Doing a puzzle with Annabelle and her mom isn't nearly as exciting … but I reflect that it's a lot less expensive, and it's surprisingly relaxing.

  Eventually, all the Winters except Annabelle drift off to bed. It’s only ten pm, but it’s been a long day and there’s something about the fresh lakeside air that’s making me relaxed and a little sleepy. I sit back in my chair and stretch, leaving Annabelle crouched over the puzzle.

  “Ready for bed, sweetheart?” I ask her.

  She ignores the endearment and continues to stare at the puzzle pieces. “I just want to get one more piece in,” she mumbles, trying to swallow a yawn.