Pretend I'm YoursA Single Dad Romance

by Vivian Wood

  He felt Effie’s presence as he stoked the flames.

  “Can you do anything about the electricity?” she asked.

  “Nope. Sorry, princess. It looks like the castle you barreled into isn’t the fairest in the kingdom.”

  “King, stop.” For a moment, he heard the real Effie. The one he knew, the one that was still part of her.

  He sighed. “Alright. All we can do is make ourselves comfortable and ride it out. Get the blankets from the hall closet?”

  A few seconds without her right there, that’s all he needed. Then he could snap himself out of the semi-trance she had him in.

  But it wasn’t that easy. She arrived with armfuls of wool blankets and quilts.

  “I didn’t get the down ones, I’m allergic,” she said. “Remember?”

  “What kind of vet is allergic to feathers?”

  “Uh, the kind that doesn’t specialize in fowl? And I’m a tech, not a veterinarian.”

  When she bent down slightly to pile them on the couch, he could have sworn he saw everything. And he couldn’t tell if it was purposeful or not.

  “You, uh—you better go get changed while we still have good natural light,” he said. “We can share the bed, it’s big enough.”

  He saw her visibly stiffen.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t try anything. You’re not that tempting, and like hell I’m going to sleep on this couch. I can’t even fit on it.”

  She chewed at her lip and looked at him. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I—I just randomly grabbed some stuff when I left. I have a pencil skirt for some reason, and a tank top. The stuff from yesterday is too gross.”

  “Goddamn, Effie, just … go in my bedroom and grab something. There are pajama bottoms and tee-shirts.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “No, but I’m not going to beg you.”

  She let out a groan, but turned on her heels and stomped towards his room. As he unfolded the blankets to assess their situation, he realized there were more throw blankets than anything else. The real spare blankets were all down. The only full-sized, adequate, non-down blanket in the whole goddamned cabin was in his room.

  King realized with a speeding up of his heart that he’d probably have to sleep right next to her.

  It’s fine, you’re fine, he told himself.

  But it wasn’t, and he certainly wasn’t.

  He hadn’t slept beside Effie since high school, and sleeping was far from what they did. He grimaced at the thought.

  A loud pop came from the doorway. King jumped to his feet and Effie let out a laugh. She was in his green flannel pajama bottoms, so long on her that they looked like footie pajamas. She drowned in his old, cracked graphic tee from high school with the school’s mascot proudly emblazoned on the front.

  Effie held up the bottle of champagne she’d just uncorked.

  “Look what I found,” she said. “And I can’t believe you still have this shirt, by the way.”

  “I keep things here I don’t care about forgetting or losing,” he said. It was mean, and he regretted the words a soon as they left his lips. If Effie was hurt, she hid it well.

  “Are you imbibing or not?” she asked as she settled on the couch. In one hand, she held two slender champagne flutes.

  For the first round, King didn’t know where to look. He was grateful for the glass, for something to do with his hands. The clouds grew thicker, darkening the cabin. By the second round, the bubbles started to get to him.

  “You remember the first time we had champagne?” he asked her.

  “We?”

  “Yeah, it was together.”

  “Prom?” she asked. “Your senior year?”

  “Yeah. Damn, that was nasty stuff. I thought getting the oldest out of the wine cellar—this wine cellar, actually—would mean it’s the best. I was mistaken.”

  Effie groaned. “Yeah, and I just wanted you to think I was badass. You know? So I gagged that stuff down. I mean, I didn’t know any better. I thought that was how it was supposed to taste.”

  King let out a laugh. “You wanted me to think you were a badass? Effie, you were in the FFA. You were proud of having your summer hog get the blue ribbon and you always asked teachers for extra credit. Drinking some champagne wasn’t going to make you a badass.”

  “Well, at least I tried,” she said with a smile as she finished her second glass. “More?” she asked. “I mean, with champagne it’s kind of all or nothing.”

  “Sure. What else do we have to do. So tell me why you wanted me to think you were cool. We were dating, you didn’t have to put on a show.”

  Even in the flickering light of the fire, he saw her blush. “I … okay, this is the champagne talking. Alright? And we’ll never speak of this again. But I always felt like you were, you know, out of my league.”

  “Me?”

  “Quiet, or I won’t tell you anymore.”

  “Sorry, I just can’t believe it.”

  It was true. King had always thought it was the other way around. He was the one lucky enough to be with her.

  “Well, believe it. Wow, maybe that whole macho bad boy thing you had going on in high school was real. The rebel without a cause. Maybe it’s true now, who knows?”

  “Since we’re being honest,” he said as he picked up his third glass, “tell me something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Why did you end up with Thorne?”

  Effie cleared her throat. Deliberately, she put down her full glass.

  “I’m kind of tired,” she said. “I think it’s time for bed.”

  “I’ll… I’ll take you,” he said.

  She didn’t say anything, but followed him down the hallway to his bedroom. Silent, she slipped into the king-sized bed and stayed as close to the edge as possible. Effie immediately rolled away.

  King stared at her form, at the steady rise and fall of her body, and wished like hell he knew what she wasn’t saying.

  5

  Effie

  Effie woke up with bleary eyes and pushed her fists against her eyelids.

  She couldn’t gauge what time it was, but the brightness from outside was almost blinding. She burrowed deep into the blankets and pushed herself backwards to press her back into Thorne’s. There was a cold space between them before her ass met his cock through his pajamas.

  Why is he so far away? she wondered briefly, but the thought didn’t last long.

  She was instantly wet, not used to having him hard and wanting her in the morning.

  She felt the hand slink across her stomach, beneath her shirt. Effie let out a low moan as the roughened fingers made their way to her nipple and pinched lightly. With his other hand, he tugged down her bottoms just enough so he could slide in.

  Effie let out a gasp and he tweaked her nipple harder. She was full, almost too full, on the verge of coming already.

  He fucked her harder, slammed himself into her. His teeth bit into the softness of her neck in between kisses and suckles she knew would leave a mark.

  “You’re going to make me come,” she whispered.

  His finger found her clit and he began to work her like never before.

  “Come with me,” she demanded. Effie let out a scream as she felt his hot release inside her.

  It pushed her beyond any orgasm she’d had before, into another world. She reached behind and turned to search for his mouth with hers. Only then did she realize it was King--

  Effie awoke with a start, sweating and her thighs slick with her dream orgasm.

  Shit, it was just a dream, she thought.

  It took her a moment to adjust to the darkness. To realize that Thorne was gone, or as good as. The years of thinking or hoping that his wandering eye was just looking had all gone to hell.

  And now here she was trapped with his brother. Her ex.

  Fuck.

  Carefully, Effie glanced over her shoulder, almost cert
ain he’d be there. After all, he’d said they would likely have to share a bed—or maybe he was just messing with her. Keeping her on edge. Maybe he’d said it just to see how she’d react.

  But King was nowhere to be found. There was no sign of him in the room, and from what she could tell it would be daybreak any moment. As her eyes adjusted to the moonlight, she could see he’d straightened some things up. If he had slipped into bed with her, he’d made his side of the bed so perfectly with hospital corners there wasn’t a single wrinkle.

  Effie slid out of bed and re-rolled his pajama pants. She could tell her underwear were soaked through from her dream, but in her haste to escape Thorne’s apartment she hadn’t had the forethought to grab any extra underwear or bras. These would have to do until she could discreetly hand wash them.

  After a moment’s thought, she made the bed as well as she could, trying to mimic King’s precision. She stood back and looked, and she was still able to tell which side was hers.

  She shook her head. At least she’d tried.

  She snuck down the hallway in the too-quiet house. Light poured in from the kitchen, but she heard nothing.

  How long did I sleep? Did he leave me out here?

  But just as she approached the doorway to the chef’s kitchen, King appeared with two cups of coffee in hand. “Jesus, Effie, you’re like a cat. I almost ran into you.”

  “I’m the quiet one? I thought you left me here!”

  “And where would I go? In case you didn’t notice, I didn’t bring a car up here, I’d called a Lyft. You think I ran off with your animal hair-covered car?”

  She sucked in her breath and forced herself not to snap back. “Is that for me?” she asked, and gestured to the coffee.

  “One of them is.”

  Their hands brushed as he handed her the steaming cup. She’d forgotten how long and elegant those hands were—those of an artist or a piano player. King had laughed when she’d told him that as teenagers.

  “I’d love to be an artist,” he’d told her. “But, trust me, I can leave the piano.” Darkness had clouded his eyes, but she’d been too young and enamored by him to dig deeper.

  Effie looked into the milkiness of the coffee, surprised that he remembered how she took it. Or at least how she used to.

  “One-third cream, no sugar,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

  “Yeah,” she said quietly. She almost jerked away at the electricity of his skin on hers.

  Over the past two years, Thorne had nudged her towards espresso, black and bitter. He’d said it was more sophisticated, that her coffee was more like dessert and betrayed how American she was.

  “But I am American,” she’d told him. “So are you.”

  He’d just laughed.

  Now, as she curled onto the couch with King on the opposite end, she brought the sweetness to her lips and closed her eyes in pleasure. It had been so long since she’d had something so simple that she adored. She’d almost forgotten how indulgent it could be.

  She could feel King’s eyes on hers. His watching made her want to pose, and she wished desperately she’d had the sense to brush out her hair or splash water on her face.

  I must look like crap. She tried to discreetly run her fingers through her hair, but that made her even more self-conscious. What is it about these Smith men I can’t seem to quit?

  King kicked one of the throw blankets over his feet.

  “I found your phone in the mud room. I plugged it in for you,” he said as he tossed it to her.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  She didn’t want to, but she looked at the screen and saw a million missed calls and texts from Thorne. There were a few from her best friend, Renee. Effie groaned.

  “Still haven’t learned to keep your phone charged, huh?” King asked.

  “I didn’t forget. I wanted to… escape.”

  “Hiding from the real world up in someone else’s cabin buried in those romance books isn’t going to do you any favors.”

  “Okay, okay! I get it, this isn’t my cabin. Geez, let it go already. What are you going to do, kick me out in the blizzard?”

  “It’s hardly a blizzard.”

  She could only see snippets of Thorne’s messages, but it was enough to know they started out wildly apologetic and then veered into blaming her for what happened. Effie squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.

  “Your brother is a freaking asshole,” she said, and threw the phone into the depths of the chair across the table.

  King raised his brows. “You’ll have to deal with him sometime.”

  “Sometime. Not right now.” Effie gazed outside to the frozen landscape. Snow continued to fall steadily.

  “We’re going to be here at least another day,” King said. “Plenty of time to figure out your next move.”

  “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  King shrugged. “Take it however you want.”

  She eyed him, then jumped up and headed to the bathroom.

  Effie shuffled out of the oversized clothes and turned on the shower as hot as it could go. Below the rainfall showerhead, she tilted her head upward and let the water wash away the stickiness that had spread to cover most of her thighs.

  It’s going to hurt, untangling myself from Thorne, she realized.

  It wasn’t so much him, but more the logistics. Effie hadn’t realized how much their lives had grown together.

  More like his consumed mine, she thought bitterly.

  There was the condo, of course, but at least it was just in his name. She’d been surprised when Thorne asked her to pay a portion of the utilities—and how much he asked. He owned the condo outright and certainly wasn’t hurting for money.

  “I figured you’d want to do it out of principle,” Thorne had said. “I mean, you don’t want to be a kept woman, do you?”

  That hadn’t been what she wanted, but she was dating one of the wealthiest men in Chicago. On a vet tech’s salary, the amount he asked of her was a serious pinch every month. And that was on top of her paying for the insurance and utilities for Yaya’s and her mom’s house.

  Our house, she reminded herself. There was no way in hell she’d ever step foot in Thorne’s place again.

  As she massaged the shampoo into her hair, a lock snagged on the engagement ring. She’d nearly taken it off when she’d driven madly from Thorne’s place to the cabin, tempted to throw it out the window.

  The sentimental value was gone instantly, but she could only imagine how much it cost. Probably more than enough to take care of her Yaya and mom for life.

  Effie looked down at the ring and slipped it off. Carefully, she leaned out of the walk-in shower and put the ring on the granite counter. Her hand felt naked and too light without it.

  What is my life, really, without Thorne?

  Sure, he’d only started dating her to hurt King, but hadn’t it grown beyond that? He wouldn’t really marry her just to piss off his brother, would he?

  And Thorne’s offering to pay off her mom’s house, ensure her family always had a place to live? There was no way she could ever do that on her own. Not on a vet tech’s salary.

  Wasn’t that worth it, putting up with him? If it meant her Yaya and mom were taken care of?

  The last time she’d talked to her mom about the mortgage, there was still nearly a quarter million left on it. Then there were the property taxes, the maintenance, all the utilities, and the increasing medical bills for both of them. Yaya’s Medicaid was pretty solid, but her mom was years away from qualifying.

  Effie stepped out of the shower and shivered in the sudden coolness. She pulled on the plush robe and combed out her damp hair with the wide-toothed wooden comb kept in the top drawer. As she pursed her lips, she examined herself in the mirror.

  So where does that leave me now? What are my options?

  She knew Thorne would take her back, that wasn’t an issue. Even if he was desperately trying to fling mud at her to make himself feel better
in the moment. More than anything, he was probably worried that she’d already told her mom or his parents.

  After all, his parents adored her, and had ever since she’d been with King. They didn’t care that she didn’t come from money. They cared that she was pretty, polite, and malleable. That was the word Thorne had used when he told her about their reaction after he proposed.

  Effie knew that if she walked down that aisle with Thorne, he would just cheat again. She knew what her mother would say, too.

  “You marry that boy no matter what, because he’s our primary source of security. You’ve put in the time, now get the ring.”

  Remembering those words almost made her cry all over again. Her mom was right in some ways. But her mom came from a different generation. She came from a place of real poverty and knew what it was like to struggle. Security trumped everything else.

  “All men cheat,” her mom would say if Effie told her about the affair. “Don’t let it bother you, they get better about hiding it.”

  She’d heard her mom dole out similar advice to friends and extended family. When Effie had first heard it, she was about ten years old and her mouth had dropped open in shock.

  I’ll never stay with someone who cheats on me! she’d thought at the time. But at ten years old, you still believe in fairy tales and that romance books are real.

  Effie pulled out some new makeshift pajamas from King’s drawer. Heading back into the living room, she scrolled to Renee’s name and did her best not to read any of Thorne’s messages.

  “Hi, sorry! Out of work for a conference, will call you when I get back,” she texted. As soon as it sent, she turned off the phone.

  Effie picked up her book, but as soon as the story pulled her in with promises of happily ever afters and mind-blowing sex, the door opened and a gust of icy wind blew in.

  “More firewood,” King said, his arms full of kindling.

  “Hey, are you hungry?” she asked. “I saw those old-school iron sandwich makers in the kitchen the other day. We could make grilled cheese over the fire.”

  “Uh, yeah. Sure,” King said over his shoulder as he began to feed the fire.