by Lindsey Hart
“Right,” Gabriel snorts. “That’s not the kind of companionship you have in mind, though, I believe.” He can’t contain his mirth, and he actually laughs, a low deep sound that gives me shivers in some very inappropriate places.
He’s gay. He doesn’t like women. Stop that. Stop reacting to him like that.
Unfortunately, my body isn’t listening. I guess I can’t help my biology. I can’t help that this guy looks like he’d have Grade A genetics or something. Isn’t that what all women are secretly looking for in a mate, at least according to science? If I’m hardwired this way, then can I excuse my hormones? I don’t know. I still feel annoyed with myself. And a little bit ashamed. And slightly hypocritical. I’m tired of guys, and I don’t want them to hit on me. Except for this guy. So what does that make me? Gross? Horrible? I don’t know. I don’t know what all of this makes me, but it’s probably better not to think about it.
“Coffee? Tomorrow? One?” I rattle those questions off faster than the end of a fireworks display.
“Sure. Sounds good.” Gabriel produces his phone from his back pocket.
I rattle off my digits before he changes his mind. Too late, I realize my phone is in the car. I blush again, because how stupid could I be? “I…could you text me your number? I left my phone in the car. I don’t have it.”
“You’ll trust me not to ghost you? This whole night could be fruitless for you if I ditch on you and bail tomorrow. You don’t have much time if the wedding’s in a week. This whole night could really be wasted for you. I’m assuming that’s why you’re here?”
I try very hard not to glance over my shoulder at the bar where Dean is probably still standing. I think he has other plans for a good time after this, but of course, I don’t say that. It is the reason I’m here—Gabriel’s right.
“Uh, yeah. Kind of. I mean, yes. I guess. Are you going to ghost me?”
Gabriel’s smile is back, and it’s a nice smile—a smile that reaches his eyes, which are also nice. Just like the rest of him. Fuck. If he doesn’t ditch me, I’m going to be in for a really hard weekend.
“No. I’m not going to ghost you. You don’t know me, but when I give my word, I keep it.”
“And you don’t know me, but I promise I’m not always this weird.”
“It’s okay. Sometimes a little weird is good.”
“Okay.” I don’t have anything else to add to that. What could I possibly add? Adding something would be like adding icing on a cake already heaped with like eight hundred layers of the stuff. Ugh. I actually hate icing. And I hate cake too.
“Okay.”
“Alright.”
“See you tomorrow, then. I trust you’ll send me the address of wherever you want to meet?”
“Yes. I will. As soon as I get my phone.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” Before I can make any bigger of a fool of myself, and I’m already feeling like an over iced cake myself now, I turn and flee. I basically walk-run blindly, straight over to where Dean is probably getting his fourth shots.
He turns around, a little surprised to see me, and there’s a big shit-eating grin lighting up his face. “Great timing! Here are your shots. Tequila. Your favorite. Here’s to celebrating our success.”
I choke back a groan. I really don’t like tequila. And this hardly feels like a success of any kind. I feel like I just opened the door to a really big disaster, one where I’m not going to make it through.
As I tip back the first glass, I close my eyes and think about how much Mom and Dad are going to love Gabriel. They’d pretty much love everyone, but I have a feeling they’ll really love him. Of course, that makes me feel worse because he’s a fake boyfriend. I’m paying him. I’m technically kind of his boss. And he will never in a million years be into me. I’m going to break my parents’ hearts when I tell them we’ve ‘broken up’ in a few months.
Fuck. I am fucked AF.
Two shots of tequila aren’t going to fix even a fraction of this mess I just got myself into.
CHAPTER 4
Gabriel
I’m not sure what to expect when I arrive at the chosen coffee shop, a little place I’d term hipster. I like that the outside is brick, and the side has a huge mural of a unicorn fighting with a coffee bean. It’s kind of trendy.
I push open the glass door of the little place. I’m immediately greeted with bookshelves off to my left and a coffee counter, equipment, menus on the wall, and a smiling barista off to my right. The girl—and I hate to call her a girl because what exactly do you term a person who looks to be in their early twenties—has a genuine smile, warm blue eyes, and sandy hued hair. She reminds me of Sebastien a little, just in her lighter features.
Sebastien thought this was all great fun when I explained it to him after Pearl—I only found out her name late last night when she texted me the coffee shop’s address and included her name, almost like an afterthought—ditched me. Since she was still hovering around with her friend, although only briefly before she obviously convinced him to bail, Sebastien tried to get me to go strike up another conversation, but I refused.
He can’t wait to hear all about how today goes. He can’t believe I’m doing this. I guess that makes two of us. I think he might be thinking I’m possessed all of a sudden. That also makes two of us. I’ve been possessed by the curse of bad judgment. Wild risk-taking? Most probably.
I’m not sure why, but last night, in the heat of the moment, I was suddenly bombarded with the fact that though I’ve made a couple of billion dollars, I haven’t really done anything with my life. I didn’t want to die of apparent boredom. Not that it would kill me. I just didn’t want to die and have them write on my headstone, ‘here lies a guy who made a piss pile of money and did nothing with it.’
Not that this is going to cost me anything.
I’m actually getting paid by Pearl for doing it.
But something like this could cost me everything. It kind of feels a little bit like a soul contract or something.
If I thought I was nervous, Pearl, who suddenly jumps up from a table in the middle of all those scattered bookshelves, looks like she’s about to hurl. I’d guess she’s seriously hungover from last night, but I know that’s probably not true. Maybe. Maybe she’s hungover and nervous. It looks horrible. Not that Pearl could ever look anything less than gorgeous, because she really can’t. Even with that sour, I just sniffed a really raunchy fart expression she has going on, she is still captivating.
She also has a pair of tight skinny jeans and a cropped t-shirt with a cat riding a shark on, and let me just say I now have a new appreciation for both jeans and t-shirts.
“Hey,” Pearl says softly. Her voice would have betrayed her nerves even if her face hadn’t already. “I’m glad you came.”
“I did. I’m here.”
“Would you like a drink?”
“Are you buying?” I can’t help being a dick. I just want to see what she says. I can’t remember the last time anyone ever tried to buy me anything.
As soon as I made even a little bit of money, and by little, I mean my first million, I bought Ted and my mom a new house and two new cars. I paid for a condo for Sebastien because it’s what he wanted, and I bought him a new car as well. I then paid off all their debt and Sebastien’s student loans. Not only that, but I also bought them some shares and stock, and I made investments on their behalf so the money in those accounts could make them money for when they’re ready to use it.
I bought myself a few things too. The whole new house, new car deal, but I made sure it wasn’t anything crazy or even fancy. It was more practical than anything as I didn’t want to be singled out. I hate crowds, and I imagine any kind of fame would be even worse. I like that I have a ton of money and not many people even know my name. Anonymity is seriously underrated. You don’t appreciate it until you lose it.
“Yes, certainly.” Pearl frantically nods like I might turn around and walk out of there if she doesn’t
buy me a drink.
Now I feel a little bit guilty. I slide my wallet out of the back pocket of my jeans. Before coming, I did debate wearing something nicer but in the end, I just went for the good old jeans and t-shirt combo that I prefer. I work from home most of the time now, so it’s my go-to outfit and my favorite one unless walking around the house in my gotch counts. Then that’s definitely my favorite.
“No. I was kidding. Let me get it. Whatever you want.”
Pearl eyes me, then slowly eyes the menu. “Really?”
“My treat. I’m not officially working for you yet.”
I’m not sure Pearl is naturally given to blushing, but at that, her face goes scarlet again. She’s pretty when she’s flustered. Like, really pretty. I have to remind myself that she thinks I’m gay. I feel like I haven’t done enough good things in my life, and life has been pretty good to me. I can do Pearl this solid favor—go to the wedding with her, meet her parents, and get the heck out, all while not ever hitting on her. I can do that.
Pearl spins around and turns to the barista, who is eyeing us both with open curiosity. I feel like as soon as we pick a table, she’s going to be lurking around with her phone out, recording the whole conversation to playback and laugh about with all her friends later. Or maybe she’ll be nice and just eavesdrop like the good old days before technology dominated everyone’s life. That’s how out of place I feel with Pearl.
“Can I get a matcha latte, the blended one? The cold one, I mean. Blended. Yes, uh, with whipped cream?”
“Certainly.” The barista smiles back at us. “I know exactly the one.” She presses a button on the register.
“And a muffin? The orange cranberry?” Pearl asks.
“Sure.” Another button press later, and the barista is smiling at me expectantly.
I’m not exactly anything but a black coffee type of guy. Yeah. Whatever. Being rich doesn’t make you fussy. At least not when you weren’t rich from when you were little. I debate about ordering a black coffee, but it’s hot out, so I rattle off something about iced coffee with whip something since it’s the first thing I read off the menu.
I pull out a few bills then deposit all the change into the tip jar at the front of the counter. The girl gets to work, and a few minutes later, we have our drinks and the muffin. I try a tentative sip through the orange straw and immediately decide I like iced coffee whatever with whatever whip. It’s better than regular black coffee, even if it is a little sweet.
Pearl takes her drink and muffin before spinning around and leading the way to a table near the back. I guess she doesn’t want to be listened in on either. Somehow that little shop is deeper than it looks, and as we pass by rows and rows of books, I get to spend a good deal of time admiring Pearl’s tight ass in jeans that aren’t so much tight as they are stretchy. Anyway, it’s nice, and I like it. A lot. More than I should. Damn it. Does checking out her ass already count as hitting on her?
“So.” Pearl barely waits for me to sit down before she starts talking. She studies her drink intently, which she’s gripping with both hands. I imagine it’s cold. She’s probably going to frostbite herself, but that’s obviously the least of her worries. “I really didn’t think you’d come. Thank you for showing up to hear even more about this crazy plan.”
“No problem.” I savor another sip of my drink. Right now, I’m considering ordering another to take home. Is that normal? Do people do that? It’s probably a lot of sugar.
“I…really. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.” Pearl sighs. “I can’t really explain everything to you, other than my parents making such a big deal about me being avowedly single that I think it could almost ruin my sister’s wedding. I don’t want the attention to be on me. I want it to be on her. It’s her day, and I’m her maid of honor. I want to be there for her, not constantly shielding a million questions from my mom and dad. I don’t want to be hounded and badgered all weekend. Their worry is really out of control. I haven’t dated for a few years, not anyone, but umm, that’s another story I don’t want to get into. Let me just say it didn’t end well, and I was so tired of it. Being single has been really nice. I don’t want to change that, but I do want my parents to just give me a break, at least for one weekend. If you come with me, then they’ll be so blissfully happy, they’ll probably forget about all their worry and questions and just let me be. They’ll focus on Susan, as they should.”
I just quietly listen to her. She has such a pretty voice, even with the underlying distress that accompanied it.
“I do plan on breaking their hearts in a few months by telling them we broke up, but that will be my problem. It will take a while for the worry to start up again, so I’ll have a short reprieve after that. Anyway, it should be a pretty easy gig. I’ll make sure they leave you alone. We would have to act like we are dating, but in general, I’m not publicly affectionate, so it shouldn’t be a problem. We might have to share the guest room because my parents aren’t old fashioned, and they only have one, but I trust it also wouldn’t be a problem given that um…that you’re…well…you know. Uh, I know we just met, and this all sounds pretty weird, and now I’m asking you to share a bed with me, kind of, and meet my family, all of them, since they’ll all be at the wedding, and I know it’s a lot of pressure for just two grand, which I plan on paying in five hundred dollars per day installments starting on the first day, so if you want to bail, just tell me now.”
Pearl actually stops rambling long enough to gasp for breath and take a big sip of her drink to wet her mouth. I stay silent for a few minutes. Mostly because she talked about sharing a bed together (yes, I know, platonically), and now my cock is thinking about sharing a bed with her, and he’s all for it. No, I’m not thinking about doing anything improper or making a move or bullshit like that. I’m a guy, and Pearl is beautiful, so my dick magically jumps to conclusions and sends racy images to my brain. I can’t help it. I would never do anything about it, and I do feel bad about even having thoughts like that.
“I’m not going to bail.” I take another long pull of the delicious coffee and look Pearl straight in the eye.
“You’re not? You…you actually think we can pull this off?”
“I’m not sure about that, but I am sure I’m not going to change my mind. I’m in.”
“Wow,” she breathes. “You must really need the money.”
“Maybe I just want to do something nice for someone. My good deed for the year.”
Pearl rolls her eyes, but she does manage a slight smile. “Thanks. Nice to know I’m someone’s good deed. That sounds horrible, by the way. I guess I brought it on myself, though. I feel like lying to people on my end isn’t a good deed at all. It’s terrible.”
“Yeah, but then your sister won’t hate you, so that’s something, right?”
“Right,” Pearl groans. “I guess it is.”
“Great.” I push back my chair. Pearl stares at me, stunned.
“Just like that? You don’t want to discuss any more details?”
“Nope, I’m good. I already have the gist of it. Fake boyfriend. Four days. You’re giving me a ride. Five hundred dollars per day. Sister’s wedding. Pushy parents. Everyone’s happy at the end of the day.”
“Wow. I guess when you put it that way, yeah. That’s about it.”
“Good. I’ll text you my address. You can pick me up from there. Just let me know what time, and I’ll be ready. Is a suit too much, or should I just pack a button-down shirt and dress pants?”
“Uh, I…I don’t know. Whatever you’re comfortable in. The wedding is in my parent’s backyard. And the reception is at the town hall. I guess they’ll have it all there if it rains. So, it might be hot? I guess the suit, but you could always ditch the jacket?”
“Sounds perfect.” I flash Pearl, who is even more flustered now than ever, a full-on grin, because yes, I feel like grinning at the moment. “This place is great, and I like the drinks. Thanks for pointing it out.”
“No problem,” Pearl mutters. “I’ll text you then.”
“See you in a few days.” I already know I’m going to have to find an alternate address. One that doesn’t give away the fact that I don’t really need two thousand bucks that badly. I can always just stand outside and wait.
I don’t allow myself another grin until I’m back outside, walking down the sidewalk. I feel pretty good even though I shouldn’t feel this good. The fact that this is what I’d call fun says I’m ultra-pathetic when it comes to having any sort of life. I have to admit, Sebastien was right. Having a good time doesn’t really suck.
The fact that this good time happens to involve Pearl for the whole weekend is not what’s motivating me. I keep telling myself it’s not, but I know I’m lying. She thinks I’m gay. This is just fake, and there aren’t any strings. Sue me then for looking forward to spending time with an intriguing, mysterious, quirky, and gorgeous woman.
There are worse ways to spend a weekend.
I might be in a bit of trouble because suddenly, I realize I can’t think of any better ones.
CHAPTER 5
Pearl
It’s game day. Show on the road. Normally those might be clichés, but right now, I feel like it’s pretty literal.
When I pull up in the parking lot of a smaller, older condo complex in a neighborhood that can only be described as dicey (maybe that’s rude—maybe up and coming or starter houses is a better term), Gabriel is already waiting outside. He has a red duffel at his feet, and a garment bag is slung over his shoulder. He’s wearing worn-in jeans and a grey t-shirt with a baseball logo on the front, but I’m not sure for which team. I just know it’s baseball because there’s a picture of a ball and a bat on it. Yes, I am useless when it comes to knowing anything about sports.
Anyway, he literally looks good enough to eat, or at least lick. Just a little. Maybe just one tongue pass. Like, somewhere benign, of course. The arm, maybe? Yes, I notice again, because no, I haven’t yet gouged out my eyes. I need them, even if they send signals to my brain, which sends signals to my, erm, yeah…Spots. Even if I do get all warm and tingly, and even if it is inconvenient, I can’t do anything about it other than to try my best to ignore it. I already feel like an asshole for this whole plan. For lying to my parents. My sister. My whole family. What’s one more thing to feel guilty for?