Baby for the Brute_A Fake Boyfriend Romance

by Penelope Bloom

She rolls her eyes, but I can see a flicker of amusement still pulling at her features. “Groupie for T.S. Barnes… Maybe. I just might let you have that one. But please don’t ever try to say I am a Chris Savage groupie.”

  “What?” I ask. “Didn’t like the book?”

  She turns her head, leaning it against the back of the seat and closing her eyes. “Hated it.”

  “But you read it?” I ask.

  She swallows before answering, clearly trying to think of what to say. I smirk.

  “I did,” she admits. “But it was only for my job.”

  “So you reviewed me on your blog?”

  She looks back at me, eyes narrowed. “When did I tell you about my blog?”

  Now it’s my turn to stall for time, because I forgot that little nugget of information was a result of my own digging. I may have searched her on the internet when I was a few beers deep into some self-loathing. So I also know she clearly did not like my book, because she ripped it a new one in her review. She probably thinks I’ll be pissed if I find out she blasted my book, and I have no plans to convince her otherwise; watching her squirm is too much fun.

  “Looked you up,” I say, deciding to go for the unapologetic approach.

  “What, were you doing a background check on me? I thought I was supposed to be the psycho stalker here.”

  “My next-door neighbor practically broke into my house two nights in a row. How was I supposed to sleep at night? I had to make sure you weren’t a serial killer or maybe escaped from a mental asylum.”

  “So you know about the bodies in my backyard then?” she asks.

  “All I know is you had some fun playing big-time critic with my book.”

  The color drains from her face, but she seems intent on sticking to her guns. “Are people not allowed to hate your book?”

  “If they aren’t, then I’d be in trouble,” I say.

  “Wait, you’re trying to tell me you don’t even like it?”

  “Hate it.”

  “Wow,” she says. “Maybe you’re not so bad after all.”

  I chuckle. “What, you thought I was going to try to convince you it was a good book? It was shit. A money grab.”

  “So that’s what T.S. Barnes was? What you’d write if you didn’t care about money?”

  I shift, feeling suddenly uncomfortable to have the magnifying lens on myself. I put a lot of fucking effort into not trying to understand my own motives, so I feel oddly under-qualified to explain my own reasoning. “Don’t think so,” I say after thinking a few seconds. “Just something to do, I guess.”

  “And the manuscript?” she asks.

  “That’s enough about me,” I say, putting my hand on her knee and looking her in the eye, daring her to move it. It’s an asshole thing to do—shifting the conversation away like this, but I’m not in the mood to dig deep. Truth is I don’t expect some therapy session fifteen thousand miles up to suddenly uncork my creativity. No, that’s what I’m hoping her pussy will do. The thought turns my stomach a little. I’ve been shitty to Lindsey. I know I have, but I never asked her to come barging into my life. I didn’t want anyone to try to fix me. Besides, I’ve been transparent with her, and she’s still here. At some point a grown woman has to take responsibility for herself, even if she can’t understand what she’s really walking into, right?

  To my surprise, she plucks my hand up by lifting it up with her thumb and forefinger like it’s a dead rat. “No touching,” she says.

  She almost convinced me she’s unaffected by my touch. Almost. Until I see her squeeze her thighs together a few seconds later and shift in her seat. I smile to myself. This is going to be too easy. Too fucking easy.

  Lindsey didn’t seem impressed by my private plane or the limo that picked us up from the airport, or even the fact that paparazzi managed to find out I’m in Germany and organize a small mob outside our hotel all in the span of thirty minutes. More points in her favor, I guess. Anything she can do to separate herself from the faceless mob of groupies in my memory is a plus, and I don’t think I’ve met a woman yet who wasn’t itching to open her legs for me as soon as she got a sniff of my money. Guess I wasn’t looking in the right places.

  “This is you,” I say, dangling a room key in the air high enough over Lindsey’s head that she can’t reach it.

  “Really?” she asks in a dry voice. “So your confidence that you’re going to fuck me comes because you’ve mastered middle school flirting?”

  I laugh, dropping my arm and handing her the key. “Maybe I want more than a fuck,” I suggest.

  She frowns, snatching the key and looking surprisingly hurt. “Look. I’m already feeling jet lagged. I’m trying my hardest to stay civil, but I’m thousands of miles from my sisters with practically no notice. And you still haven’t even given me a proper explanation for what we’re doing over here. I’ve made a fool of myself in front of you more times than I can count already, but please don’t assume that means I’m an idiot or some dumb fangirl you can just manipulate at will. If you want to play Mr. Bad Boy and talk big about wanting to sleep with me, then fine, but don’t even pretend you’d ever want more than that.”

  She slips the keycard into her door, drags her small suitcase inside, and closes the door on me, leaving me standing like an idiot in the hallway.

  I drag my shit into my own room and toss it on the bed before sitting down on the floor, back to the wall. I’ve heard worse from women before. Far worse. But Lindsey’s tongue-lashing stung more than I’d expect. I’m left with nothing to do but think about how I’ve actually treated her since we met. It’s easy to see it from my side, to justify all the sleights, but for her?

  Fuck.

  I hop to my feet, resolution solidifying in my chest as I leave my room and cross the hall to bang on her door.

  “Lindsey,” I say. “Just want to talk.”

  She opens the door with red eyes and a glare.

  “Can you open the fucking door all the way?” I ask, trying to talk through the narrow sliver of space she’s giving me.

  She closes the door to pull the lock back and opens it. “If you’re not here to apologize—”

  “I’ve been an ass,” I say.

  She raises an eyebrow. “But…” she says slowly.

  “But I’m not apologizing for that. Not exactly,” I say with a sigh. “I’m…” I rub my hand across my nose, chewing my lip and searching the ceiling for the right words. “I’m working on it.”

  She gives me an unimpressed look. “You’re working on it?”

  “I’m not great at this whole apologizing thing. Haven’t exactly had much practice. I’m just saying I’ll try to go a little easier on you, from here out.”

  “So you’ll drop all this macho crap about how you’re going to sleep with me?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  She shakes her head, but there’s a glint of laughter in her eyes. “I guess I’ll have to take that. For now. I have to ask though. Why should I believe you actually want to sleep with me?” The way she can’t seem to hold eye contact with me after she asks the question exposes a kind of self-consciousness she has kept well-hidden. And damn, it’s probably a good thing, because it’s sexy as hell to see a woman so fiery let her weaknesses show. The longer I spend around her, the more determined I am to get one taste of her before I…

  Before I cut her loose?

  It’s what I’m planning, isn’t it? So why does it feel so shitty now? My mouth moves ahead of my brain, making sure I don’t have a chance to back off from what I’ve said by doubling down, despite my doubts.

  “Why would I want to sleep with you?” I ask. “I never said anything about sleeping with you. I said I wanted to fuck you. There’s a difference.”

  13

  Lindsey

  What’s it like there?” Amelia asks. I’m smiling at her through a laptop Chris is letting me use. Brooke sits beside Amelia at my desk back home, looking at me through narrowed eyes like she’s trying to
see if I’m wounded.

  “I haven’t seen much yet, but they apparently don’t believe in ice. A guy from the hotel ended up going on a special trip to find me ice from a grocery store when I asked about it. I tried to talk him out of it but he wouldn’t let me stop him. The Coke tastes different too.”

  “Drugs already?” Brooke teases.

  I roll my eyes. “Soda, you dork.”

  “Did he explain what he meant about a business trip yet?” Amelia asks.

  I tilt my head back and forth in a kind of “yes and no” response. “Well, first it was just a business trip and he thought having me along would help motivate him to write during the downtime.”

  “And you got a free trip to Germany, all expenses paid,” Amelia says. She rubs her hands together and grins. “Free crab cakes, if you want.”

  I laugh. “I’ll try to smuggle you some back. But he decided to inform me this morning that he’s going on a promotional tour to build hype for his next book. One month, seven cities all over Europe.”

  Amelia’s eyes bulge. “That is awesome!”

  “Wow,” Brooke says, but there’s a note of displeasure in her tone.

  “I told him I can’t stick with him after Germany,” I say.

  “What?” Amelia asks. “You have to. Come on.”

  “You guys need me,” I say. “Besides, I don’t think I want to be around when the fangirls start showing up drooling all over him. It probably won’t be long before he decides to bring them back to his hotel and bang them across the hall from me or something.”

  And after a sleepless night, I realized no matter how much my family might need the money, I can’t go through with this whole thing when I know a part of me, no matter how small, is doing it for the check Alec is promising.

  “And that’d make you jealous?” Brooke asks.

  I sigh. “No. It’d make me grossed out. Come on. It’s Chris freaking Savage. I’m not delusional. Whatever this trip is to him, it’s not about… that. I’m like a mascot to him or some kind of good luck charm I guess. I don’t even know.”

  “False,” says Chris, who barges into my room with a key he apparently failed to mention having for my room. He’s wearing a collared shirt with a eye-catching number of buttons undone and jeans, and when he flops down on bed right beside me, I’m hit by a fresh waft of his smell—a scent I’m getting embarrassingly fond of the more time I spend around him. He lets his legs splay, pressing his thigh against mine in a careless way I’m sure isn’t by accident.

  Amelia and Brooke’s eyes widen at the sight of him.

  “Sorry,” he says. “Did I interrupt girl talk? Was it boys? Were you talking about boys? Me, maybe?”

  “As if,” I say, hoping he doesn’t see how red my cheeks are getting.

  “Lindsey wants to know what your real plan is,” says Brooke, who is wearing her best don’t fuck with my little sister face.

  “Oh?” Chris asks. “Does she have amnesia? You should’ve told me about that before we went on a vacation together, babe,” he says, putting his arm around my shoulder and squeezing me like we’re a long-time couple.

  I try to swallow, but my throat feels dry. “Nope, not wondering about that,” I say quietly.

  “What?” asks Brooke. “You were just saying—”

  “It’s fine,” Chris says smiling like he’s the nicest, least toxic man on the planet. “My real plan is to fuck her.”

  My sisters’ jaws drop.

  “Excuse me?” Brooke says looking less than amused. “I don’t know who—”

  Chris clicks the laptop closed. “Sorry, couldn’t resist,” he says, hopping off the bed with an unusual amount of energy. “Hopefully they have a sense of humor.”

  I pull out my phone and quickly text them “Will explain later. So sorry,” before directing my attention back to Chris. Not even a second draft this time. Chris really is a bad influence on me already. “Do you even understand how awkward that is?”

  He shrugs. “Yeah, I guess I can kind of imagine. I have a sister, actually. It’d be pretty mortifying to have to hear about her sex life.”

  “Okay, first of all,” I say, feeling like I’m already at the end of my patience and it’s only the first morning abroad with him. “You’re not my sex life. You’re my… legs have touched a couple times and you got real close to my ear life, at best.”

  “Damn,” he says with a self-satisfied grin. “Didn’t realize you were keeping a tally. Should I add something new to the board?”

  “Second,” I say, trying my best to ignore that despite the tingling sensation that spreads in my belly. “You have a sister? Why have I never heard of that?”

  “I guess you’re not a very good stalker,” he says with a shrug. “But yeah, I do, and I invited her to come on my little promo tour too. She should actually be here within a few hours. You’ll love her. Probably.”

  “Maybe she can keep you under control,” I say with a sigh.

  “You’re still thinking you won’t be here after Germany?” he asks, finally looking serious.

  “It’s a miracle you even got me this far. I still can’t believe I trusted you enough to just pack my bags and hop on an airplane.”

  He smirks. “Trust, lust, call it what you want.”

  Chris’ agent, Alec, walks into my room with a cursory knock on the already-open door. I jump, scooting away from Chris like a teenager getting caught flirting by her parents. “This is?” I ask awkwardly, even though Alec and I both know we’ve already had our introductions. I didn’t expect to see him here, but I guess I could’ve figured it wasn’t going to be just Chris and I on a promotional tour. He probably has an entire team of staff that will be trickling in now that we’ve landed here.

  “Alec,” says Chris.

  “His agent,” explains Alec, who wears a friendly smile and comes to shake my hand.

  Even though it’s not technically my room and it’s just a hotel room, I feel extremely uncomfortable and exposed having two men crowded around my bed when I’m not even fully dressed.

  “You must be the muse,” says Alec.

  I snort at that. “Hardly.”

  Chris squeezes my leg with a smile that actually looks somewhat genuine. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

  I clear my throat, not knowing what to say to fill the silence that follows. “Well, if we’re done having a morning meeting around my bed…”

  “I’m already missing meetings?” asks a woman who pokes her head around my door and lets herself in, suitcases still strapped to her surprisingly muscular shoulders.

  I can’t do anything but raise my eyebrows and let the crowd in my room grow.

  “Lydia,” says Chris, who points toward the woman. “My little sister.”

  “Hi,” I say a little awkwardly because I don’t have any idea if Chris has told her who I am or if she’s going to think I’m just his conquest from the night before.

  “Lindsey?” she asks, answering my question. “He said you were just kind of cute,” she says, narrowing her eyes and grinning at Chris. “You liar. You didn’t want me to know she was hot so I wouldn’t think you had a crush.”

  When I look over at Chris I’m shocked to see the faintest hint of red in his cheeks. He can’t actually be blushing though. Maybe when he’s really pissed his cheeks just get kind of red.

  “We should give Lindsey some space,” he says, standing suddenly. “Come on,” he urges, using his long arms to shuffle everyone out of the room. He pokes his head back in the door before leaving, “We’re going out tonight. I put five thousand dollars on this card,” he says, holding up a black debit card. “Go buy yourself some fancy clothes and whatever else you want while I’m at the book signing today.”

  Before I can even start to object, he frisbees the card toward me and lands it on the bed beside me.

  I pick it up and look at it like it’s poisoned. Just like that? He thinks I need five thousand dollars to buy an outfit for one night? What kind of women is he used
to? And when did I even agree to go out with him?

  I flop back on the bed, staring at the ceiling and wishing I could just follow the brightly lit path toward whatever outcome will actually make me happy. Do I trust my body, which is very strongly recommending anything and everything that has to do with more Chris, or do I trust my heart, which is trying to tell me to stop before I fall too hard and end up getting hurt?

  Compromise. That’s the answer. I’ll go out with him one time. After all, it could be his way of trying to show me what he’s really like. He might even be nice to me if it’s a date he invited me on. I mean, it wouldn’t make sense to invite me out and then be a jerk to me, right?

  I get back to the hotel around five in the evening, even though I feel so tired it could be five in the morning after a night of no sleep—thank you very much, jetlag. There’s still four thousand nine hundred and seventy dollars on the card because whether it’s my money or not, the idea of spending that much on an outfit made my stomach do flips. Even the twenty I spent in a thrift store felt somewhat reckless for an outfit I might never have much occasion to use again. I made sure to pick shoes that were versatile, at least. I spent the other ten dollars grabbing a gyro at a local place. I’d never had one before, but one of the few people I found who spoke enough English to give me directions to food said I’d love it. They scraped the meat off a huge piece of lamb that was rotating under some kind of heat lamp, which was odd but kind of fun, and then slapped it into a pita with a bunch of sauce and some veggies. The end result was surprisingly good, and I think I’ll find my way back to that restaurant once or twice before I take my plane ride home in a few days.

  When I get back to the hotel, I’m stopped in the lobby by Alec, who quickly ends his call and walks over to me like he has been waiting for me. “Making any progress? Chris won’t tell me anything.”

  “I’m not doing it, Alec. I’m sorry, it just feels too dirty.”

  He clenches his jaw, eyes boring into me. “You’re sure that’s the decision you want to make?”

  I frown, not liking the tone he’s taking. “I already decided.”