My Big Fat Fake Engagement

by Landish, Lauren

  I love cheese sticks with ranch. Ridiculous amounts of ranch dressing. And somehow, he knows that. Maybe Kaede is just good with details, but maybe he noticed one of my favorite things and stored it away in that sexy brain of his. But why would he do that?

  “Beer?” He’s already halfway to what I assume is the kitchen when I answer. He comes back with two Coronas, lime slices already stuck in the mouths of the bottles.

  I squeeze my lime into the beer and then push it through the opening. I suck my finger and then my thumb to get the juice off but freeze when I realize that Kaede is watching me closely. His eyes are locked on my mouth with such intensity that I’m shocked I never noticed it before. Maybe he really has been aware of me as more than his best friend’s sister or the ball-busting Ice Queen at the office? But then . . . why has he never made a move before?

  And then it hits me. He just told the most important person in his professional life a huge lie that centers around me. That’s why he’s noticing me now. He’s probably thinking that no one will ever believe the two of us as a couple. ‘Ice Queen’ Courtney Andrews and Kaede ‘K-Dawg’ McWarren, the guy who can have any woman he wants.

  It doesn’t matter. Whatever past we had, he is looking at me now. With trust and heat and all sorts of things that make my stomach get all floaty.

  Slow down, girl. This is all a big make-believe, a way to help him out of a jam. That’s all.

  “We need to know more about each other. I’ll start—favorite foods. I love pizza and beer, and ranch, but my true favorite, the thing I turn to when I’ve had a shitty day and need comfort in the form of carb-y calories, is bacon mac n’ cheese, chocolate cupcakes with sprinkles, and Dr. Pepper. I also have a bad habit of stopping by the all-night donut place around the corner from One Life to grab a donut, also with sprinkles because they make everything fun.”

  “I have a love-hate relationship with that place. Fuck, those donuts are so good! Do they put crack in them to get us so addicted?” he asks, and I laugh at his vehemence, having had the exact thought before. “So is the mac ‘n cheese, cupcake, and soda all one meal? That’s some serious feeling stuffing.”

  “Don’t judge me. It’s for especially shitty days, when I need a taste overload to shut down all the mental craptastic chatter. Like after the meeting with Ms. Crabtree, or in college, when I failed an important exam.”

  “Which you probably did all of once, right?” he teases, sidestepping the too-fresh allergy incident.

  “Actually, it was a mistake with the answer key. After eating all that in misery, I actually made a B-plus,” I say proudly.

  “Of course you did.” He rearranges himself on the couch, getting closer as we get more comfortable. We’ve talked before, have hung out before with the whole gang of our friends, but this is more than that. We’re on the cusp of knowing each other better. It might be for a twisted reason, but still, we’re going to come out of this closer than we’ve ever been before. There’s no way around that.

  “My favorite food is microwave nachos,” he shares. I make a face of disgust. “Hey! Don’t judge me if you don’t want me to judge you. Hear me out. When I was a kid, Mom was working her ass off, days and nights, because it was just the two of us. And on the nights she was home with me, we’d both be exhausted. We got into the habit of nuking chips, shredded cheese, canned jalapeños, and bacon bits until it was an oily, gooey mess. We’d share them and talk about what was going on. Over time, that was my sign that we were doing okay, making it through the tough times.”

  My throat tightens. I never knew any of that. Was I that oblivious, that self-absorbed, that caught up in my own little rich girl life to not recognize that Kaede was going through all that? I try to think back to when I was in middle school and Abi and Ross were in high school. We weren’t close then. I was too young for anything they were interested in and they had zero desire to hang out with me outside of ‘family time.’ But I remember Kaede being around with Ross’s whole group. I’d just thought he was one of the guys, Ross’s best friend who spent the night more than anyone else.

  Though, now that I think back with a different lens, I do remember Ross giving Kaede stuff—footballs, basketballs, clothes he didn’t like with the tags freshly popped. I realize Ross was helping out his buddy the only way he could, giving Kaede a way to keep his pride but take the handout. And Mom! She used to pack up food for Kaede, saying he was growing every day and would probably need a snack before he even made it home. She was feeding him when his mom was at school.

  Holy shit! I never knew! And I look at Kaede with fresh eyes. I’ve always known he was smart, a hard worker, a take-no-shit type of guy. But to have life handed to you on a silver platter is one thing. It’s an entirely different thing to have to dig deep and find strength in yourself when you’re dealt a hand that puts you way behind the starting line. I have a newfound respect for Kaede. I admire what he’s accomplished.

  “I . . . I’m—” I start, but I’m interrupted by the doorbell ringing. Pizza time. “That was fast.”

  “They’re usually faster than they say. It’s just three blocks away, and they’ve got one of those brick ovens that cooks the whole thing in like two minutes,” Kaede explains, getting up. He goes to the door and pays for the pizza, and I notice that he tips the driver well.

  There are so many layers to his parfait, ones I never knew. He’s frugal, smart with his money, but tips fifty percent on a pizza delivery. Why? Because the delivery guy’s a hard-working dude who could use the money.

  Kaede sits down, opening the enormous pizza that’s easily big enough for four people and the box of cheese sticks that smell like deep-fried heaven before taking my hand. I look up at him, surprised.

  “I just wanted to say that there are no apologies needed about what happened when we were kids. I could see it on your lips and I know you had no idea. I wanted it that way. Besides, you were just an annoying brat then, always tattling on Ross and me for being rowdy in the pool or sneaking out when we were supposed to be sleeping.”

  “And when you and Ross got stupid in the home gym and broke the mirror.”

  Kaede laughs. “Well, I earned that one. Never throw weight plates like Frisbees, regardless of their size.”

  I give his hand a hard squeeze, punishing him for the brat comment. “I might’ve been a bit of a goody two-shoes, but I was barely a teen. You can’t blame me for being a rule follower. And you two were devious monsters, making life hell for Abi and Violet. They wouldn’t tell, but I did.”

  “To clarify, I didn’t do anything to Abi or Violet. That was all Ross.”

  Just his name is enough to put a damper on our moods. The whole big brother thing is still screwing with my life. At work, at home, on dates. To mask the silence, we each grab a slice of pizza, munching and moaning at how good it is. It’s been ages since I had pizza.

  I swallow a mouthful, the edge taken off my hunger, and sip at my beer. “Fine. Agree to agree, Ross is the ogre. Let’s do some quick Twenty Questions so we can make this deal believable, okay?”

  He grins. “Knew you’d have a plan. You got a bullet point list?”

  I lift my chin, refusing to answer. It’s answer enough. “Music?”

  “Mostly harder rock, like Dropkick Murphys, a punk Irish band from Boston. But rap or death metal if I’m working out because the beat gets you pumped. I’ll put it on a Spotify station and get everything from Ludacris and Jay-Z to Travis Scott and Kendrick Lamar. You’re a nineties girl, yeah?”

  I nod, storing away his music preferences. “More 85 to 95. And Janet Jackson. The way she looked for the Janet album? Goals right there.”

  Over the pizza, which we absolutely devour and to hell with the caloric problems, and a couple more beers each, we share other favorites. Colors, smells, TV shows, movies, even shoe styles and anything else that comes to mind. It’s light, fun, almost like playing a game or a long speed dating session where we’re both clicking left and right.

  It must
be the beer talking because somewhere around hour three, I ask, “Are you ticklish?” It seems like something I should know for our cover.

  That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

  Kaede’s brows climb high and that sexy smirk blossoms. “I think the better question is . . . are you? And where?”

  He doesn’t let me answer but rather lets his fingers slowly walk up my bare arm. Goosebumps break out along my skin, but not because it’s tickling.

  Oh, yeah, here we go, girl! Don’t do anything weird to stop this freight train a-rolling. Let’s get it on! Sing it, Barry!

  “It seems like maybe you are ticklish.” Kaede’s voice has gone husky and his eyes dark. He sounds like he’s promising sex and chocolate cupcakes with sprinkles at the same time. In other words, my dream come true.

  But as he gets higher on my arm, he suddenly tickles my armpit. “Ahh!” I squeal, jumping around like I’ve been shocked by a cattle prod.

  Kaede takes the scream as an affirmative answer. “There’s one spot. Are there others?” He tackles me to the couch, and we wrestle, each looking for spots that make the other scream. Not in the really good way, but this is fun. And silly. And new.

  I laugh wildly, high and giddy, and he does too, low and in his chest. Both sounds are foreign and so intriguing.

  He tickles my side . . . I jump.

  He tickles my hip . . . I jump.

  He tickles my knee . . . I don’t jump. I almost kick him in the face with the reflexive jerk of my leg.

  “Oh, my gawd . . . stop!” I beg, breathless.

  But he’s not done. He catches my flailing foot, stopping me from kicking him, and that’s when I really lose it. My feet are ridiculously ticklish, and I squirm and thrash about, trying to get free.

  Kaede laughs. “Ooh, I found your spot.”

  I wish you would. I can draw you a map if you want.

  He teases each toe. “This little piggy went to market . . . this little piggy stayed home . . .”

  Hope and horror war in equal measure through my body. He’s touching me, and fuck, do I want him to wee-wee-wee all the way home and find my clit, which is throbbing in beat with his silly song. But at the same time, it tickles so much I can’t stay still, my hips dancing as I try to get away even though I want more of his touches, however they come.

  Yeah, I’m that desperate. I’ll gladly sign up for ticklish torture just to have his hands on me. I’m not saying there’s no shame in it, but it is what it is.

  Can you orgasm from having your feet tickled? Oh, shit, that would be awful . . . and amazing.

  But it’s not all fun and games. We also share some memories and stories—childhood, college years, and work now. We’ve lived these parallel lives that somehow never truly crossed. And though I’ve had a crush on Kaede for years now, I realize that it was based, at least partially, on things I thought I knew about him. The real Kaede is much . . . more.

  Somewhere over the last couple of hours, especially after the tickle fest popped the seal on getting comfortable with each other, we’ve rearranged ourselves on the couch multiple times. We face each other, legs crossed between us. We slouch and spread out. Kaede even gets up to pace when he tells me about how it felt to not make the cut for pro football when it’d been his lifelong dream.

  Now, we’re sitting again, but our thighs touch, and Kaede’s arm is slung across the back of the couch. I’m aware of every millimeter of him, so close and now, so real.

  I want to put my hand on his thigh, to feel the muscles flex beneath my palm. Maybe run my hand up higher. Instead, I snuggle into his side, putting my head on his chest. Something that only yesterday would’ve been impossible to do without some awkward stuttered moves comes easily and comfortably after everything we’ve shared.

  “Courtney?” His voice is gritty and low.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you again for doing this. I think we could pass a Newlywed Show pop quiz about each other now, but we need to figure out a plan for the rest of it. What do you think?”

  I nod against him, listening to the thud of his heartbeat, slow and steady and so unlike mine, which is racing faster than a horse’s at the finish line of the Kentucky Derby. “We’ll need to basically act like a couple in truth. A dinner with Jeffrey, if need be, but mostly, talk at the gym, wait for each other at night, and leave together, go on a few dates, smile, and act like you’re desperately and blissfully in love with me.” I smile as his heartbeat speeds up a bit.

  I think love might make Kaede nervous.

  “Okay. That all sounds doable. The contract is signed, but we’re going to have to do this until Missy sets her sights on someone else to get her hooks into or forgets about me. We can’t risk pissing her off because I don’t want it to affect the deal. We’re stuck over a barrel on this one.”

  Forever. That’s what I hear in my hopeful little heart. Maybe by the end of this, Kaede McWarren won’t be scared of love and won’t think I’m a cold, frosty bitch with only business on her mind. The way I’m seeing there’s more to him, maybe he could see that there’s more to me?

  This one hurts to say, but I have to do it. “We need to keep this quiet too. Obviously, folks at the gym might find out, but we should play it off as dating, nothing too serious. If word gets back to my dad or the board at Andrews, shit is going to hit the fan.”

  He flinches beneath me, and I pick up to look at him. His jaw is tight, his eyes hard.

  “Kaede? It’s just that I’ve worked hard to be taken seriously at work, and if I go parading a fiancé around, one who used to work at Andrews, and then a few weeks or months later, say the engagement is off, I look like a flake. It brings up too many questions and too many possible concerns about where my focus is.”

  Right this moment, my focus is on Kaede. One hundred percent. Some people will joke and say one hundred and ten percent, but that irks the shit out of me. There’s no such thing, and if you can’t do basic math, are you really giving it your all? Doubtful. But I’m a “hundred percent” girl, and I’m giving that to Kaede right now, searching his face, his eyes for some clue as to why our being quiet about a fake engagement set him off. But I can’t see any angle of why that’s a problem. Hell, I figured he’d want to stay quiet so it wouldn’t blow up his life, either.

  Oh, remembering bullet three . . .

  “And no partying, no hookups, no cheating, even if this isn’t real. We never know who’s watching, or when and where. Don’t . . . don’t make a fool out of me, K-Dawg.” It’s an insult. I absolutely know it is as I say it, and I say it anyway so he understands exactly what I mean.

  He licks his lips and is silent for a long second. Slowly, I sink back into him, unsure about the change in his mood.

  “Do you know your ring size?” he says finally.

  A ring! Shit! That’s bullet seven and I forgot, so tied up in his reaction. I shake my head.

  “It’s okay. I looked up a trick today in case you didn’t.” He gets up, leaving me feeling alone on the couch, and disappears into the kitchen again. I hear a drawer open and close, and then he’s back beside me on the couch. “Give me your left hand.”

  More meaningful words have never been spoken. I only wish they could mean what I want them to.

  I hold my hand up and Kaede wraps a string around my left ring finger. He holds the spot where they meet with a trimmed nail and then snips it with a pair of scissors. Holding up the cut string, he says, “I can take this to the jeweler’s and have them figure out the correct size. Anything special you want for the ring? It won’t be some huge rock—I’ll save that for the lucky bastard who gets to marry for you real—but I’ll get you something nice. Something you’ll be proud to wear.”

  There’s something in the way he says that . . . hard and almost bitter? But Kaede is all smooth and chill. Unflappable to a fault.

  “I’m sure anything you choose will be perfect.”

  He drops the string on the coffee table next to the nearly empty piz
za box and beer bottles. Earlier, I was tipsy, sipping for liquid courage, but I haven’t had much in the last couple of hours. Even so, a fresh buzz washes through me. It’s him, not the beer. I know that.

  “I think that’s almost everything on my list. Just one more thing.” Bullet number ten. The one I’d hesitantly put on the list to begin with.

  “What’s that?”

  “We should get our first kiss out of the way. It’s better to have any spit-flying, nose-bumping weirdness here than when we’re trying to sell that we love each other.”

  I cannot believe that I just asked Kaede McWarren to kiss me! Who the hell am I and where did this sex goddess come from?

  Okay, I’m nowhere close to a sex goddess, as evidenced by my even needing to ask, but it was on my list for tonight and I’m not leaving without checking off every item. It’s for both of our own good.

  “Practice makes perfect, right?”

  I don’t know if it’s just my ears or the pulse pounding in my chest, but that sounds hollow as fuck.

  What doesn’t feel hollow is the feeling of his fingertips on my cheek as he slowly strokes along my cheekbone or the way he twines his fingers into my hair to cup the back of my head before his lips brush against mine. It’s feather-soft at first, tentative as though we’re getting to know each other, but what’s supposed to be a polite, public ‘couple’s kiss’ quickly deepens, each of us hungry for the other.

  His fingers tighten in my hair, his tongue demanding entry, and I open to him even as I push him back, straddling his waist and sitting in his lap as we devour each other.

  Kaede’s hand leaves my neck to trace down my back, making me shiver as he explores my skin through the soft, thin fabric of my T-shirt. I arch into him, silently begging for more with the points of my nipples pressing into his hard chest.

  My clothes are maddening, tight against my skin so that I can feel the heat building in his jeans and the rising bulge that’s wedged between our bodies promising so much more than I ever could have expected.

  I moan into Kaede’s mouth as his hand comes to rest on my waist in that sensitive spot where my jeans pull away from my lower back, and I can feel his hand pushing against me, guiding me to grind. I want that too, and I roll my hips, getting pressure right where I need it to satisfy the ache in my clit.