Grumpy Fake Boyfriend

by Jackie Lau

  Chapter 2

  Will

  I do all of my writing and editing on the computer, but right now, I wish I were writing on paper. I have an overwhelming urge to ball up a piece of paper and throw it in the garbage.

  Dammit. This scene really isn’t going well. In fact, this whole book has been a slog. I’m a quarter of the way through, and every word is like pulling teeth. I fear it’s one big stinking pile of shit.

  Of course, it can be fixed in edits. But I have a strong preference for not starting with a big stinking pile of shit.

  Life is just easier that way.

  I won’t be working for much longer, however. It’s a warm Saturday afternoon in June, and I’m sitting in Starbucks, at my regular table in the back, with a half-finished venti coffee in front of me. Any minute now, Naomi Kwan is going to walk in the front door.

  She texted me a few days ago. She thought it would be good to meet up before next weekend so we could get to know each other. Frankly, I would have thought the three-hour drive to Grand Bend would be enough time for that, but she insisted.

  I turn off my laptop. Screw it. I’m not going to get any more work done today. I pick up my coffee and sip it as I scowl at the door. Naomi is already ten minutes late.

  A woman with black hair, a light tan, and big aviator sunglasses walks in. I’m pretty sure it’s her, but it’s hard to tell without seeing her eyes. She places her order, which takes longer than it should. Then she waits, tapping her fingers against the counter, while the barista prepares her order. She looks around, and when her eyes land on me, she waves enthusiastically.

  I give her a curt nod.

  She smiles at the barista when he hands over her drink. It’s some kind of iced pink concoction—a Frappuccino, I presume—that makes me wrinkle my nose. I do not understand people who drink shit like that. Seriously, black coffee is where it’s at. I drink several cups of it a day.

  Naomi walks over to my table and sits across from me. She’s wearing jeans, sandals, and a black tank top, along with a few colorful necklaces and those big sunglasses.

  “Hey, Will,” she says. “It’s so great to see you again. Thank you so much for doing this for me, even though we hardly know each other. It’s so sweet of you.”

  I hope she doesn’t talk like this all the time. Oh boy.

  She takes off her sunglasses and says something, but I’m not listening, because she looks beautiful now that I can see her eyes. She has one of those faces that lights up a room, you know?

  The opposite of mine, in other words.

  “Right,” I say, because I need to say something.

  “I’ve read all your books. I’m a big fan.”

  I hope she’s not just saying that because she feels like she ought to. I wonder if she’s actually read any of them.

  “What are you working on now?” she asks. “Book six?”

  “That’s done. It comes out in November. I’m working on book seven, and no, I will not tell you anything about it.”

  “I’ll steal your laptop from our room next weekend. I want to find out what happens with Jon. Do they get together?”

  “You’re not interested in what happens with Planet Garset?”

  “Of course I’m interested in that, too,” she says. “I just really, really like Jon.”

  So she has read my books.

  “You know the mine they find on Planet Garset,” I say, “with all the red gemstones? It’s a hiding place for sex robots, which were made illegal in the twenty-seventh century because they greatly decreased men’s productivity. When Jon finds them—”

  “No!” She puts her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. Then she bursts into laughter. “You’re just playing with me.”

  She has a nice laugh. I was afraid it would be one of those squeaky, grating laughs, but it’s not. It’s almost musical.

  “Yeah,” I say. “You got me. There are no sex robots. Although maybe in my next series...” I pretend to seriously consider this. And then I register what she said before I started making up shit about Planet Garset. “Wait a second. You mentioned stealing my laptop from our room.”

  “What’s so strange about that?”

  “We’re sharing a room?”

  “We’re supposed to be a couple. It would be weird if we didn’t share a room.”

  I look her up and down. She’s not sitting straight in the chair. Her legs are crossed out to the side, and I can see her pink toenails.

  My gaze travels back up. She’s frowning a little, but somehow, her face is still sunny. And beautiful—she’s better looking than I remember.

  She probably looks really hot in a bikini.

  Don’t go there.

  “Couldn’t we...” I struggle to think of an alternative. “We could pretend I have a snoring problem and we never share a room. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  “We are not doing that.” She pauses. “Or do you have a snoring problem?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. I just don’t like sharing a room. I assume we’ll have to share a bed, too?”

  That’s the real issue. I’m going to have to share a bed with Jeremy’s cute little sister, and nothing can happen, and I haven’t had sex in six months.

  No wonder my brain immediately came up with “sex robots.”

  I thought I wouldn’t be tempted, but I am. Just a teeny-tiny bit.

  God, I can’t believe I was actually flirting with Naomi. And I wasn’t awkward like I sometimes am—it came naturally to me.

  “Don’t worry,” she says. “All the beds in Tom’s family’s beach house are kings. It’s not like we’ll be pressed up against each other in a double.” There must be a look of repulsion on my face, because she continues, “What? Am I that hideous?”

  “No.” I swallow. “You’re perfectly attractive. I just...I like my space.”

  “So I gathered from what Jeremy has told me. If you insist, you can bring a sleeping bag and sleep on the floor.”

  “I’ll stick with the bed.” I rake a hand through my hair. “I don’t understand this plan of yours. A fake boyfriend? Isn’t that a little extreme? Why can’t you go by yourself?”

  “It would be three couples—including my ex—and me.”

  “I don’t get the problem.”

  She blows out a breath. “I’d feel uncomfortable. Especially since I met these friends through Jordan. The men all work together in finance.”

  Great. I’m going to be spending the weekend with a bunch of finance guys.

  “We went to the beach house the last two summers, all six of us, and this year I think Tom and Julia were reluctant to invite me. They probably assumed I wouldn’t want to come with Jordan there. But I like these people. I want to stay friends, even though Jordan and I are no longer a couple. You know how it goes when you make friends as a couple, and then you break up...”

  “No.” I reach for my lukewarm coffee. “I can’t say that has ever happened to me.”

  There were two couples that my ex-girlfriend Carly and I used to go out with on occasion. I never thought of them as my friends, though. Frankly, I was glad to be rid of them when we broke up. Especially after the Worst Birthday Ever, when Carly arranged for the six of us to go to New York City for my birthday. I have nothing against New York City, but I object to traveling with five other people—it’s a nightmare. Especially since one of the other couples spent most of the time fighting. There was so much wrong with that trip, and worst of all, it was supposed to be a pleasant surprise for my birthday. Clearly, my ex didn’t understand me.

  That’s why I’ve stopped bothering with relationships. The women I date never understand me, and they always try to turn me into someone I’m not.

  Naomi continues, “I also want to show everyone that I’ve moved on, that I’m not still mooning over Jordan.”

  “Are you?”

  She shakes her head and looks down, the sun briefly fading from her face. There’s a story there, but I’m not going to ask.

  “
So you’ll do it?” she asks, perky once more.

  “I will.”

  She grins. “We need to figure out our story. How did we meet? How long have we been dating?”

  “A month,” I say. “We met through your brother.”

  “You’re a writer. I thought you had a better imagination than that.”

  “You didn’t think the mine with sex robots on Planet Garset was creative? The robots have four arms to provide extra...pleasure.”

  Why do I keep talking like this around Naomi? It needs to stop.

  “We could say we met at one of your book signings,” she suggests.

  “What book signings? I don’t do them.” The idea of doing a book signing sounds like as much of a nightmare as spending three nights at a beach house with people I don’t know.

  Yet I’ve somehow agreed to that.

  “What’s your pet name for me?” she asks.

  I shrug. “‘Darling,’ I guess.”

  My skin starts to heat at the term of endearment. I try to ignore it.

  “Ooh!” she says. “Our first date—what about that?”

  “We went out for dinner.”

  “I am seriously disappointed in your lack of creativity.” She has a sip of her pink drink. I suspect she thinks my black coffee lacks creativity, too.

  “Fine,” I say. “We went for a romantic walk in Edwards Gardens, then I took you to a ramen restaurant on Bayview, where I spent the entire time staring into your beautiful dark eyes.” I try to sound sarcastic. “Afterward, we went to a fancy bakery and fed each other black forest cake. Then I brought you back to my place and we made sweet love until the birds started chirping the next morning.”

  Oh, God. I’m thinking about it now. Rolling around in bed with her and feeding her cake, her tongue darting out to lick icing off my finger.

  You see? I have a perfectly good imagination. At times, it’s very active.

  “Sure,” she says. “That works. I love black forest cake.”

  “If I’m going to be your boyfriend, I should know more than what kind of cake you prefer.”

  “I’m an event planner. I don’t know if Jeremy told you that.”

  I shake my head. “Do you plan weddings?”

  “Mostly corporate events.”

  “Mm. Fascinating.”

  “I detect sarcasm.”

  “It sounds like a nightmare to me,” I say, “but I’m sure some people enjoy it.”

  Hmm. I’ve been describing a lot of things as “nightmares” lately. Perhaps I’m using the word too liberally.

  “Why do you think it sounds like a nightmare?” she asks.

  “Because you have to deal with people all day, don’t you? And presumably these people often aren’t doing what you want them to do.”

  “True. I enjoy it, though. I studied English in university, and then I took some event planning courses later on.”

  “What about hobbies?”

  “I’m in an ax-throwing league.”

  Now that I didn’t see coming. Ax-throwing does not seem like the sort of thing Naomi would do.

  “I know, I know,” she says, seeing my expression. “I did it at a bachelorette party and it was a lot of fun, so I joined a league. We meet on Fridays.”

  “Okay. Ax-throwing, event planning, and black forest cake. I know everything there is to know about you now, I assume?”

  “Zombies. I really like zombie movies and The Walking Dead.”

  Well, that was unexpected, but it probably shouldn’t be. It’s a popular show. I never understood the fascination with zombies, though.

  “And you?” she asks. “What should I know about you, other than that you are a science fiction writer and have a PhD in fusion energy?”

  I don’t immediately answer. Her lips are wrapped around that green straw, sipping her stupid pink Frappuccino, and I can’t help but think about her lips doing other things.

  But somehow, I will manage to share a bed with this woman for three days without anything happening.

  Nothing can happen.

  It might be a little more difficult than I’d initially thought, but I promised Jeremy, and I’ll keep my promise. I’m playing Naomi’s fake boyfriend for the weekend, not her real boyfriend, and I have no interest in screwing up my friendship over this.

  Besides, I’m not looking for a relationship, not after Carly, and I get the sense Naomi is more of a relationship person.

  I finally answer her question. “Usually I write at home in the morning. In the afternoon, I go to the coffee shop to do some more writing before I head to the gym. Then I come home and read, watch Netflix, eat dinner, whatever. That’s my life, more or less.”

  She looks at me in horror. “That sounds like a very boring existence.”

  “On the contrary, it’s perfect. Occasionally I see my parents and Jeremy. I go on vacation a couple of times a year. It’s exciting enough for me.”

  “No wonder you needed your friend to set you up with someone. Clearly you’re not going to meet a woman otherwise.”

  I’m about to protest, but then I realize she’s talking about our fake how-we-met story.

  “That’s right, darling,” I say.

  Is it my imagination, or do her cheeks pinken slightly?

  Dammit, she’s cute.

  Yeah, next weekend will definitely be a nightmare. There will be three other couples at the beach house. Three real couples, whom I don’t know. I’ll have to talk to everyone, and odds are at least one person will be super annoying.

  I won’t get any peace, and when I’m alone with Naomi, I’ll have to behave myself. Even though we’re sharing a bed.

  Just shoot me now.

  Chapter 3

  Naomi

  I’m a bad, bad girl.

  I didn’t want to go to Tom and Julia’s Canada Day party by myself. There are one or two male friends I could have asked to come with me, and they probably would have obliged.

  But instead, I went to my brother.

  Most of Jeremy’s friends are married, or at least in relationships.

  Except Will.

  I asked Jeremy because I wanted him to suggest Will Stafford as my fake boyfriend, and that’s exactly what happened.

  I feel manipulative.

  I haven’t been myself since Jordan broke up with me. I’m over him now—we broke up six months ago; of course I’m over him. Still, I feel a ball of tension in my chest whenever he pops into my mind. I can’t help it. And I’ve completely lost interest in relationships, even though everyone around me is getting married and engaged. It’s not like I’ve sworn off love; it’s just that I don’t understand the appeal of relationships anymore. They’re not anywhere near as amazing as people say they are.

  But I don’t want these friends—and Jordan in particular—to know how much the break-up affected me. I refuse to give him that power, and I don’t want anyone feeling sorry for me.

  Enter Will.

  The first time I met Will was when I was twelve. My parents, my sister, and I went to visit Jeremy at university and take him out for dinner. I was sulky. I didn’t want to be there. I wanted to go to the movies with my friends, but my parents had insisted.

  Then I saw Jeremy’s roommate and fell in love. He was so much more mature than the boys my age. Short brown hair, broad shoulders, a serious expression.

  Now, I’m not so pathetic that I’ve had a crush on the same guy for seventeen years. I got over it when I was sixteen and had my first boyfriend. I’ve always found Will attractive, though, and for some reason, when I went through all the possibilities for my fake boyfriend, he was the only one I wanted. However, if I’d told Jeremy to give me Will’s number, he would have asked lots of questions, so instead I let my brother come up with the idea of Will Stafford being my fake boyfriend by himself.

  It’s so cool that he’s a writer now. Many people say they’re going to write a book one day, and they never do. But Will did, and he’s reasonably successful, though he’s not fam
ous like J. K. Rowling. I’ve read all of his books, as I told him, and they’re great. They really are. There’s a subtle humor in his writing that I love. I’ve also recently started following him on Twitter and Facebook, and although he’s not super active on social media, I always enjoy his posts.

  Now I’m going to spend a whole weekend with him. We’ll even share a bed!

  I doubt anything will happen, although I kind of hope it does. I might have lost interest in relationships, but that doesn’t mean I’ve lost interest in sex, and the two of us were flirting a bit at Starbucks last weekend. I got to hear Will make jokes about sex robots and talk about how he’d made sweet love to me until the birds started chirping.

  Unfortunately, I don’t think he intends to turn that image into reality. Even if he’s a little interested, I bet Jeremy warned him off, because that’s what big brothers do. They prevent you from doing fun things like bringing your pet worm into the house—I was four at the time—or eating an entire box of ice cream sandwiches, something I tried to do on multiple occasions.

  I have to admit, there’s something about the thought of bringing a fake boyfriend to this get-together that makes me smile. It’s the sort of thing that happens in books and movies, but how many people actually fake relationships in real life? I love the idea of playing a joke on everyone.

  Jeremy, however, seems to take my fake relationship plan as proof that I’m off my rocker and the break-up really did a number on me. Which it did, but I don’t like him thinking that.

  I told my sister about my plans, too, and she thinks I’m nuts. Courtney would never do something like this—we’ve always been different, but we’ve also always been close. She’s two years older than me. We were born in Canada, whereas my brother, who’s seven years older than me, was born before my parents left Hong Kong.

  Courtney knows that I asked Jeremy for help because I wanted Will as my fake boyfriend, but she is under strict instructions not to reveal this to anyone. She also knows that I had a crush on him when I was younger.

  Unlike me, she does not have exciting plans for the long weekend. She mumbled something about spending extra time at the lab and going for a long walk. Sounds pretty boring if you ask me.