Grumpy Fake Boyfriend

by Jackie Lau

  “That’s not what I call it,” Naomi says. “Guess-the-groom sounds more appropriate. I’ve also seen it done with hands rather than asses.”

  This conversation is reminding me of what she’s wearing under her shorts. Those lovely pink panties. I would love to grab her ass while she’s wearing those.

  In private, of course.

  “A bunch of men line up and the bride is blindfolded,” Ridhi explains. “She has to touch everyone’s ass and determine which one is the groom.”

  Julia claps her hands. “You should do it now. To practice.”

  “I totally should! What else are we going to do this afternoon? I just need a blindfold.”

  “I’ve got a tie in my room,” Jordan offers.

  I wonder why he brought a tie to the beach. Perhaps he was tying Krista...

  Scratch that. I really don’t want to think about it.

  Jordan goes to the guesthouse and returns with a blue tie. Ian wraps it around Ridhi’s eyes, and she spins around in a circle with her hands outstretched.

  Great. I can only assume I’m expected to participate, and my ass will be felt up by a woman who is not Naomi. This is unfortunate, but I can manage.

  I line up in front of the sofa with the other three guys. Once we’re in position, Naomi leads Ridhi to the first man in line. I turn back and watch as Ridhi cups her hands around Tom’s ass and squeezes lightly.

  “Not Ian,” she proclaims and moves to the next man.

  Me.

  I stiffen slightly as she palms my left ass cheek and squeezes.

  “Very nice ass,” she says. “But not Ian.”

  Well. Naomi should be pleased she’s fake-dating a man who has a very nice ass—according to her friend. Which is a little weird.

  Ridhi moves down the line. She touches the next ass with both hands, then gives it a smack. “Hello, Ian.”

  “Hello, sweetheart.”

  “The first man was Tom,” she says. “Next was Will. Then Ian. So the last one must be Jordan.”

  “That’s not how the game works,” Ian says as she takes off the tie. “You’re just supposed to identify me. Not everyone in the line.”

  He seems a tiny bit hurt that Ridhi was so good at the game.

  “I want to try,” Julia says.

  She’s blindfolded, and the four of us switch positions. She touches the first ass.

  “This is definitely Tom.”

  “Congratulations,” he says. “You got me. Now, let’s move on to something else.”

  “Nope. I’m going to guess every man, like Ridhi.”

  “Glad to see your competitive spirit is alive and well.”

  Ian is next, and Julia guesses correctly. However, she mixes up me and Jordan. I’m not sure how to feel about the fact that my ass feels like his. Complicated feelings are swirling inside me.

  Ha.

  In truth, I don’t give a shit. It’s just a silly game.

  Julia removes her blindfold. “Dammit. I want to try again. I’m determined to get it right.”

  “How about we do something different?” Tom has clearly had enough of watching his fiancée touch other men.

  I don’t blame him.

  “You know what my favorite game is?” Naomi says. “The shoe game.”

  “What’s that?” Krista asks.

  “The bride and groom remove their shoes. They each take one of the bride’s shoes and one of the groom’s shoes in hand and sit back-to-back. Then they’re asked questions like ‘Who’s better looking?’ or ‘Who’s the bigger slob?’ They answer the question by holding up the appropriate person’s shoe.” Naomi twists her mouth—it’s rather cute. “I’m not sure I explained it well, but it’s quite simple.” She goes into the hall and comes back with my shoes and hers. She gives one of each to me. “Like if you asked who is a bigger slob, I would hold up my shoe”—she puts it in the air— “because Will is very neat.”

  Not that she has any way of knowing that’s true.

  “Both the bride and groom have to do it,” she says. “It’s funny when they hold up different shoes.”

  Ridhi turns to Ian. “Your sister insisted we play this one.”

  “That’s lovely,” he says, his voice completely lacking enthusiasm.

  I feel his pain.

  “Do you want to practice?” Julia asks. Apparently, she’s forgotten about ass-grabbing.

  “Someone else should do it,” Ridhi says.

  “We will!” Naomi puts her hand in the air like an eager schoolgirl.

  God, I can’t believe she’s doing this. I don’t know much about her. I don’t even know her birthday. Playing this game is going to make it obvious we’re not actually together. It’ll blow our cover.

  “Anyone want a drink?” Tom asks.

  “Yes. Please,” I say.

  I make myself a martini and grab a bottle of hard lemonade for Naomi.

  “Do you have some kind of James Bond complex?” she asks as I come back with our drinks. “Fancy yourself a spy?”

  I look at my martini. “We don’t know each other well enough to play this game,” I whisper.

  “Like I said, the questions are things like who is the bigger slob. Not trivia. It’s fine if our answers don’t agree.”

  Hmm. Okay.

  Two chairs are set up back-to-back in the middle of the living room. I sit in one, my drink on the table next to me, and she sits in the other.

  “First question,” Ridhi says. “Who’s better looking?”

  That’s easy. I stick Naomi’s flip-flop in the air. When I look behind me, she’s holding up my running shoe.

  “I think you got that wrong,” I say, and everyone laughs.

  “Next question,” Julia says. “Who is the better driver?”

  We both hold up our own shoes, and everyone laughs again. I’ve never been in the car when Naomi was driving, but I’m just taking a wild guess that I would prefer to be the driver.

  I don’t like being the center of attention in unfamiliar situations. There are too many unknown variables. I’d rather be upstairs with Naomi, getting to know her better in a carnal manner.

  But so far, this is tolerable.

  “Who’s the bigger daredevil?” Tom asks.

  I hold up Naomi’s shoe, since “daredevil” is the opposite of how people describe me. She does the same.

  “Who’s smarter?” is the next question.

  That seems like a dangerous question to answer, and it depends on one’s definition of intelligence. I stick up my shoe, and Naomi sticks up her own.

  “Seriously, Will?” she says with mock anger. “Everyone knows I’m the brains in this relationship, even though you have a PhD.”

  “You were stupid enough to date me.” I look back at her and wink, and she smiles.

  Okay. I’m getting into this now. I might even describe it as fun.

  If I were at gunpoint.

  No, really. It is sort of fun, and it’s interesting how people see themselves versus how other people see them. Something I think about a lot when it comes to Captain Walker.

  “Who’s the most creative?” Ian asks.

  We each hold up one of my running shoes, even though I distinctly remember Naomi critiquing my creativity last weekend.

  “He’s the writer,” she says.

  Neither Jordan nor Krista has asked a question yet. Surprisingly, they’re not making out; they’re merely holding hands.

  “I’ve got one,” Krista says. “Who has the higher sex drive?”

  Well, things are starting to go south. I can’t say I’m surprised. This isn’t the sort of question that would be asked at an actual wedding reception, but we’re just four couples—one fake—at a beach house.

  I decide to go with gender stereotypes and hold up my own shoe.

  Naomi holds up her flip-flop.

  Interesting. If her sex drive rivals mine, the rest of the weekend could be a lot of fun. I start picturing all the ways I could have Naomi in our bedroom. Too bad there
are other people in the house, so we can’t do it outside of our room. That sectional couch looks quite comfortable.

  “Who’s always late?” Ridhi asks.

  I immediately stick up Naomi’s sandal. When I look behind me, she’s reluctantly lifting her flip-flop into the air, too.

  “That was an easy one,” Ridhi said. “Will, I would be shocked if you had more punctuality problems than Naomi.”

  “Hey!” Naomi protests. “I’m not that bad.”

  “She was only fifteen minutes late when I picked her up on Friday,” I say.

  “Like I told you, there was a subway delay!”

  “Who’s more argumentative?” Julia asks.

  I’m not sure about that one. In the end, I stick up my shoe, and Naomi holds up her own.

  “Who said ‘I love you’ first?” That’s from Krista.

  Uh-oh. This question is problematic, because there should be a right and wrong answer.

  “Will and Naomi haven’t been together long,” Ian says. “Maybe they haven’t said it yet.”

  Except I’m quite sure Krista and Jordan have done I-love-you’s, and Naomi doesn’t want our relationship to seem “inferior” to theirs, even if she’s not as competitive as she was yesterday.

  So I hold up my shoe. When I turn around, I see that Naomi has also chosen me.

  I exhale a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

  Suddenly, the cogs in my creative brain start turning. This game is normally played at a wedding. Instead of shorts and a T-shirt, I imagine I’m wearing a tuxedo, and Naomi is wearing a white dress with long, flowy skirts, or maybe a red dress like Jeremy’s wife wore for part of their reception. Instead of sitting in a beach house, we’re in a banquet hall, and there are a hundred friends and family members around us, eating deep fried crab claws and lobster and bird’s nest soup. There’s a ring on my finger. It hasn’t been there long, and I’m still getting used to it. Naomi looks back at me and taps her silver shoe against mine, her smile all for me...

  Clearly, I have too much imagination.

  But interestingly, the wedding scene doesn’t cause the degree of panic I would have expected. Perhaps that has something to do with the martini. I put down Naomi’s flip-flop so I can have another sip.

  “I’ve got one,” Jordan says. “Who’s the kinkiest?”

  Now things are definitely going south. The one question her ex-boyfriend asks, and it’s who is kinkier in the bedroom. I kind of want to smack him in the face. That’s too personal.

  Plus, he’s her ex.

  He’s had sex with Naomi more times than I have. Many, many more times. I wonder who was the kinkiest in their relationship, and then I want a laser to zap those images out of my mind. They’re way more disturbing than the thought of getting married to a woman I hardly knew until Friday.

  I decide it’s best if I don’t answer. I turn toward Naomi, who’s holding up her flip-flop, but not as high as she held it up for previous questions. It’s just above her shoulder.

  “Will is being a gentleman,” she says. “He doesn’t want to admit the truth.”

  I’m very curious about what she likes in the bedroom, and at the same time, I’m still pissed at Jordan.

  “Okay, okay,” Ridhi says. “I think you’ve answered enough questions.”

  “I know what game we should play,” Jordan says. “The egg game. Naomi’s cousin did it at her wedding.”

  “How does that one work?” I ask, rather terrified to know the answer.

  “You put an egg at the bottom of the groom’s pants,” Ian explains. “On the inside. The bride has to roll it up, then back down the other leg. Without breaking it.”

  I picture Naomi doing this to me at our wedding, in front of everyone we know. The egg breaks, right at my crotch, and I have egg white running down my legs.

  Kind of like the dream where you show up at school in only your underwear.

  I had that one a lot as a child.

  Would Naomi expect me to do that sort of thing at our wedding, no matter how much I protested? I suppose I’d be willing to play the shoe game, without the sexual questions, but this egg game and the ass-grabbing game... Um, no thanks. Call me a prude or whatever, but I prefer not to do that stuff in front of my family. And maybe I’m possessive, but I also don’t like the idea of my bride grabbing other men’s asses.

  Naomi, on the other hand—she’d probably enjoy it. She’d giggle the whole time.

  I try to push that thought aside. It’s completely irrelevant. Naomi and I are in a fake relationship. We’re not getting married. We’re not even dating.

  Still, I can’t get the image of a raw egg breaking at my crotch out of my mind.

  If Naomi and I were in a real relationship, it would be just like every other relationship I’ve had. She’d want to change me into someone I’m not, into the right sort of man for her.

  A wave of sadness washes over me, even though I had no intention of dating her for real.

  “Sometimes a hard-boiled egg is used instead,” Naomi says, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Less dangerous that way.”

  “Unfortunately, we don’t have any eggs,” Tom says, and I think everyone is relieved that we won’t get to see Krista roll an egg through Jordan’s pants. Everyone but Jordan and Krista, that is.

  “Maybe we can do the egg game at our wedding?” Krista turns back to Jordan and runs a finger down his cheek.

  He clasps her hand and looks around the room, as though making sure he has everyone’s attention. Then he makes his announcement.

  “We’re engaged to be engaged.”

  Chapter 16

  Naomi

  Once upon a time, Jordan and I were also engaged to be engaged. Does Krista know that?

  Jordan and I had talked about it. We had an “understanding.” But then he decided he didn’t want to move in with me, and eventually we broke up.

  I take a swig of my lemonade. Then I grab Will’s drink and take a swig of that, too. I start coughing. The dry martini burns on the way down.

  I shouldn’t be affected by what my ex says and does. He’s not worth it.

  Jordan’s an asshole. Jordan’s an asshole.

  Krista and Jordan are sitting there with expectant smiles on their faces, but no one has said anything yet. What do you say to that kind of announcement? It’s not the same as an engagement. I didn’t think it was the kind of thing you would normally announce, and Jordan certainly didn’t say anything when he was engaged to be engaged to me.

  “That’s exciting!” Julia says at last. “When do you plan to get engaged for real?”

  Jordan puts his finger to his lips. “Shh. It’s a secret.”

  Ridhi turns to Krista. “Why don’t you and Jordan play the shoe game?”

  “Good idea.”

  Will and I stand up and move to the couch. I squeeze his hand.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “Fine,” I whisper. “Maybe you could get me another drink.”

  “What would you like?”

  “A martini is good.”

  Will makes a martini for each of us, and Krista and Jordan sit back-to-back on the chairs in the center of the room, shoes in hand, ready to have questions lobbed at them.

  “I’ll start,” Ridhi says. “Who’s the better cook?”

  Both Jordan and Krista raise Jordan’s shoe in the air.

  Jordan is a decent cook. It’s true. Though I’m surprised he doesn’t burn food left, right, and center now, given his attention is always on Krista’s mouth.

  “Who said ‘I love you’ first?” Julia asks.

  Again, they both choose Jordan.

  I try to remember who said it first in our relationship. I believe he did, too.

  “Who drinks more coffee?” I ask, wanting a more innocuous line of questioning.

  They both choose Krista.

  “Who’s more of a partier?” Will asks. He says “partier” with more than a hint of disdain, and I suppress a laugh as I picture
him in a nightclub.

  Again, they both choose Krista.

  “Who wants children first?” Julia asks.

  They both hold up one of Jordan’s shoes.

  Jordan and I had talked about having kids. We both wanted them at some point in the future, but we didn’t have a five-year-plan that included children spaced exactly two years apart or anything like that.

  It’s still totally weird that “Krista” was one of the baby names we’d picked out.

  “Who’s more of a slob?” I ask.

  They both hold up one of Krista’s shoes.

  “Who usually starts the arguments?” Tom asks.

  Neither of them holds up a shoe.

  Jordan shrugs. “We never argue.”

  Oh, barf. They’re acting like they’re so perfect together. Whereas Will and I have had multiple arguments in our fake relationship, which has lasted less than two days.

  Then I remember what he did to me last night, his hand slipping between my legs, his tongue giving me the clitoral stimulation I’d talked about on the beach...

  I decide I’m okay with the fact that we argue.

  “Who’s more of a morning person?” Ian asks.

  They both choose Jordan.

  “Who’s more creative?” Julia asks.

  They both choose Krista.

  “Who’s smarter?”

  They both choose Jordan.

  “Who’s the better driver?”

  Again, they both pick Jordan.

  “This is boring,” Ridhi complains. “You’ve agreed on every question so far. Where’s the fun in that?”

  I feel an odd sort of pride that Will and I were more entertaining.

  “Then ask harder questions,” Krista says.

  “I bet she wants sex questions,” Will mutters, quietly enough so only I can hear. “But I refuse to go there.”

  Julia goes there, though. “Who’s the loudest in the bedroom?”

  Everyone, except the happy couple, looks like they’re holding back laughter.

  Jordan and Krista both hold up Krista’s shoe.

  “Who’s kinkier?” Julia asks. “You wanted that question, didn’t you?”

  They both choose Krista once more.