The Boyfriend Project

by Farrah Rochon

  “I knew it.” Daniel huffed out a mirthless chuckle. “Hard to believe Dwyer was your supervisor. He doesn’t look more than a couple of years older than you.”

  “He isn’t. But he was a hotshot like you. Always has been. Worked his ass off and worked his way up the ranks faster than the rest of us.” Quentin’s expression became earnest. “He’s a good guy. One of the best. And the fact that he thinks you’re up to the challenge of this Vegas job says a lot about what he thinks of you.”

  Daniel rubbed the back of his neck, trying to relieve some of the tension. He squinted, almost afraid to see the other man’s reaction to his forthcoming question.

  “You think I made a mistake in turning it down, don’t you?” Daniel asked.

  The scar at the edge of Quentin’s mouth inched up. “I’m freezing my ass off while I car shop for two princesses who wouldn’t be here if I’d listened to my head instead of my heart when I found myself in your situation almost twenty years ago. I think you did what you think is right for you.”

  How in the hell was he supposed to know if this was the right move or not? He’d passed on a career-making opportunity for a woman who had yet to introduce him to her family.

  Daniel felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. A second later, Quentin’s rang. They looked at each other before looking at their phones.

  “Shit,” Daniel said. “Shit.”

  “Closing accounts for you too?” Quentin asked.

  “This makes three since this morning,” Daniel said. “Shit.”

  He took a breath to stop himself from panicking. This activity could mean any number of things. He doubted he’d been found out, but it could mean that someone had been tipped that law enforcement might be on their tail. No matter what, the fact that three of the eight bank accounts they’d been monitoring had been closed in a matter of hours meant that something was definitely up.

  If the money launderers went dark, it could be weeks, even months before they surfaced again. It would be hell to find them. All the work they’d done, the man-hours he’d put in, the money that had been spent to facilitate this job; it would all be wasted.

  Shit.

  He had to get into that database. It was the quickest way to ferret out who was behind this. If there was such a thing as mission critical, they’d just reached it.

  * * *

  Samiah tucked the bottle of sparkling water under her arm and carried it, along with three glasses, into the living room, stepping out of London’s way as her friend swayed to the smooth, neo-soul sound of Maxwell’s “Ascension” strumming from the Sonos speaker system.

  “Anyone else feeling a full-circle moment vibe right now?” London asked.

  “Not exactly.” Samiah held up her wineglass. “Last time we met at my place it was Moscow Mules and leftover sushi. This very nice red wine and gourmet popcorn is tres chic, my friend. Good choice.”

  “You are very welcome,” London said, still doing what Samiah and her cousins used to call “the old folks’ dance,” rocking from side to side to the rhythm of the classic song. She sauntered over and grabbed a fistful of the rosemary and white truffle popcorn she’d brought with her. “The wine is from a solo trip I took to Italy last year. I’ve been holding on to it for a special occasion. Hanging out with you two seemed special enough to me.”

  “You went to Italy? Fun,” Taylor said. “I went back when we lived on the base in Germany, but only for a couple of days. I tried leaning over like the Tower of Pisa but fell and broke my elbow.”

  Samiah did her best to hold it together, but after a few seconds she burst out laughing. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That’s just so…you.”

  “Yes, it is so me,” Taylor said.

  Samiah frowned at Taylor’s toneless response.

  “Hey.” She reached over and gave her a playful tap on the arm. “I was just joking.”

  “I know.” Taylor smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

  Samiah looked over at London, who held both palms up and hunched her shoulders in confusion.

  They’d made plans to meet up at her place before going out for sushi at the place that started it all two months ago. But because Austin was once again in the throes of a raging thunderstorm—seriously, this was more rain than they usually saw the entire fall season—no one wanted to leave the condo. Instead, Samiah took out a lasagna Denise had sent over a few days ago and slipped it in the oven. Now that her sister was nearing the end of her pregnancy, she was in full nesting mode. According to Bradley, their freezer was filled with enough casseroles to feed them for the next six months.

  Samiah was more than happy to take a few of those meals off their hands. Sharing a home-cooked meal with London and Taylor beat going out to a restaurant. Samiah had discovered that, when it came to these two, the place wasn’t important; it was the company. She’d found something she hadn’t known she’d been missing in her life: true girlfriends.

  Earlier, when she told them about the position she’d been offered at Trendsetters, Taylor and London both helped her see that no matter how fulfilling heading up the new Outreach Department might be, giving up on the dreams she had for her app would leave her dissatisfied in the end. She had reached that conclusion days ago, but hearing it from these two—women who got her, who understood her—reaffirmed what she already knew to be the only possible choice for her.

  Over the course of these last couple of months, the boyfriend project had morphed into something more powerful than any of them had expected. This undertaking moved far beyond getting themselves in a position to find significant others. This was about finding their life’s truth.

  As she sat here, enjoying good wine and even better company, Samiah recognized that she was solidly on that path.

  She looked over to Taylor to find her downing the remaining wine in her glass with one huge gulp, then reaching for the wine bottle.

  “Whoa there,” Samiah said, plucking the bottle from her hand. “You want to take it easy? Keep that up and you’ll be passed out drunk before we slice into the lasagna.”

  “Good. I’m trying to get drunk,” she said.

  “No shit. You look like you’re halfway there already.” Samiah poured San Pellegrino into a glass and switched Taylor’s wine stem with the mineral water. “You need to drink some of this before you have more wine,” she said. “Now, do you mind sharing why our resident health nut is trying to get drunk?”

  Taylor shook her head.

  “Nope, you don’t get to say no,” London said. She perched on the arm of the sofa. “These Friday night get-togethers are supposed to be about having a safe space to air our grievances. From what I’ve seen tonight, you sure as shit have some grievances you need to air out. Let us hear it.”

  “Please.” Taylor covered her face with both hands and released a groan. “I honestly don’t want to talk about it. It’s just family crap that I’ve been dealing with my whole life. I’m over it.”

  “Over it as in you want to drink yourself into a stupor and then punch the wall, or over it as in we should remove all sharp objects and pills from your apartment before allowing you to be there by yourself tonight?” London asked.

  Taylor rolled her eyes. “I’m not suicidal.”

  “I’m just trying to figure out what we’re dealing with here,” London said.

  “It’s the same damn story—no, make that the same damn nightmare. My life is a fucking nightmare!”

  Samiah’s head snapped back at the sheer vehemence in Taylor’s agonized outburst. Where was this even coming from? The person sitting before her hardly resembled the happy-go-lucky woman she’d come to know over these past two months.

  “Honey, what’s going on?” she asked, concern tightening her chest.

  “I’m sorry,” Taylor said somewhat sheepishly. “That may have been a tiny bit dramatic. It’s not as serious as you’re probably thinking.”

  London bounded up from the arm of the sofa, her hands flailing. “Are you for real right now? I
was going through the steps for an intervention in my head.”

  “I’m sorry,” she stressed. “It’s just…I come from a family of overachievers,” she said. “And I’m tired of being the one who’s always asked when I’m going to get my shit together.”

  “You’re only twenty-eight years old,” London pointed out. “You’re not expected to have your shit together until you’re at least thirty.”

  “Well, hell, I guess I need to play catchup.” Samiah laughed.

  Taylor didn’t. She turned to London. “How old were you when you finished medical school? Hmm?” She prompted when London remained quiet. “Bet you were younger than twenty-eight.”

  “I started undergrad early, and went to summer school to finish ahead of schedule,” London replied.

  “But you were still younger than I am, weren’t you?” She turned to Samiah. “And how about you? At twenty-eight you already had a master’s degree and were working in your career, right?”

  “It’s not fair to compare yourself to others,” Samiah said. “You can’t—”

  “No? Really?” Taylor said, cutting her off. “Because my family always compares. They live to compare.” She started ticking items off on her fingers. “My dad, Mr. Bronze Star himself, was already climbing the ranks of the Army by the time he was my age. Mom had finished law school while raising two children and moving from one Army base to another by my age. My older brother, Darwin? Lawyer. My older sister, Jesamyn? Architect. Even my niece is showing me up. She won the Top Young Scientist award last year.

  “And what is Taylor doing? Sitting here without a college degree and keeping her fingers crossed that she can get the chance to teach freaking phys ed to a bunch of homeschooled kids just to make ends meet. I’m tired of being the one everybody in my family looks down on.”

  She covered her face with her hands and growled. “Argh, I’m sorry. It’s just…it’s a lot.”

  Samiah reached over and peeled Taylor’s fingers from her face. “Come on, stop this,” she said. “I thought we all decided we were no longer living our lives based on what other people think we should be doing. Or because it’s what society says we should do.”

  “That’s so easy for you to say,” Taylor said. “You’re not a failure.”

  “Okay, that’s enough of that bullshit.” London set her wineglass on the end table. She walked over to Taylor, grabbed her hands, and pulled her up from the sofa. “Look at me,” London said, lifting Taylor’s chin. “Do you enjoy what you’re doing?”

  She nodded.

  “No. Say it. Answer the question. Do you enjoy being a fitness consultant?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does it make you happy? Happier than anything else you could be doing with your life?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Then that’s all that matters. Everything else is negative bullshit and you don’t need that in your life.”

  “But I do need my family,” Taylor said. “As much as they drive me crazy, I love them. I just wish I could have something exciting to share with them when I go home for Thanksgiving, instead of the same old stuff.”

  “Tell them that you’re supporting yourself by doing what you love,” London said.

  “She’s right,” Samiah said, rising from the sofa and walking over to join them. “It may not be easy going right now, and you may not be satisfied at the pace that your business is growing, but it is growing. And you said it yourself, teaching phys ed to a bunch of homeschooled kids is nothing to turn your nose up at. It will pay the bills while you continue to grow your business.”

  “Exactly,” London said. She pointed at the coffee table. “Now you can drink this wine to celebrate the gains you’ve made, but I’ll be damned if I let you waste another drop of this fantastic Chianti on wallowing. Hell no. This wine comes from happy grapes. It is to be used for celebration purposes only.”

  The infectious grin Samiah had come to associate with her appeared on Taylor’s face. “Well, I do want more wine, so I guess we’re celebrating.”

  “Now that’s what I want to hear,” London said, grabbing the bottle of wine and topping off their empty glasses. She handed them their drinks and lifted hers in the air. “To the only woman I know who can kick your ass with a smile. Your time is coming, Taylor Powell. You just make sure you’re ready to make the most of it when it does.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Samiah wrapped her lips around the straw and drew in a deep swallow of the pineapple passion fruit kombucha. She guessed some would consider her a convert, if the top shelf of her refrigerator was anything to go on. The yogurts and cottage cheese had been demoted to the second shelf. She set the bottle on her bedside table, picked up her electronic pencil, and made a note in the corner of the screen, just above the proposed spot for the settings button.

  She’d switched it from one side to the other, piddled with the thought of going rogue and placing it at the bottom of the app, then settled for the traditional upper right-hand corner. The last thing she wanted to do was frustrate people by changing things up too much.

  She used the blunt end of the pencil to move icons around, but wasn’t happy with any of the ideas she came up with.

  “Just put it away,” she blew out on an exasperated breath, setting the tablet next to her on the bed.

  Her purpose for picking up the thing in the first place was to help London find a knock ’em dead outfit for her upcoming class reunion. They’d messaged each other links to various online stores, but then London was called into an emergency patient consultation and Samiah had switched from her browser to her developer software without even thinking about it.

  She would have to break this habit; her brain needed time to recoup. She’d been working on Just Friends almost nonstop since finishing the Leyland Group project and could feel burnout creeping up on her like those extra five pounds that always made it to her hips during the holidays.

  She’d experienced burnout at the ripe old age of twenty-seven, only months after she started at Trendsetters. She would not put herself in that position again.

  She scooted off the bed and went to her closet, looking for the wide-leg silk jumpsuit she’d bought last year. The red one she’d found for London online had a plunging neckline and attached cape, and it was much better suited for turning heads than the blue pinstripe, but she figured London could try this one on first to make sure she wanted the jumpsuit look before shelling out four hundred dollars.

  After locating the jumpsuit, she searched for other looks she could offer London as she bided her time until Daniel could get there. He’d texted earlier, apologizing for running late. His roommate, Quentin, had some big issue with his wife that he was trying to work out and needed Daniel there for emotional support. Samiah did her best to quell her agitation. She couldn’t fault him for wanting to be a good friend. If her sister, or Taylor or London, needed her, she wouldn’t think twice about running to their aid. She just hoped to God none of her friends called on her when she was feeling this horny.

  Her intercom buzzed.

  “Thank goodness.” She tossed aside the off-the-shoulder sweater she’d just pulled from a hanger and raced to the keypad on her bedroom wall, becoming absurdly happy to see Daniel’s smiling face staring back at her from the display screen.

  Samiah keyed him in, then moved the tablet from her bed to her dresser and slipped on a pair of shorts before rushing to her front door. She opened it and leaned against the doorjamb, waiting for him. The elevator chimed its arrival. The stainless-steel panels separated and he walked out, turning left and striding toward her condo with purpose.

  He stopped two feet in front of her.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey,” she answered. She tilted her head toward the open door, inviting him inside. The second she closed the door behind her, she went in for a kiss, wrapping her arms around his head and slamming her body flush against his. It was a chaotic mingling of lips, teeth, and tongue, all vying for position
as they tried to inhale each other on their way to the living room.

  Without ever relinquishing her mouth, Daniel peeled his jacket off and tossed it on the armless accent chair next to her couch. His hands caught the hem of her T-shirt and pulled it up and over her head, then he peeled down the cups of the bra that should have been off already—dammit—and licked first one, then the other nipple with his strong, wet tongue.

  Samiah fell back onto the couch and urged him to follow, cradling his head between her hands as he laved her breast with sure, toe-curling strokes. A desperate moan slipped from her lips. As much as she loved foreplay, her body demanded they skip the appetizer and get straight to the main course.

  Just as she was about to tell Daniel her wishes, he left her breasts and began pressing light kisses down her torso. He dropped to his knees, hooked his thumbs underneath the rim of her shorts and panties, and tugged them over her hips and down her legs. The ambient air hit her heated center, causing her to shiver. Or maybe it was the man hunched over her. He wedged his shoulders between her thighs and Samiah decided she wanted to remain in this position until the end of time.

  “Holy fuck, you look amazing,” Daniel said, his warm breath wisping across her sensitive skin.

  He ran both palms up and down her thighs before dipping his head and stroking the tip of his tongue between her legs. Samiah braced her hands on either side of her and lifted her lower half up, feeding herself to him. His decadent licks grew more insistent with each sweep of his tongue, spreading her open and delving inside, driving her out of her mind.

  Pressure started to build low in her belly, the sensation blossoming from her core and spreading throughout her limbs, until it felt as if her entire body was on the verge of erupting. He wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked hard, and she went off like a cannon, her body’s response so powerful she felt it across every single inch of her skin.

  Daniel rode out her orgasm on his knees, his mouth still intent on giving her more pleasure than she knew what to do with. He continued his relentless pursuit, sending another heart-stopping orgasm spiraling through her before wrapping her legs around his waist and carrying her to her bedroom. Once there, he did with his powerful erection what he’d done with his mouth, bringing on climax after sweet, fiery climax, until Samiah was ready to surrender every single piece of herself to him.