Misadventures with a Book Boyfriend

by Blue, Victoria

  “But the money,” I protested again. How did I get it so wrong? I thought she would be happy. At least once the shock of it all wore off.

  “It’s not always about money, Oliver.” She shook her head in what I assumed was disappointment—or disgust. Could’ve gone either way at that point.

  Anger finally broke through my calm. Her judgmental grimace transported me back to being reprimanded by my father, and I lashed out. “You have no idea what it’s been doing to me! Not being able to pay my own fucking rent! I was a household name. People recognized me when I walked down the street, Skye. Now? Now, I’m nothing!”

  “No. Now you’re a prostitute. You can add that to your resume. Proud moment right there.” She turned and started toward her room, only getting about two feet before swinging back with mock enthusiasm. “Hey! I have an idea! We should call your dad. He’d love to hear this. I can hear the pride in his voice now. Don’t you think?” The venom in her voice was something I hadn’t heard from her before. It made her unrecognizable.

  “Wow.” I swallowed hard. How could she hit so far below the belt? “Just—wow, Skye. That was low. Even for a bitch like you.” I picked up the pile of cash and walked in the opposite direction toward my own room. I paused when I got through the door. The urge to slam it was so strong—but I chose to close it with extra gentle care instead. The effect was better. Our relationship had just suffered a critical hit, and the moment deserved a somber lone bugle calling “Taps,” not a blazing horn ensemble’s take on “God Save the Queen.”

  Chapter Six

  For the next two weeks, we managed to avoid each other like oil and water. When Skye came home, I was already gone. If I didn’t have a date, I called up a buddy and went out to a bar or club. Anything to get out of the house. When I came home, she was already asleep. When I got up, she was already off to work. Our coexistence became more of an avoidance than a cohabitation. A dance where we carefully passed, like a car stuck in traffic on the 101 in rush hour and the motorcyclist who insisted on lane splitting to get through it. She squeezed by while I cringed and prayed we didn’t collide.

  But for some reason, my heart felt like it had already been in an accident when I thought about my best friend. I had hurt her, and I knew her well enough to know she didn’t dole out forgiveness easily. I’d be lucky if we ever managed to repair our friendship. Deep down I knew I was risking alienating her with my business idea in general. It probably spoke volumes as to why she wasn’t the one I went to for help rather than Janine, a neighbor I had just met. At the same time, I truly thought she’d come around when she saw how much money I was making. Maybe I didn’t know her as well as I thought I did. I had never seen that venomous side of her that dealt the final blow in our argument. And for that, I was grateful. That was a part of Skye Delaney I’d be glad to never see again.

  Over the past twenty-one days, I had been on dates with twelve different women as their for-hire imaginary book boyfriend. I had portrayed everything from a navy fighter pilot to a cattle ranch owner. I was a motorcycle club president one night and a vampire lord the next. Every date took an extensive amount of reading and learning to pick up the nuances of the character. Janine helped me constantly. She quizzed me about facts and details that were particular to each man and also helped run errands to get my date-night supplies in order. She never accepted the money I offered her for her help. She told me her reward was knowing she was helping women live out their fantasies, even if only in some small way. I made her swear to tell me if any of the women from the pool ever said anything about calling Book Boyfriend Inc., because it would be way too awkward, and I would have to decline the date.

  At that point, I had declined a handful of requests. Reasons varied, but most were all in the general category of “Crazyville.” I’m a pretty open-minded guy, but I have my boundaries. A few women requested dates or characters that I just wasn’t comfortable portraying, so those were turned down as well.

  Thursday arrived, and I checked my calendar to see who was scheduled for the night. The client had requested very little, just stating she was looking for a quiet evening out, with maybe a nice dinner and some adult conversation. She named a few books she enjoyed from a series I was already familiar with. In fact, the character was quickly becoming one of the most requested book boyfriends I had, and the very first character I had portrayed: Jason Riley. He was the modern-day Casanova, and women couldn’t get enough of him. I probably summoned that character twice a week. Each time brought memories of Melanie’s beautiful face and magical green eyes that I usually had to work out of my system with a hand job before I could think of getting anything else accomplished. If only I could see her again outside of my fantasies.

  But women’s loneliness in general spoke volumes about the state of modern-day relationships. It was sad that this was what women requested, what they were willing to pay for. Not sex. Not some hot, crazy romp in a BDSM dungeon or to have her womanly virtues pillaged and plundered by a pirate captain and his crew. Just a quiet night together, maybe a nice meal. Even that wasn’t a requirement. Most of my clients wanted good conversation and quality time. Women were lacking connection. Over and over again, that’s what I was being told. They wanted to feel important in their partner’s life. They wanted to feel like they mattered. That if the earth swallowed them up one day, their significant other would notice for reasons other than dinner wasn’t waiting on the table or the laundry was piling up.

  My own parents came to mind. I wondered if given the opportunity to date the Book Boyfriend, no strings attached, would my mother grab the brass ring? Hell, some of the women I had taken out had thriving careers outside the home. They were successful, smart, independent women. They had a lot going for them—all of them, regardless of profession. They just didn’t have the one thing their hearts needed—attention.

  All of the experience I was gleaning from this new job was going to serve me well if I ever decided to settle down. I would never leave my partner feeling neglected like so many others did. I suppose they never intended to do it. Things just transform over time: people change, become wrapped up in their jobs, grow complacent in their relationships, lazy in the nurturing and nourishment of their loved one’s hearts and souls.

  I made reservations at a quiet restaurant in the Wilshire District. It was a beautiful part of town, and there were a lot of upscale hotels nearby if things took a turn in that direction. But again, the large majority of the dates I had been on ended with a warm embrace, maybe a tender kiss, and I always insisted on a promise to make their own happiness a bigger priority in their daily routine.

  Since most of the women who were seeking dates were from higher income brackets and used to posher accommodations, I always found restaurants in upscale areas. General life experience had taught me that any place with a higher price tag would be more discreet if the need arose. The expenses of the evening came off my bottom line, so I tried to keep costs within reason while still treating the lady to the type of evening she was accustomed to.

  The Kimpton Hotel sat on the main drag in the neighborhood, so it was easy to find and parking was on-site. While checking my hair and outfit one last time in the mirrored walls of the elevator, the climb to the rooftop restaurant went quickly. I wore the book character’s trademark sport coat and dark jeans, crisp white button-down shirt, two buttons open, showing just the right amount of chest hair. I had to laugh when I read those words in the novel the first time. Who decided what “just the right amount” of chest hair was, exactly?

  When doing runway modeling, men were expected to have their chests waxed or clean-shaven for a show, unless the designer specified otherwise. If I shot a print ad, it was specified by the art director on the call sheet. So clearly, “just the right amount” of anything was subjective. In this case, I let nature do the talking. I wasn’t a naturally hairy guy, but I had a small amount of hair on my chest. Hopefully my date considered it “just the right amount.”

  Panic set in
. I couldn’t remember her name. My date. I couldn’t remember her name—no matter how hard I tried. The panic was making my memory worse. The only name that kept replaying in my head was that of the author of the book the character came from, and I was convinced that was made up, as most of them were. But I would’ve bet the entire fee for tonight’s date that my lady’s name wasn’t Pepper.

  Shit.

  Penelope. Patricia. Petunia. Prinka. Prim. Porky. Pinky.

  Pepper.

  Shit!

  Polly? No way. That was a pet bird, not a woman. God, was it even with a P? Janine would know. I whipped out my phone to send her a text when I heard my name softly spoken from behind. Well, my character’s name. I took a few seconds to send the text before turning to find one of the most breathtaking women I’d ever laid my eyes on standing a few feet away at the entrance to the bar area of the restaurant. It was Melanie, the woman I had my very first date with, and honestly, who I couldn’t stop thinking of since. But why wasn’t that the name she gave on this application? If I had seen Melanie on the calendar today, I would have definitely remembered. I should’ve waited for Janine’s response. I should’ve saved myself the embarrassment of having to admit I couldn’t remember her name. But my feet decided they needed to move toward her before some other guy, clearly much smarter than me, moved in on my turf.

  Yes, I just said my.

  She wasn’t just beautiful; she was radiant. Literally, glowing with beauty I’d never seen before. Even more beautiful than my memory served. Something so untouchable and magnificent emanated from her, and every man in the room felt it too. It was as though someone followed her around with a spotlight, traveling just before her to provide the best personal lighting she could have at all times. Just the right setup to capture her perfect angles and curves, the heavenly way her hair cascaded down over her shoulders and flowed down to the middle of her back in soft curls.

  Ssssccccrrrrreeeeecccchhhh.

  Hit the brakes, dude. What the hell was going on in my head? That was some serious pussy talk if I’d ever heard it, and it was coming out of my own brain. If I wasn’t standing in front of one of earth’s very own angels and wouldn’t be risking making a royal fool of myself, I’d kick my own ass. The vibration of my phone brought me back to reality, and thank God for Janine, saving my hide again with the woman’s name—although, as suspected, it wasn’t Melanie. Maybe this was all part of the role-play she was looking for tonight. Whatever the game, I’d play along. Anything for the chance to spend another night with her.

  “You must be Bailey?” I stepped in to offer my hand in introduction, but she backed away, holding her hand up in denial.

  “No, I’m sorry. You have the wrong person.” She turned and moved toward the bar to order a drink, and the disappointment and failure I felt took me right back to the moment Harrison told me about the damn Lagerfeld contract. Bastard.

  I took a seat a few spots down at the bar and ordered an iced tea. I had a strict policy of no drinking on hired dates for several reasons. I didn’t want to give the client the wrong impression; I definitely didn’t want to be accused of something and have a fuzzy recollection of what actually happened the next day; and I certainly didn’t want to have any sort of performance issues from too much alcohol if the date ended with a roll in the hay.

  A quick decision had me texting Janine again to see if I’d gotten a profile pic with this client’s application. She had started keeping physical files in her home office after the second week of the operation, seeing how successful things were becoming. When Skye had pointed out how my entrepreneurial endeavor could affect her career if discovered by the wrong person, I felt even better the records were being kept away from our condo.

  Janine’s responses were always quick, and she didn’t let me down, other than to say there wasn’t a picture in the file. She didn’t waste the opportunity to remind me all the files were scanned and available via Dropbox, which she had taken a great deal of time showing me how to access just that afternoon.

  Sometimes her implied “idiot” on the end of every comment rubbed me the wrong way. And maybe she didn’t really mean it that way when she said things, but it could easily be taken that way. Like…every time. Maybe it was my own insecurity getting the better of me, and it was my own fault for letting her get away with it in the first place. I made a mental note to have a sit-down with Janine in the morning and set some ground rules about who was working for whom.

  Regardless of what “Bailey” or “Melanie” or whatever name she was going by this evening had said, I still had the distinct feeling she was my date for the evening. And, for whatever reason, she wasn’t ready to kick off the party. So I figured I’d just sit back and wait her out. If she was having second thoughts, I’d let her go at her own pace. It definitely wasn’t a hardship to just sit and look at her, as most of the unattached men in the place were doing. What set me above the pack? The memories of what it felt like to be between those sexy legs. Or what her cries sounded like when she came, while I pounded into her over and over.

  And why did that raise every hair on the back of my neck? Pretty ridiculous to feel possessive of someone who already belonged to someone else and was out catting around on them with you, wasn’t it? But at least she’d returned for seconds. That was keeping hope alive.

  While we sat there nursing our drinks for the next half hour, we tried to be inconspicuous as we checked each other out. I had the pleasure of watching her turn down two other suitors who offered to buy her drinks, telling them that she was meeting someone else. My patience was running thin, though, watching her cross and uncross her legs in perfect ladylike manner. All the while, having ideas of very unladylike things I’d like to see her do with what was between those legs. As my cock swelled a bit more in my jeans, she chose that exact moment to swivel her barstool in my direction and give me the sexiest come-hither smile.

  Apparently, the cat-and-mouse games were over.

  Or just getting started, depending on what kind of games she really wanted to play tonight.

  “I’m starving,” she finally said when I got right up beside her.

  “Yeah, I feel that.” It felt like the temperature in the room had been turned up about fifteen degrees. “I made reservations. Hopefully they held them, because they were for forty-five minutes ago when we were supposed to first meet here.”

  “I changed them when I walked in. It shouldn’t be a problem.” She threw a ten-dollar bill on the bar top as a tip for the bartender and grabbed her small clutch purse before sliding off the stool. I held my hand out to assist her, and she placed her delicate fingers in mine. Energy surged through me the moment we touched. We both stopped and looked to our entwined hands and then to one another’s faces.

  “You felt that too?” I asked, having never felt energy like that before from just touching a woman’s hand.

  “Yes.” She looked back to our hands, almost confused.

  “You’re not like the others.” I knew I shouldn’t have said it out loud. I wanted to lash myself for letting it slip out, but it was too late to recall the words. And it was the truth. And if that made me lame or weak, well then, so be it. Something was unique about my body’s reaction to this woman. I didn’t even know her last name yet—hell, I wasn’t even sure what her first name really was—but I knew she was going to be very difficult to get out of my system.

  A fact I was already willing to bet my life on.

  Dinner was fantastic, the view of the city unobstructed by other buildings or even by weather. The heaters on the rooftop deck made it pleasant to be outside, even at the late hour, and we sat together on one side of the table to share the heat created by the miniature furnace. I made a mental note to tip the waiter extra for the setup, even if he didn’t realize the benefits I would reap from the layout.

  For the first time since I’d started Book Boyfriend Inc., the date was easy and natural. The book character was shed like a molted skin within the first ten minutes o
f our meal, and I talked about myself, my own modeling career, my childhood, and hopes for the future. I listened, completely enthralled, as she did the same. I found out her real name was Bailey, but she didn’t divulge her last name. She explained she had a husband in public office, which of course came as a shock but probably shouldn’t have.

  “Hey…” She reached over and held my hand. We’d been experimenting with physical contact throughout the meal. A stray hand that lingered, a taste of each other’s meal, an arm around a shoulder to keep warm. “What’s going on? What did I say? Your whole demeanor just shifted.”

  “You really don’t miss a trick, do you?” I smiled because it was meant as a compliment, and she understood that without me explaining. Meeting an intelligent woman on the current dating scene was like finding a four-leaf clover.

  “Tell me. You can tell me anything. I’m an open book. You’re an open book. That should be our deal.” She nodded emphatically as if her proclamation made it so.

  “I think that’s a good deal to have.” I couldn’t help but agree. I was so tired of the game playing in this town.

  “Pinky promise?” She offered her smallest finger for the traditional shake.

  “Yes!” We twined our pinky fingers together, and I tugged her closer and took the opportunity to kiss her after we shook fingers. The moment was too perfect not to. Her sweet lips yielded to mine instantly, which told me she wanted the kiss as much as I did. Even though it wasn’t overly crowded, I didn’t want to create a scene in the middle of the restaurant, so I lingered briefly and then pulled back. When she opened her eyes, she looked dazed and sated. Having that effect on her did great things for my ego.