Take A Number: A Fake Dating Romantic Comedy

by Amy Daws

  “I know, but still. I have a hard rule about fooling around with someone when they’ve been drinking. What we did last night was not expected and not something I’d normally say yes to. So, I’m not proud.”

  I recoil at that last remark, and horrifyingly my eyes start to sting as his words evoke a shameful response deep inside of me. He’s not proud? Was what we did really that embarrassing for him? God, and I just confessed how much I enjoyed it. Holy shit, this is humiliating.

  Dean notices my mood change and his jaw drops in horror. “I didn’t mean it like that, Norah. I just meant…fuck.”

  I stand from my seat, desperate to get away from his watchful eyes when suddenly, his warm hand snakes around my elbow and he pulls me back to him, yanking me onto his lap. He cups my cheek and pushes stray hairs out of my face as I attempt to plaster on a cool expression.

  “I didn’t mean that the way it came out.”

  “It’s fine,” I reply stiffly, my posture ramrod straight in his arms as I look away and take in a cleansing breath.

  “It’s not fine.” He turns my face back to him, rubbing his thumb along my cheekbone that has a hot tear streak running down. He struggles with what to say next before finally offering, “That comment goes back to my parents. It has nothing to do with you and what we did. What we did was hot. And I’m glad we did it, but only because you are too. No regrets, right?”

  He stares into my eyes with worry, like he’s still not convinced what we did was wrong. But it’s not what we did that he’s worried about. It’s how I feel about it now, in the light of day that has him so freaked out.

  “I already said I don’t regret it, Dean,” I reply, relaxing into his lap and touching the frown line between his eyebrows. “What’s your deal? Why are you so worried? What does this have to do with your parents?”

  Dean grimaces like he doesn’t want to talk about this but then sighs when I continue watching him expectantly. He releases my cheek and sits back and takes a long sip of his beer before he finally cracks. “They used to get drunk and fight all the time in front of me. I was just a kid but I can vividly remember them coming home late and screaming horrible things at each other, about each other. They even said horrible things about me.”

  “Like what?” I ask, my eyes fixed on Dean as he appears to be struggling with this truth. “What would they say about you?”

  “The biggest highlight my dad used to say was that my mom got pregnant to trap him because he came from money and she should have had the abortion like he wanted. He screamed it at her like he didn’t know I was in the house. But I was always in the house. And it was bad enough they fought like that…but then I’d have to listen to them”—he swallows and I watch his Adam’s apple slide up and down his neck—“make up. It was fucked up. I couldn’t believe they’d want to be intimate with each other after saying those horrible things. But they were so drunk, I don’t think they knew what they were saying or doing.”

  “Jesus, Dean,” I croak because I don’t know what else to say. “That’s awful.”

  “Yeah, it was…and it’s why I don’t mess around with girls if they’re drunk. I saw how hollow and depressed my mom was the day after their fights…like she couldn’t look herself in the mirror. It killed me. Even if she was a consenting adult, those nights completely trashed her confidence. She still dates fucking assholes like my dad. She’s a magnet for them, I swear.”

  My heart clenches at Dean’s tough words about his parents. He hinted at their dysfunction at my parents’ party, but I didn’t imagine it to be this bad. My parents were always the type to argue in hushed whispers and even then, my dad would usually end up giving in to my mom and it would be over. Screaming at each other isn’t something I can picture.

  Honestly, hearing about Dean’s parents makes me feel guilty for complaining to him about mine. How did he even give me the time of day with this fake-dating scheme? How did he not laugh in my face and call me a spoiled brat who doesn’t know what real problems are?

  “Do you have much of a relationship with your parents now?” I ask, hoping things have improved since they divorced.

  “Yeah, we’re okay.” He shrugs. “We used to be closer when my grandpa was still around. My dad’s dad kind of forced us all to have these family dinners on Friday nights even though my parents had split up. I think it was his way of making sure my parents were getting along in front of me. But he passed away when I was eighteen and now I pretty much only see my parents for holidays and odd dinners…separately, of course, which is better.”

  I chew the inside of my cheek. “That’s kind of sad.”

  He wrinkles his nose. “It’s fine…I’m only telling you all this so you understand that last night…that was me losing control. That’s never happened to me before with a woman. So, if I’ve been quiet with you today, it’s because I liked what we did last night, but I feel guilty. I don’t want you to feel like I took advantage of the situation. And I really don’t want Rachael to burn down my house,” he deadpans and I can’t help but laugh.

  I cup his bearded jaw in my hand and pin him with a serious look. “I promise I was of sound mind and body and I genuinely enjoyed last night.”

  “Thank fuck for that.” After a sigh of relief, a smirk toys at the edge of his lips as he stares at my mouth. “Because watching you last night was probably one of the sexiest things I’ve witnessed, and I watch a lot of porn.”

  My lips part in shock and I cover my cheeks to hide the blush that weird compliment elicits. He can’t be serious, right? Dean has slept with a lot of girls…probably more than I want to know. How is it possible that what we did last night could rank that high?

  I stare at him, looking for any glimpse that he’s teasing me but he’s gazing back at me with wide, fierce eyes that don’t seem to be hiding anything. Maybe I’m naïve but, I believe what he’s saying. And I’m highly mortified for being flattered.

  “It’s kind of hard to believe it was all my idea,” I croak, pulling my hands down from my cheeks and owning my shame.

  “You’re telling me,” he barks out a laugh and squeezes my leg before leaning in to speak in hushed tones. “I haven’t been able to stop replaying the image of you with that pink vibrator all fucking day and these damn bicycle shorts hide nothing.”

  I bite my lip and glance at his lap in awe. God, this is so crazy. It’s madness. It’s entirely unlike me to hook up with a mountain manwhore on a couples’ trip to Aspen and then want to keep hooking up with him.

  But I can’t help it.

  I feel this insane sense of power over making a gorgeous, crazy-confident man like Dean lose control of himself in public. Maybe it’s because I haven’t had sex in ages, maybe it’s because my stress level is through the roof and this weekend off is what I’ve needed to get some clarity, but…I’m not done with Dean.

  I’m far from done with Dean.

  This thing we’re doing here…it needs to continue.

  I shoot him a smile and take a deep breath before saying the words I won’t be able to take back. “Well then, why are we still on this stupid mountain when there are loads of other things we could be doing?”

  Dean quirks a brow and returns my smile, dazzling me with his handsomeness as he slides his hand up under my shirt, and teases my lower back. “I want to be clear here. Does this mean we’re officially fuck buddies?”

  “Yes,” I reply with a crisp nod and move off his lap, glancing at his groin as he leans forward to cover himself.

  “With no strings?” he adds pointedly while gazing at me.

  “No strings.” I prop my hands on my hips and hit him with a look. “This is just a small addendum to our business transaction.”

  “Not everything is business, Norah.” He chuckles softly and stands, holding his jacket in front of him. “And there’s nothing small about what’s happening inside my shorts.”

  I bite my lip and smile. “We both know what we want and don’t want, which is a relationship, so we ca
n totally handle this fake sexing arrangement.”

  Dean shakes his head. “You’re really trying to make that a thing, aren’t you?”

  I agree proudly. “Friends with benefits and fuck buddies are so overused. Fake sexing…it has originality to it. Pizazz,” I add, dancing my fingers between us.

  “Like a croinut,” he offers with a wink that makes my smile grow.

  “Maybe even better than a croinut.”

  You know that feeling when you have a boner all afternoon and you have to tuck it up into the waistband of your bike shorts to hide it from the world?

  No?

  I didn’t either…until Norah and I reached the bottom of the mountain…and ran into my fucking friends.

  Devastation, travesty. Pain!

  Horrible, awful, indescribable pain is what my body suffers the entire happy hour nonsense we are forced to sit through with Kate and everyone else. They all look totally chill like they’re on vacation without a care in the world.

  I, on the other hand, have a very big care in the world: my fucking lap rocket that won’t go down.

  It must be the damsel in distress look Norah currently rocks that makes all the blood rush to my cock because I can’t stop staring at her as she visits with the girls. Her cheeks are pink from being out in the sun, and her blond hair is frizzy as it sticks out from under her Boston bandana. I love her assortment of grunge rock headwear. It’s a sexy contrast to her angelic features, and it’s completely original. Norah could be a generic cute little blond I’d hit on at any given bar, but she’s more than that. She wears giant, unflattering baker’s shirts and classic rock bandanas. She’s rarely aware of what’s going on in a room because she’s usually in her head analyzing something. And when she’s not analyzing something, her thoughts are laser-focused on her work and her to-do list.

  I’m going to have a blast forcing her to let go these next couple of weeks.

  The sun is beginning to set by the time we leave the mountain, and I sense the nerves in Norah’s body language. She’s like a coiled spring preparing to snap, and I want to be there when she finally releases all that pent-up tension.

  By the time we reach the house, I can barely keep my hands off her. We’re moving down the hallway straight for our bedroom when Kate’s voice calls out behind us.

  “Norah, come outside! We have ladies here to do manis and pedis.”

  Norah’s eyes widen as she turns and glances at my situation. “I kind of need to shower,” she replies weakly over my shoulder.

  “Shower after,” Kate yells back. “Come on.”

  She offers me a sympathetic shrug. “I do need my toes done.”

  I groan and fall against the hallway wall. “You’re fucking killing me, boss.”

  She smiles coyly. “Just think of it as foreplay.”

  “Isn’t that what we did last night?”

  “Nah, that was just good ole masturbation.” She stands on her tiptoes and kisses me on the cheek before whispering, “This will make tonight that much more fun.”

  She takes off to meet the girls, and I make my way into our en suite to take an ice-cold shower and try not to think about how much better this would be if Norah was with me. I stare at my strained cock that doesn’t want to limp away and offer it a quick apology.

  Fucking hell, what is with me? The suspense of tonight has me hornier than a teenager who’s discovered Pornhub for the first time, which makes no sense because I’ve had a lot of sex. I’ve fucked plenty of women. Why does Norah have me so keyed up?

  Maybe Kate and Lynsey were right, and those girls I was picking up at the bars bored me. I certainly never popped boners in public for any of them.

  Or maybe the stakes are higher because I dropped a crazy truth bomb on her at that mountainside brewery, and that’s so unlike me. Talking about my parents is not something I do. Ever. Kate and Lynsey don’t even know as much as Norah does.

  My parents are a subject I avoid because the relationship I have with them is strained at best. My dad moved to Denver for work years ago and is with a new woman every six months, and my mom still asks me constantly who my dad is seeing. It’s exhausting. One would have thought a divorce would make it possible for them to move on, but they both seem stuck in an endless loop of dysfunction.

  Yet another reason I never want to get serious with anyone. Getting serious means you’re permanently fucked in the head. And who wants that baggage? Honestly, my situation with Norah is a win-win. I get to have repeat sex with someone I genuinely like, and we both get to go our separate ways when this is over. It’s the perfect situation for me.

  I finish showering and dress for what Kate referred to as “game night” tonight. I have no clue what the hell game night will be, but knowing Kate, it won’t be fucking Monopoly.

  Oh my poor, poor ass, I cry to myself as I slowly walk down the hallway to join everyone. The pain wasn’t bad when I got my pedicure. It wasn’t horrible when I took my shower. But when I started to apply my makeup and put on my burgundy sweater dress and thigh-high, nude suede boots, my ass felt like it had been the victim of a wicked tumble down some stairs.

  I find everyone in the large living room. A wood fire is crackling, and a giant charcuterie spread, complete with champagne, is on the coffee table. Dean smiles as I approach, gesturing for me to sit beside him on the couch. He is seriously hot in his jeans and dark green shirt, but my attention is distracted when I have to sit beside him…on my poor, poor ass.

  Gritting my teeth, I gently lower myself next to him, and he instantly wraps his arm around me, drenching me in his spicy cologne. “You look gorgeous, sugar butt.”

  “Don’t say butt,” I croak, my voice catching in my throat as I lean back on his arm and try not to cry.

  “Why not?” He frowns and adjusts his glasses as he looks me up and down curiously.

  I rub my lips together slowly and stare forward with my hands splayed out on my thighs. “My ass feels like it was whipped by my KitchenAid mixer on high, and I’m suddenly very sorry for my croinut dough.” Dean trembles beside me, and I look over to see he’s laughing. “Don’t laugh, you asshole!”

  “I can’t help it!”

  “This is your fault!” I exclaim and shove him in the chest. “You could have told me to buy some stupid butt-pad shorts.”

  “We didn’t ride that long,” he replies, failing miserably to hide his amusement. “I didn’t think you’d get saddle sore from one downhill ride.”

  “I’m going to kill you,” I grumble and cross my arms over my chest. I attempt to cross my legs but wince when a shooting pain bolts up my left ass cheek.

  “It’s really that bad?”

  “Yes,” I pout.

  He tightens his grip around me as his other hand reaches over to caress my bare thigh. “I’ll just have to take your mind off it then.”

  Butterflies.

  Glorious, delicious, wispy butterflies take flight in my belly, effectively erasing my ass pain.

  Dean’s smiling eyes sparkle and lock on my lips as he leans in closer. His shirt brings out the little flecks of green in them I’ve never noticed before.

  “Would it help if I rub your ass later?”

  “Only if you do it with IcyHot,” I murmur and then smile when he laughs again. I’m seriously enjoying the image of a laughing Dean. It could get addictive.

  His hand moves up my thigh, and I gasp, anticipating his higher touch later. I tilt my head, hoping he’s going to kiss me because that would definitely help with the pain.

  “What’s up, party people?” Kate’s voice chimes in, tearing my focus away from Dean’s very soft lips. Kate’s standing in front of the fire looking adorable in a little red dress with her curly red hair wild around her shoulders. She clutches several envelopes in her hand and asks, “Who’s ready for game night?”

  Everyone groans, and she scowls at us before continuing. “Okay, so, as some of you know, I’m launching this new swingers book series, and it’s all going to be b
ased on the swinger lifestyle. I’m still learning a lot, but I have this idea to open a club in my series that’s based around a Swinger Scavenger Hunt where couples have to participate in the game before they get busy. This is why I needed you all to bring a date this weekend.”

  Everyone looks around nervously, clearly worried that this trip is turning into something none of us prepared for.

  “Relax, you freaks. No one here is swinging.”

  “Fucking right, we’re not,” Miles states seriously and hits Kate with a possessive look that leaves no room for interpretation.

  Kate winks at him, clearly not the least bit put off by his alpha male moment. “This is just a fun scavenger hunt that you’ll do with your partner…it’s a little sexy…so you could call it foreplay maybe, but hey, what you all do after the game is completely up to you.” She hits Max with a guilty look. “You have a cleaning crew, right Max?”

  Max’s jaw drops. “Yes…why?”

  “No reason!” Kate chimes brightly and then continues. “Okay, so…rumor is, in the 70s, swingers used to display gnomes on their front lawns to indicate they were open for swinging to their neighbors. Fun, right? What we all thought of as Grandma’s innocent little lawn decoration can actually be a sign of fluid sexers! Ha! Okay…so, every couple will get a custom scavenger hunt sheet. You need to read the clues, collect your gnomes, complete each gnome challenge, and report back here. I’ve staggered and altered all the clues so none of you can follow each other and cheat. And since Norah and Dean didn’t complete the trail today, we decided to shift that big prize Lynsey teased earlier for this challenge. Which means, the first couple to find their five gnomes, wins.”

  “It’s a couples’ massage back in Boulder,” Lynsey blurts out excitedly and turns to look at her husband, Josh. “I shouldn’t win because I organized the prize, but screw it, we have a one-year-old, and we need this, right babe?”

  Josh laughs. “Whatever you say, Jones.”

  Everyone breaks, and I turn serious eyes to Dean. “I don’t have a one-year-old, but I have an ass that feels like it was Mike Tyson’s punching bag, so I need that massage, Dean.”