Take A Number: A Fake Dating Romantic Comedy

by Amy Daws

  “Where she goes, I go,” Dean says, taking my hand again to give it a squeeze.

  “You’re the ole ball and chain in this relationship, huh?”

  Dean presses his lips together and opens his mouth to reply, but a waitress appears just in the nick of time. “I see we have some newcomers here now. Can I get you guys some drinks?” She glances from her notepad, and her eyes go wide. “Dean?”

  My head snaps from the waitress to Dean, whose eyes are equally wide. “Lala.”

  “What are you doing here?” she asks, rubbing her outlined lips together as she shoves her pad and paper into the black apron around her waist. I take a second to quickly look her up and down. Whoever this girl is, she’s extremely young. I’d be surprised if she was over twenty. She’s gorgeous, though. Petite with a unique super-short buzzed haircut. How does she know Dean?

  Dean shifts uncomfortably, dropping my hand to adjust his glasses. “I’m…out to eat, I guess. I didn’t know you worked here.”

  “New job,” she says with a lift of her shoulders. “I had to quit my job at the salon after I burned my hair at Lynsey’s tiki bar. They didn’t really want a haircut like this at their front desk.”

  “I see.” Dean glances nervously at me. “Well, it was nice to see you again.”

  His dismissive tone doesn’t go over very well, and she turns her emerald laser eyes on me. “Who are you?”

  “Um…I’m Norah,” I reply stiffly and feel my mouth going dry for some ridiculous reason. “I’m sorry, did you say you burned your hair at Lynsey’s tiki bar? Dean’s friend, Lynsey?”

  “Drinks,” Dean says with a forced smile and stands from his seat. “I’ll go to the bar. I feel like going to the bar. What can I get you, pal?”

  Nate furrows his brow at Dean and points at the waitress before Dean snaps his finger. “You look like a whiskey guy. Norah, I know what you like. We’ll be right back.”

  Dean moves behind me and wraps his arm around Lala before ushering her away from the table. She looks confused and glances back at us over her shoulder as Dean hurries her away from us.

  “Does that girl have cancer?” Carol asks Nate.

  “I think she said she burned her hair.” Nate looks at me curiously. “Do you know, Norah?”

  My mother’s eyes bore in on me so I sit up and smile. “What are you all going to order? I’m starving!”

  I open my menu and pretend to study it as I watch Dean stand at the bar with Lala. They’re speaking close together in hushed tones, and the way he places his hand on her shoulder makes me feel like they are more than just acquaintances.

  Jealousy spikes hard and fast in my belly, and I hate myself for it. This is all fake. None of what Dean and I have is real. So why would it bother me if this is a girl Dean used to date?

  Dean returns to the table and avoids eye contact with me as he opens his menu. A second later, a different waiter comes over with our drinks and sets about taking everyone’s food orders. When he’s gone, I take a sip of my wine and open my mouth to say something to Dean when Nate interrupts.

  “Norah, do you remember how I used to sneak into your house all the time when we were teenagers?”

  “What?” my mother mock gasps and presses her hand to her chest. “You didn’t! I would have known.”

  “It was stupid,” I mutter around my glass and wave my mother off. “We didn’t do anything wild or crazy. We just watched movies and ate way too many cookies.”

  Nate laughs freely. “Yes, sneaking into your house was pretty much our only form of entertainment for years. There were a few exciting nights when you would come downstairs, Elaine. We would hear you coming, and I’d hide in the furnace room.”

  “I can’t believe this!” my mom chants dramatically. “Jeffrey, did you have any idea this was going on?”

  “Not a clue,” Dad says with a laugh and takes a sip of the amber liquid in his rocks glass. “Jim, your son was clearly out of control.”

  “Oh yes,” Jim says with a scoff. “I was highly worried about him and his bad-boy ways…especially with that French horn he wouldn’t go anywhere without.”

  Carol interjects on her son’s behalf. “That French horn got our son a music scholarship, thank you very much.” She pats Nate’s arm affectionally, and Nate rolls his eyes and shoots me a wink.

  “You played French horn in college?” Dean asks, leaning over to drape his arm on the back of my chair. This is the first time he’s said a word since ushering that girl away, and I’m watching his every move like a hawk.

  “For the first two years,” Nate replies sheepishly. “I realized it wasn’t exactly helping me with the ladies so I quit and spent time at the campus gym instead.”

  “You look incredible,” my mother says, eyeing him appreciatively as she swirls her wine. The entire act annoys the shit out of me because she’s barely looked at Dean this entire evening. “What kind of workout regime do you do? I’m looking to change mine up a bit. My aqua aerobics isn’t challenging me enough.”

  “I do a lot of boot camps,” Nate says with a nod and puffs his chest out a bit. “Kickboxing, taekwondo. Extreme weight lifting. Anything with a little rough contact…I’m into it.” He smiles at me again, and I swear he flexes his arm in his dress shirt. “How about you, Norah? Do you like a little rough contact?”

  My cheeks flame with how awkward that question is. I dab at my upper lip and murmur, “Um…I give my croinut dough a good beating some days, I guess.”

  Nate laughs a little too loudly and shakes his head admirably. “Still adorable as ever.”

  “I’m a runner,” Dean interjects, tilting his head and eyeing Nate with a look that doesn’t seem all that friendly. “I like my life so I don’t feel the need to take out any aggression on inanimate objects.”

  My lips part in surprise at the obvious challenge in Dean’s tone to Nate. What is he trying to do right now?

  “Who says they’re inanimate?” Nate waggles his brows suggestively and I can’t help but frown because…ew, it has a sexual assault tone to it. “Oh man, that reminds me…Norah, do you remember when we were kids and we tried to leapfrog over those electrical boxes on the side of the road and I biffed it and landed on my chest?”

  I can’t help but burst out laughing because the image of Nate eating shit explodes in my mind. “Oh my God, I had totally forgotten about that! You couldn’t catch your breath and I nearly peed my pants from laughing so hard.”

  Nate and I both keel over laughing, and my mother’s scolding voice echoes in my ear, “Norah! That doesn’t sound funny at all. That sounds dangerous. What were you two doing near electrical boxes?”

  “I don’t know,” I reply with a laugh and a shrug. “We were dumb kids, I guess. And man, that day must have given me brain damage because I always laugh when people get hurt. It’s so messed up.”

  “Probably why we were so close,” Nate replies, draping his arm over the back of my chair on the other side. “I was always hurting myself. I was such a klutz.”

  “Well.” I pat him playfully on the arm. “You clearly grew into your own skin. I bet you could clear that electric box easily now.”

  “We should try it out later.”

  “In this dress and heels? I’ll be the one eating dirt this time!”

  Nate and I continue laughing for a moment and I glance over at Dean who looks decidedly annoyed. Maybe it was one of those stories where you had to be there?

  “Nathaniel, have you found a place to live yet?” my mom chimes in just as the food is placed in front of us.

  “I’m afraid not. There are not a lot of options in the higher price-point I’m looking for.”

  “What a pity,” Mom replies. “You should talk to Dan Scott, he has some beautiful properties and some very affluent clients.”

  While they begin discussing Dan Scott’s properties, I nudge Dean and pull his gaze away from his steak. “You okay?”

  He furrows his brow and digs into his food. “Yeah, why wouldn’
t I be?”

  “I don’t know, you seem tense.”

  “I’m fine,” he clips back coolly.

  I take a quick bite and ask quietly, “Who was that earlier?”

  “Who was who?” he asks, still avoiding eye contact with me.

  My brows lift. “The uh, waitress girl.” I keep my voice low so the others can’t hear us.

  Dean purses his lips and shakes his head. “Just someone I used to know.”

  “Used to know?” I ask, leaning in to gain his eye contact. “As in biblically?”

  Dean’s face sours as he turns to look down the table to see if anyone is listening. “Norah, this isn’t the place.”

  I pause because his lack of an answer is an answer. I can’t help but ask, “How old is she?”

  Dean hits me with a warning look. “It doesn’t matter. Why are we talking about this?”

  “Just curious,” I reply and rub my lips together. “I didn’t know that was your type. Did she graduate from high school yet?” My voice edges louder.

  “Stop,” Dean snaps, and we lock eyes for a long, heated moment that’s heavy and charged with sexual energy, wildly confusing me.

  Nate clears his throat, and I see he’s watching our entire exchange with rapt fascination. “Everything okay here?”

  Dean hits him with a glower. “Everything is fine, Nate.” Dean’s tone is sharp on the T as it echoes out over the table. “Better focus on your own plate there…ours are plenty full.”

  Nate’s blue eyes narrow, and he glances over to me with a strange twinkle in his eye. “Norah, remember the time you gave me your first cookie?”

  My brow furrows. “My first cookie? What do you mean? I’m pretty sure my parents were my cookie guinea pigs for years before I ever made outsiders sample anything.”

  Nate laughs smugly. “No…this cookie was an extra special one. It was really late at night, the summer before we were both going to leave for college. And you told me you didn’t want to go to college without having this particular cookie tested?”

  Pins and needles. My entire body erupts into pins and needles as realization dawns.

  I take a sharp breath and glance over at Dean, who seems like he’s picked up on the analogy as well. I glance at my mother and Carol who are deep into a gossip session, thank God, and my father and Jim are too deep into their whiskeys to care what we’re talking about at the other end of the table.

  I force my hands to stop trembling as I turn my eyes to Nate. “I’d rather not talk about that particular recipe, Nate. This surely isn’t the time nor place. In fact, I don’t think there’s ever a time and place we need to talk about that cookie.”

  “Oh c’mon, Norah.” Nate huffs out a laugh and reaches out to hold my hand. Although, he doesn’t just hold it, he twines his fingers between mine in an intimate waffle hold. “It was a good cookie. And it was special. It means a lot to me that you—”

  “That’s enough,” Dean says, leaning across the table to wrench my hand from his. He glowers menacingly at Nate. “One more word and you and I are going outside.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Nate says, holding his hands back defensively. “We’re just talking about cookies, man. Norah’s a baker. This is what she’s passionate about. I’m surprised you don’t know more about her passions.”

  Dean flattens his hands on the table and eyes Nate fiercely. “I know a hell of a lot more than you ever could about the woman sitting between us. So just quit with the walk down memory lane, okay? You’re coming off a bit desperate, and you’re probably making your French horn jealous.”

  “I think going outside sounds like a great idea.” Nate’s nostrils flare as his hands turn to fists on the table.

  Dean’s chair scrapes against the floor, and I quickly stand and wrap my arm around his. “Bakery emergency! I’m so sorry, but we have to go!”

  “What?” my mom tuts, completely oblivious to the showdown these two are in the middle of. “What kind of emergency could happen at a bakery?”

  I flop my hands out wildly. “A small fire. It’s out, everything’s okay…but I need to check the damage.”

  “Oh no, Norah,” my dad exclaims, concern etching his features. “Maybe I should come with you.”

  “No, Dad,” I say, holding my hand up. “Please, finish your dinner. It’s a small fire that’s already been put out.” I pin Nate with a look that cannot be misinterpreted and then squeeze Dean’s arm tightly again for good measure. “And I have Dean, so I’ll be just fine.”

  “Are you sure?” he asks, looking uneasy.

  “I’m sure. Thank you for dinner. Sorry we have to run.” Dean’s body is as stiff as a board as I attempt to pull him away from a smug grinning Nate who, up until this moment, I thought was a decent guy—an old friend I have genuine memories with. But what kind of person brings up taking a girl’s virginity in front of her boyfriend and parents at a restaurant? God, what a pig!

  When we step outside, Dean yanks his arm out of my hands and stomps to the car, leaving me behind in the cold wind. My heels clack against the pavement as I try to catch up. When I reach his car, he’s holding the passenger door open for me to get in, and without a word, I tuck myself in, anxiety bubbling all the way up my throat.

  The moment he slips behind the wheel, I rush out, “Dean, I’m—”

  He holds his finger up. “Not now.”

  I frown, disarmed. I’ve never seen Dean upset. Not even with his friends or anyone. He’s usually Mr. Happy and Chill and Trouble-Free. I sit quietly as he pulls out of his parking stall and makes his way to my apartment. I assume he’s going to shove me out of the car while it’s still moving, but he doesn’t. He parks, gets out, opens my door, and follows me all the way into my apartment.

  We walk into my kitchen, and he helps himself to a bottle of water in the fridge, his jaw muscle ticking angrily as he leans against my kitchen counter, still fuming like he was at the restaurant.

  I take off my jacket and lean against the counter opposite him. My voice is quiet when I say, “Hey so…fight’s over now. I think you won.”

  “Fuck that guy,” Dean growls, shoving a hand through his hair. “Fuck him and fuck his French horn.”

  My brows lift as I huff out a little laugh. “Jeez, what’d his French horn ever do to you?”

  “This isn’t funny, Norah,” Dean snaps, shooting fiery eyes at me. “He was talking about taking your virginity in that restaurant, wasn’t he? All that bullshit about tasting your cookie before college? I’m pretty good at reading subtext, so I knew exactly what he was saying.”

  My face flushes with embarrassment. “Yes. I have no clue why he brought it up. That was so weird.”

  “You gave it to that douchebag?” Dean seethes, pointing at the door like Nate is on the other side of it. “Why him? Of all fucking people?”

  “I was young?”

  “And drunk?”

  “No, I wasn’t drunk,” I snap back. “I was seventeen, and he was going away to college in California. I was getting ready to start culinary school, and I felt weird that I hadn’t had sex yet. Neither of us had…it wasn’t about a connection or a relationship. I didn’t have feelings for him. It was just something I wanted to do.”

  Dean licks his lips and shakes his head. “It was a box you needed to check off one of your precious lists, wasn’t it?”

  Anger spikes in my belly. “Don’t mock me. I was a kid, and I had sex…that’s it. I didn’t know he was going to bring it up over a decade later in front of a judgmental dick like you.”

  Dean shoves himself off the counter and paces in front of me, squeezing the half-empty water bottle in his hands like it’s Nate’s neck. “I should have waited out in the parking lot for him to come out so I could kick his ass.”

  “And hit inanimate objects like Nate?” I reply with a laugh, trying and failing to lighten the mood. “Dean, you don’t need to kick his ass.”

  “The hell I don’t,” he snaps, turning on his heel to pin me with wide,
wild eyes. “It was bad enough he threw it in your face, but he has some fucking nerve talking about that in front of me. You and I are together. I’m your goddamned boyfriend!”

  “Fake.”

  “What?”

  “Fake boyfriend,” I correct softly, watching him deflate a bit as his face twists in a strange swirl of anger and confusion. I step forward to elaborate. “Meaning this is all fake, so you shouldn’t care what some guy says about me.”

  “I don’t have it in me not to fucking care…” Dean sets the water bottle down on the counter, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Why the fuck wouldn’t I care? I’m sleeping with you. You’re my friend. I care about you. I should have keyed that fucker’s car. I bet it was that pretentious Bentley I saw in the parking lot. You should give me his parents’ address. A thirty-year-old man still living at home with Mom and Dad deserves to have his car fucked with.”

  “Dean, you’re hardly one to talk. You drive a Range Rover.” I huff out a soft laugh and walk over to him, pressing my hands to his chest that’s still tense with rage. He looks away from me, his jaw muscle ticking as he takes his glasses off and pinches the bridge of his nose. I cup his whiskered jaw and make him look at me. “Look, I appreciate the friendly offer of vandalism, but I don’t care about any of this. Nate is…Nate. He was always kind of awkward when we were kids.”

  Dean tilts his head and narrows his eyes at me. “Clearly not too awkward for you to let him fuck you. You must have been desperate back then.”

  “Ouch,” I croak, pulling myself away from him like I’ve been burned. “That was harsh.”

  Dean cringes at my shift in mood. “Look, I’m sorry, but this whole night was bullshit, Norah. I was blindsided back there.”

  “By what?”

  “You could have told me you slept with him.”

  “So what if I slept with him?” I bark, crossing my arms over my chest. “What difference does it make?”

  “I’m playing the part of your boyfriend to keep you away from a guy your mom thinks is perfect for you because you told me you don’t want to be with him. But in fact, you have been with him. Biblically!” he mocks, throwing my earlier word back in my face. “I’m trying to figure out what the hell you needed me for.”