Take A Number: A Fake Dating Romantic Comedy

by Amy Daws

  “Just because I slept with him back then doesn’t mean I want him now,” I snap, stomping my foot and clenching my own fists because Dean is acting like a jealous boyfriend. This entire fight is ridiculous because one, he’s not a real boyfriend, and two, there’s nothing to be jealous of. “You know I have no interest in being in a relationship and that’s clearly all Nate is interested in.”

  “Oh, that’s right. You’re not interested in any sort of real relationship because you’re going to leave this life behind for Paris, someday, right?”

  “Maybe,” I exclaim, feeling my own rage bubbling up inside me. This issue isn’t even about me. This is a cock-measuring competition and nothing more. Dean’s just mad Nate touched his toy first. “Why does any of this matter? I didn’t know we were supposed to share past hookups! If so, I’d love to hear more about buzz-cut Barbie back there. You sure like ’em young, huh, Dean? No wonder it was so easy for you to fake it with me. I’m nowhere near your type, so there was no chance of you catching any actual feelings.”

  “Lala isn’t my type…she was a mistake.”

  “Ya think?”

  His eyes snap to mine. “I don’t need to be judged by you right now. You apparently like douchebags with no table manners. I don’t know why you’re bothering with me when you so clearly want to give Douche Mower more of your cookies.”

  “Shut up. I do not want to give Nate any of my cookies.”

  “You flirt with him like you do. I’m surprised you didn’t ask him to take a number so he could be next in line after me.”

  “I was not flirting,” I exclaim and shove my hands through my hair. “I was caught up in memories, that’s it. My cookies have been well taken care of recently, so why the hell would I want to dip them in someone else’s milk?”

  The room goes silent as we both stare daggers at each other, and when my lips twitch, that’s all it takes, I burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of what I just said to Dean. He shakes his head and fights back his own smile.

  “Oh, my God.” I giggle, shaking my head and covering my cheeks. “If someone heard me yelling about giving someone my cookies, I’d never be able to show my face in Boulder ever again.”

  Dean’s face relaxes as he laughs along with me. “The dipping in milk part was especially inspired.”

  “I thought so.” I exhale all the tension away. “For a fake couple, we sure did a great job at having a real fight.”

  Dean’s smile falls, and he pins me with a look. It’s a dark, needy look that fits right in with the roller coaster of emotions we are experiencing. His Adam’s apple slides down his neck as he swallows and pushes himself off the counter. “We should probably fake make up then,” Dean says, his voice deep and husky as his eyes dip to my lips.

  “Seriously?” I reply with a huff, my arms folding and unfolding nervously in front of me.

  He slowly moves toward me and stops when he’s a foot away. Pushing a strand of my hair away from my face, he says, “The only thing that makes a good fight worth it is a good fuck afterward.”

  His words hit me right in the libido, and my insides squeeze with desire. “If you say so.”

  He tilts his head as his eyes rove hungrily over my face. “We can add it to your list of rules if you want.”

  Without another word, he dips his head and crushes my lips forcefully with his. It’s harsh and unapologetic, full of anger and passion and need and…something else. Something I can’t quite label.

  I wrap my hands around his neck and whimper into his mouth because I had no idea that fighting could be foreplay. I had no idea that beneath all our harsh words was a simmering of desperate desire and an urgency to connect on a more carnal level.

  Our tongues dance as we make our way toward my bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes behind us. Dean’s hands are rough on me, like he needs to touch me everywhere all at once and even then it’s not enough. The intensity is amazing. After all that frustration and miscommunication and confusion…this is the only thing that makes sense right now. He and I. Our bodies colliding.

  “Dean,” I cry out his name when we’re both naked, and he’s tossed me on top of my duvet.

  He finds his trousers in the doorway and pulls out a condom. He grunts impatiently as he rolls it on, his jaw taut with need. When he sees me lying there, naked with my chest heaving in anticipation, he shakes his head slowly, and says, “Fuck Norah, you’re so beautiful.”

  The intensity in his gaze has me swooning, but before I can reply, he comes over me, holds my wrists against the bed, and slams deep inside. No prep, no swipe, no glance to see if I’m ready. He just knew I was ready. And God, was I ever. I couldn’t have been more ready. The soaked panties that were tossed somewhere in the kitchen were proof I’d been ready for a while.

  What happens next isn’t a sweet, slow sexual encounter. Dean doesn’t take his time with my body and kiss every inch of it.

  We fuck. Hard. Fast. And loud. Very, very loud.

  Our foreheads press together as we climax at the same time, our gasps of release intermingling with one another. When our eyes connect, for a moment, a very brief moment, I let myself fantasize that Dean is my real boyfriend, and we had a real fight tonight. And what we just did was real makeup sex.

  Not fake.

  And the thing that makes all those fantasies feel like a reality…is the fact that Dean gets rid of his condom, crawls back into my bed, wraps my naked body in his arms, and kisses me softly before saying into my hair, “I’m sleeping here tonight…got a problem with that, sugar lips?”

  “Fine by me,” I croak into his chest and bite my lip nervously as our breaths synch with one another.

  He kisses my forehead and murmurs, “I’m sorry for getting upset tonight.”

  I quietly gasp and reply, “I’m sorry too.”

  He grunts a sound of approval, and in seconds, his breathing becomes deep and heavy as he falls asleep, still holding on to me, still breathing in my hair, still nuzzled into my cheek. It feels real. The fight, the makeup, the holding…it all feels real.

  That’s okay, right? Because it was Dean who said rules were meant to be broken.

  The morning light pours in through the bedroom’s frosted sliding doors, waking me way earlier than my body is ready for. When I come to, I’m spooning Norah like this is something I do on a regular basis.

  It’s not.

  In fact, I can’t remember the last time I spooned a woman, and now I’ve done it with Norah twice in only a week. Steeling myself, I press my nose into the back of her neck and inhale her sweet vanilla scent. It’s enough to get me hard if I wasn’t already sporting morning wood. I could so easily slip inside her right now, no condom, no barrier…just her flesh with mine. God, I bet she’d feel incredible bare. I wouldn’t have a chance at a twenty-minute dick without a condom.

  Fuck, I need to get control of my thoughts or I’m going to climax in her damn sheets. I gently pull my arm off Norah, careful not to wake her. It’s barely seven a.m. on a Sunday, which means it’s the one day Norah’s bakery is closed, and she gets to sleep in, so the last thing I want to do is fuck that up because I demanded to sleep over last night.

  Fuck.

  I make my way into her attached bathroom and relieve myself, trying to shake off this hangover. I barely had a sip of the drink I ordered last night, so this isn’t an alcohol hangover.

  It’s a Norah hangover.

  Last night was a lot. Too much. I was mentally prepared for Norah’s mom, but Douche Whacker coming in hot…I did not see that coming.

  Fucking Nate aka Captain Douchebag aka The Idiot still stupid enough to be bragging about the girl whose virginity he took when they were kids. Who fucking does that?

  I knew as soon as he shook my hand that this dinner wasn’t going to be about two friends catching up. He was letting Norah know straight up that he was available and interested. Fucking prick.

  Every time I tried to talk last night, he’d interrupt me with an insipid ‘N
orah, remember when’ story that wasn’t even interesting. I have better ‘Norah, remember when’ stories from only knowing her a few years than that idiot does from knowing her most of their lives. He’s fucking pathetic. He’s still living at home with his parents and trying to put the moves on a woman with a boyfriend…nice moves, bro.

  And that talk about Norah’s cookie. He was baiting me. No doubt about it. He wanted me to lose my temper in front of her parents so they wouldn’t approve of me. Then he can swoop in with his family connection and all their history and help Norah’s mother pick out the monogram for their bathroom towels.

  I played right into his hand too. I’m glad Norah got me out of there before I made too big of a fool of myself in front of her parents. None of this is real, but I actually like Norah’s dad. I don’t need him thinking I’m some idiot hot head who can’t keep my cool.

  Why couldn’t I keep my cool? God, the way Norah and I were fighting last night and how hard we made up afterward…it reminds me of something…

  My parents.

  Fuck.

  Chills crawl up my spine at that disturbing thought. When I glance at myself in the mirror, I hate what I see reflecting back at me:

  My father.

  I quietly step out of Norah’s bathroom, suddenly very anxious to get out of here. To get away from Norah, away from her bed, her smell, her presence.

  I pause at the foot of her bed, watching her for a moment as she sleeps. She looks so peaceful. And innocent. She looks young and trouble-free. She doesn’t deserve my mind-fuck thoughts right now.

  I quietly creep out of her bedroom and retrieve my clothes off the floor. It’s a trail all the way to the kitchen, but when I’m dressed, I know I can’t leave without saying something. I need to come up with an excuse.

  I search through the kitchen drawers and find a yellow legal pad. When I flip one page over, a familiar list comes into sight:

  NO PDA

  FRIENDSHIP HOLD

  NO STARING

  NO BOSSING

  NO BUSINESS TALK

  NO KISSING

  My how things have changed.

  We started off so innocently. Now, we’re having sex, holding hands every which way, and sleeping over. And hell, I never stopped the staring thing. Dammit, this is messy.

  I scrawl a note, telling Norah I had a tux fitting this morning, and I’ll call her later. As I drive back to my place, my mind races with thoughts. Thoughts about Norah and me together and if this is something I could see doing beyond this fake situation. Beyond Kate’s wedding. The idea makes me highly uncomfortable but the idea of all of this being over in less than a week isn’t much better.

  There was a reason I’d been dating women like Lala. They were easily dispensable. They didn’t have anything I was interested in long-term, so when it was over, I literally never thought about them again.

  But Norah…she’s…the perfect woman. Mature, natural, sweet-natured, motivated, genuine. A little anal-retentive and naïve, but that’s the icing on top. Plus, she’s the best sex I’ve ever had by a long shot. She’s too good for me. There’s a reason I don’t date women like Norah.

  As I pull into my garage, my phone rings in the passenger seat beside me, and I see it’s my mother calling. I haven’t talked to her in a few weeks, so I swipe to answer. “Hello?”

  “You’re up early,” my mom’s voice croaks through the phone line. “I was just going to leave you a message.”

  “Yeah…I…couldn’t sleep,” I murmur, running a hand through my hair.

  “Well, it’s nice to hear your voice. How are you?” she asks, and I hear the flick of her cigarette lighter in the background.

  “I’m good…are you on your way to work?”

  “Yep…gas stations do not close on Sundays no matter how badly I want them to.”

  “I suppose not.”

  She takes a long drag and asks, “How’s that little girlfriend I see you posting pictures of all over the internet?”

  “It was one picture, Mom.”

  “Whatever…she’s your girlfriend, though, right?”

  “Yes.”

  She huffs a knowing tone. “You must be hiding her from me.”

  “What?” I snap, irritation prickling my scalp. “I’m not hiding her from you. Why would you say that?”

  “Because I’ve never met a single one of your girlfriends.”

  “That’s because I never have any,” I reply flatly. The line goes quiet, and I can hear her sniffle. “Mom? What is it?”

  She clears her throat. “Nothing…I just…”

  “What?”

  “Well, I just hope you’re not too ashamed of me to introduce us someday,” she croaks and takes another drag.

  “Why would I be ashamed of you?”

  “Because I work at a gas station, and I don’t have some fancy job with a fancy office.”

  “Jesus Christ, Mom,” I growl and take my glasses off to scrub my eyes. It’s way too early for her fucking mind games. “I would never be ashamed of you.”

  “Well…I don’t make much money, and I don’t dress very well. And you know I’d be living in a dump if you weren’t paying my rent, so I’m sure you’re not excited to show some new girl off to the likes of me.”

  “I don’t care about any of that, Mom.” I clench my teeth while squeezing the wheel of the car. She always does this. She always throws herself a pity party and villainizes me.

  “Your father cares about that stuff,” she huffs incredulously. “And I hate to remind you, but you have his genetics.”

  My teeth crack at that remark because it gets thrown in my face a lot. “Mom, I have never hidden you from anyone because I’ve never gotten serious with anyone. This relationship stuff is all new to me.”

  “So, this girl must be special then. Which is why I feel hurt that you haven’t told me about her yet. What does she do? What’s she like? Who’s her family? You say you’re not like your father, but this is exactly what he would do. Hide me from his work friends and only take me out to places he wouldn’t know anybody.”

  “Mom, stop this,” I bark, my anger flaring up fast and furious. “You’re being ridiculous.”

  “And you’re mean just like him too.”

  “Mom, I am not mean,” I state, biting my tongue so I don’t lose my temper on her because it only makes things like this worse. “I’m telling you I’m not my father. Now, did you call for a reason or just to tell me what an awful person I am?”

  She sighs heavily. “My car needs new tires.”

  I shake my head and roll my eyes. “Fine. I’ll swap cars with you at work this week and take it into Tire Depot.”

  “Thanks, sweetie.” She releases a little laugh. “You’re a good kid, you know? I just don’t want your father’s genes to spoil you, that’s why I say these things. You be sure to treat that girl you’re with right, okay? Don’t screw with her mind like your dad did to me for years. If you’re not serious about her…you cut her loose before she winds up pregnant and brokenhearted like I did.”

  My eyes close as I exhale the vile words she just said to me. “Got it, Mom.”

  “Love is for suckers.”

  “So you keep telling me.”

  “You’ll take care of my tires?”

  “I’ll take care of your tires.”

  “Okay, love you.”

  “Love you too.” I hang up and sigh.

  Love is for suckers is probably tattooed on my mother somewhere. I know for damn sure it’s tattooed in my brain. I’ve heard it too many times for it not to be.

  Which is why Norah and I can never be more than what we are right now. I’m not good enough for her to be more than a fake boyfriend. Not now…not ever.

  “Is purple my color?” I call out to Rachael through the dressing room curtain.

  “How am I supposed to know if you won’t come out and let me see?” Rachael calls back, and I swear I hear her hiccup.

  “Enjoying that complimentary champag
ne?”

  “Yes!” She giggles. “You should take me shopping more often. I didn’t know this place existed.”

  “It’s just around the corner from our bakery.”

  “Well, I never come this way,” she replies with a laugh. “And if you won’t show me, maybe you should show Dean. Send him a little preview of what he’ll get to take off Saturday night.”

  “That’s actually not a bad idea.” I turn to give myself a good angle in the boutique mirror and take a quick pic of myself.

  Me: Is this dress fancy enough for the tire queen of Boulder’s wedding? You said it’s an outdoor reception, right?

  Dean: Yes, it’s outside. And that will work.

  I pause at his clipped reply.

  Me: Okay…that’s it? No flirty comeback? No dirty texts? I can keep shopping. Rachael is with me and she’s enjoying the free champagne more than Kate enjoys the free coffee at Tire Depot.

  Dean: The dress looks good. Go with it.

  Me: OK…

  I chew my lip nervously before sending another text.

  Me: You want to come over tonight? I’m sure there’s another movie out there I haven’t seen, and we could not watch it together.

  My text hangs in the universe, and I immediately wish I could take it back. Dean has been distant the past couple of days. He came into the bakery Monday morning like he usually does, but he had a client with him, so he didn’t flirt or do any of the fake boyfriend things he normally does. Now it’s Tuesday evening, and we have no plans to see each other, which is unusual. I’m trying not to read too much into it, but considering we went from seeing each other every night to a few short and sweet texts after he slept over Saturday night is causing a knot to form in my stomach.

  My heart leaps when my phone chimes back with his reply.

  Dean: Actually, I have to go out of town for a couple of days.

  Me: Oh, really? Where?

  Dean: My dad needs help with his house in Denver. A pipe burst in his bathroom, and I guess it’s a mess.

  Me: Oh, okay. When will you get back?