by Tyla Walker
"You see why I'm smitten?" I pinch her cheek for revenge.
They love us. And that's what matters. The reporters continue to bombard us with questions, and we answer them with vague but believable answers. The two of us will keep things PG as well, holding hands, snuggling, but no kisses yet.
When they ask for it, I tell them that those things are private, and they eat it like wolves; I did not think the media will be hungry for these kinds of stuff.
When the press conference is finally over, my pretend fiancé goes to me and says in a soft voice, "Excuse me. I have to go shower now."
Well, that doesn't match her approach at all. There are just two of us now, and I can feel her inner hulk coming out as she starts walking away.
"Wow, tell me how you really feel," I say to her with a goofy smile.
"I don't think that your huge ego can handle it."
She really is amusing. I have to laugh it out. She doesn't play, and she doesn't pretend. I like that about her. LaDasia slowly disappears from my view and I wait a little longer before I take out my phone. There are like over fifty missed calls and messages on my phone from different women. Some I recognize since I've seen them this week.
At least, I think that's them. I have like 5 Sasha's and 14 Kelly's in here! JUST HOW MANY AM I HAVING SEX WITH? I'm beginning to see what my coach and agent are talking about.
I just browse the messages real quick. Almost all of it is asking if the engagement is real. No, but you girls won't have to know that. I close the messages and go online to see how the media is doing with my announcement.
Okay, so far, so good. Most of the fans are actually rooting for me. Of course, there are bitter fans, some are already bashing at LaDasia. She will not like to read these ones. The team likes her at least, not that they ever know I'm seriously dating anyone, even if this one is fake. Oh look, one of them says that it's about time I become serious.
HAH, you have no idea.
I close my phone and leave the venue since the lights are turning off. My fake wife-to-be is most likely home by now. Not unless she's at the deli working.
What about me? What does Weston have for himself?
I'm driving my car when I get a call from a girl named Delilah. She says she has a pre-wedding gift for me and gives me an address and a time to meet. Knowing the girls I give my contacts to, this gift will most likely be her gorgeous body wrap in a lovely ribbon or something.
Delilah doesn't even wait for me to respond as she ends the call. I bit my lower lip, a stupid mannerism I have when I overthink.
I pull over at the strip mall where I can see LaDasia still in the deli. Then I contemplate what I shall do. LaDasia and I aren't real, so…
I'm wearing this stupid grin on my face as I drive away to the address Delilah sent me.
Four
LaDasia
It’s not every day that I see myself in social media being talked about like the famous people I only know, I watch them on movies and TV shows. Seeing my face on the internet is something as well, and I’m not even sure how to feel about it. One thing is that I actually look nice in the photos taken at the press conference.
Maybe Weston made sure we only have the best media coverage around, and that’s why these pictures turned out pretty great. I didn’t think I’m ever this photogenic. Maybe it’s photoshopped. My eyes scroll up at an article that instantly catches my eyes.
“Playboy baller finally puts his old ways behind him, huh?” I read out loud the title as I click the post. The article blog post talks about Weston Frasier’s life as a womanizer who sleeps around like it’s his mission to fuck all these women who present their asses, titties, and pussies to him. And that for him to save the world, he has to stick it in them.
In the last two paragraphs of the article, the writer tells his readers that even a man like Frasier finds a woman that will turn his life around. I visibly cringe at the part where he talks about how I’m THE woman. God. You got all this with the fake lovey-dovey act we put in the press-con?
I start packing the things I’ll be bringing with me before I stuff my phone inside my bag. My mind wanders back to the press conference, where Weston held my hips and how he was able to respond to my witty remarks. The memory makes me smile without me knowing. Not everyone can give me a good comeback, and I like how the media loves our performance.
Hold that thought LaDasia, the man is a walking and talking dickhead. I protest to myself. But I can see why everyone loves him. He’s very charming and good looking. However, I had been trapped by a man with looks and charisma before. The good thing was that I got my ten-year-old baby girl, Jasmine, out of it. The bad thing was that I got a broken heart out of it.
I finish with all the things I can do before I give my manager the task to take over the deli for a bit. I have to pick Jasmine up from school and tell her what is going on. The manager gives me this annoying grin, but I just smile back as if I don’t want to slap a ham across his face.
It takes several minutes to get to my apartment, where I have my dear Jasmine walking beside me, fresh from school. I always enjoy picking her up, and the two of us will just walk back since I needed it, and Jasmine loves our walks from school to our home sweet home.
Our space is not as big as what Weston probably has. But I can bet my whole life that he doesn’t have the one thing that makes it a home. He can have all the money in the world, but he doesn’t have Jasmine like I do to complete his day and make it all better.
Then again, he’ll have to meet her too since it’ll be awfully suspicious if the paparazzi learn about Jasmine, and he doesn’t.
I kiss the top of her head lovingly. “Once you finish taking a bath, will you come to my room? I need to tell you something very important.”
“Okay,” she replies with a radiant smile before dropping her school stuff to her room and then heading to the bathroom the next second.
I’m really lucky to have her in my life. I fix both of us something light to eat as I think of the words to explain to her what’s currently going on.
She is a very smart little girl, and she understands exactly what is happening, and why I’m doing this. The two of us are now eating the spam and egg sandwich I whipped up real quick earlier. She thinks it is funny because she knows for a fact that I don’t like the man, but that I have to pretend to be in love with him.
“You should win an award for best actress after this.” She giggles adorably as she drinks her orange juice.
“Baby girl.” I pinch her nose gently. “What I deserve is a Guinness World Record for being the most patient woman in the universe.”
“Or for not killing Weston Frasier,” she tells me. My Jasmine is like an adult.
“That too.”
We grin at each other, and I tell her to get ready and make sure she doesn’t forget to bring her homework. My daughter is oozing with excitement as she gets her bag and double-checks if she forgot anything.
“If you do end up killing him, mommy...” She comes to me and winks. “I’ll help you bury his body.”
“Did you watch YOU again?”
“Maybe.”
“If you ended up stalking someone and got reported, I will take away your Netflix privileges.”
Jasmine puffs her cheeks and walks ahead of me. She is definitely excited about this, though, because she loves basketball, and actually is one of my pretend lover’s fans.
She is going to hang out at the deli that night and pretend that she and Weston are old friends.
“Do you think that Weston will like me, mommy?”
“Like you? He will love you. I’m sure of it.”
I ruffle her hair and lead her out of the apartment door. She is absolutely beaming, and I feel like she took the sun with her with how she looks at the moment.
My days lately have been mixed up with both the good and the bad. I’ve also experienced the unexpected and that I’m basically unable to describe the things that are happening, and what will occ
ur in the future with this plan with Weston Frasier.
But if Weston thinks I’m tough, he’s about to get hit with a ton of bricks. Jasmine will give him a run for his money.
Five
Weston
So get this. I am sitting here, minding my own business, when all of a sudden, I am seeing a mini LaDasia taking all my attention away from my phone. Quite literally. This little girl takes my phone away and slides it to the other side of the table. I’m also surprised to see the ten-year-old girl slide into the booth with me in the deli. She doesn’t just sit in my booth; she sits right next to me.
“It’s about time you asked my mom to marry you. I was wondering what took you so long. Do I have to call you... dad?”
Everything she said felt like a ball hitting me on the head. Dad? What? I’m pretty sure I always wear a condom, though. I try to remember what this can possibly be. One, she looks like a smaller version of LaDasia. Now bear with me here.
Understand that I’m in a state of shock, so the obvious answer doesn’t waltz in my head at the moment. Right now, I’m trying to figure out if Ashton Kutcher will suddenly come out and say I’m getting punked.
That or the kid from Stranger Things will say that I’m being pranked, but I guess that’s more on the horror kind.
It takes a while, okay? A long while to suddenly regain my brain and finally knowing what this is, and who this girl is.
And I am speechless, I have forgotten that LaDasia has a daughter! And she had her mother’s attitude. There are two of them. I’m starting to hear this warning signal inside my head, telling me to back the fuck out and embrace your bachelor’s life.
RUN WESTON! RUN BEFORE YOU LOSE IT ALL! But I turn off the sirens and remind myself that this is for basketball in repeat like a mantra.
It takes me a second or two when I finally say something to her, “No, you don’t have to call me Dad.”
It’s the best my mind can come up with after the shock.
“Good. So, do you have mom and my tickets for your game tomorrow? Since you guys are finally getting married, we should be courtside for all of your games.”
The little imp is very good. And she is very right.
One thing I should establish is that this is the real deal. If I bring the mother and daughter to the game, the world will know it’s fucking serious. Why? Well, for starters, Weston Frasier doesn’t bring anyone to the game.
Why is that? Simple. I separate my work and passion for the beloved game to my personal life. The whole world knows that I am super serious about the sport.
This is why it is just unheard of if I suddenly bring a girl to one of my games. It’s not that I can’t do it. Players bring a girl they like in the game to show off. It’s pretty basic, really. But I don’t do it. Just by having LaDasia there? No. BOTH of them. People will be idiots to not believe that I am a changed man.
I look over at LaDasia, who has a huge grin on her face. I wonder if she had sicced her daughter on me. However, if I am to “marry” this woman, I have to love her daughter, too.
Kids. I’m not bad with them. I even sign their jerseys and take pictures with them. I even play with a bunch of kids that one time. I don’t hate kids, but I don’t love them either. Will I help a kid to play basketball? Yes. Will I want one with me 24/7? Maybe not. Oh, what the hell. I’m doing this.
I, Weston Frasier, will learn to love this kid like she is my own. And who knows, maybe after all this, I get even more hit with the kids.
Now to deal with this one first.
I put my arm around the little girl and kissed the top of her head. I whispered, “You are smart, and you are good.”
She smiles big and whispers back, “Thank you.”
“Now that you won yourself some tickets in the courtside for not just one, but all my games...” I gesture my hand for her to return my phone. “May I have my phone back, please?”
She thinks about it long and hard. I feel the suspense build up around my chest. Finally, she hands me over the phone and takes out her homework.
“Homework, huh?” I take a peek of the book she now has on the table. I was never good at academic shit. I was always the jock who only survived since I am super awesome, dribbling, and shooting the ball like Jordan.
“I hate it,” she says truthfully. “I need to solve why Annie has 39 eggs and how she got the eggs.”
That’s adorable.
“Maybe Annie likes to make a giant omelet? Or she just really love to eat eggs. I watched a video once about how people should eat 2 eggs a day.”
“I don’t know about Annie, but what you said about those eggs are true.”
“REALLY?” her grimace turns into this expectant look.
“I eat two eggs every day. It is part of my diet to keep healthy, so I can play well in all my games.”
I explained to her how my diet goes. Then I tell her about my exercise routine and my training with the team. Also, about how I live my life as a pro baller. She looks to me with those big round sparkly eyes. I’m not bragging when I tell her everything down to the boring details.
I am honestly enjoying my time with her. It’s strangely comforting to have a conversation like this without a girl suddenly sucking my dick, or the coach blowing his whistle, or my agent interrupting me about this interview with that show every single time.
My love for basketball is everything to me. So when someone looks at me like Jasmine is doing right now, it gives me this weird fuzzy feeling inside my chest.
I even forgot about Delila, Kelly, and Sasha, who I was supposed to meet later.
Six
LaDasia
My deli business is picking up so much the next day. I have to call all of my employees. Not that they mind, actually, all of them have never been this excited for work. I wonder why? I sarcastically say to myself as I look at their eager eyes and overall expressions.
Looks like pretending to be a fiancé to a famous baller is one way to motivate your employees if you’re running a business. Just look at these faces! I’m grinning inside, but not for the same reason, obviously.
“Shall we start calling you Mrs. Frasier?” one of my female waitresses asks eagerly.
“No, we haven’t married yet for me to take his last name,” I answer back with a practiced smile.
“I always thought you hate him,” another one pitches in.
“True, but it’s actually all a pretense to keep the paparazzi at bay.” It’s a big fat lie, but I can’t tell them that I’m actually doing this to save the deli; they’re not Jasmine to understand.
“Is he really good in bed as they say?” asks another fangirl with her eyes ready to come out from her eye sockets.
I wink at her. “I’ll leave that to your imagination.”
Everyone, customers, and employees have a million questions. Yes, even the customers start to ask questions, especially the regulars.
“Will he come here more often?” A male fan this time, peeking out from his booth.
“Yes,” I say to him. “You’ll be seeing more of him here.”
“Have you guys, you know…” an old lady speaks up with her soft voice and gentle smile. “Have sex in the kitchen yet?”
Who and what? I’m not sure how to feel about this old lady. She’s not even a regular here. But I do see her come in at times when Weston and I used to go at it, and not AT IT like what granny here is trying to say; mostly me bickering with Weston grinning and lecturing me about the business world.
“No, never. The kitchen is sacred. Even for Weston Frasier.” ESPECIALLY HIM.
“Never say never, dear.” She giggles so sweetly I am torn if I want to throw her out or not.
This is going on forever. But as long as they’re ordering, I do not mind entertaining their questions about my fake love life.
HAH! IN YOUR FACE FRASIER! I mock my fake husband-to-be in my thoughts. And you think I don’t have what it takes to run a business. KISS MY ASS WESTON.
Wait, no fuck.
Now it sounds dirty and sexy in my head. Scratch that. UGH. Stupid sex questions. WHY ARE WESTON’S FANS SO THIRSTY?
“But what’s it like?” another girl, a teenager, asks dreamily by the counter.
“It’s love a first sight. He says it was the same for him. Who knew right? A deli owner with a kid and a celebrity baller playboy, it’s the stuff that makes romantic movies and series.”
“You’re so lucky! I’m rooting for you.”
Everyone cheers in unison as they all express how they will support the two of us in their own special way. It’s weird to feel a tinge of happiness to have all this support. I’m only ever used to Jasmine being the pillar in my life that keeps me going. To suddenly have all these people wanting Lady Fortune to keep smiling down upon me is odd.
But I have to pull myself and remind my heart and mind that all of this will most likely disappear the moment Weston’s image is doing much better, and that there’s no need for this fake engagement.
“Well, my question-and-answer portion have ended. All my dear customers, new and old ones, enjoy your stay. And for my employees, get back to work!”
They cheer after I make my statement. I just shake my head at how these people are. After that, I excuse myself, so I can get a drink of water to wash down the lie that choked me.
A courier came in that afternoon with the tickets to the game.
Jasmine has been hanging out in the backroom reading a book. She looks very excited when the tickets arrived. I had to take a picture since it’s too adorable not to document somehow.
My eyes catch the mirror to the side and realize I’m going to be underdressed for this big game event I’m going to. My daughter is ready and looking pretty stylish with her jersey shirt and shorts to show off that she is definitely a fan. She’s even wearing Weston’s number.
On the other hand, I look like I’m not even trying. NOPE. I am not gonna be that woman that people will say that has given up in her looks. It’s not that I’m ugly or lazy, it’s just that I rather dress practical. Plus, it’s annoying when I do dress up, and all these men are suddenly lining up to get my number.
