Faking Paradise

by Lily Montgomery

  “The Fountain, Jurassic Park, Saving Private Ryan, Mr. Holland’s Opus, and Scream.”

  “I have seen two of those.” I took a sip of wine.

  “Jurassic Park and Scream?”

  “You’re half right.” I bit into an asparagus spear.

  “Jurassic Park and Mr. Holland’s Opus?”

  “Bingo. I was in band in high school, and that was one of the two movies we were ever allowed to watch. Even then, it was a rarity. The other was Fiddler on the Roof.”

  “What did you play?” he asked.

  “French horn.”

  “That explains why you’re such a good kisser.”

  “Oh, is that so?” I asked.

  “It is so. So, you play French horn and Maisy dances and sings. What about Rebecca and Vivian?” He barely glanced at the buxom waitress refilling our wine.

  Even though we were on a “date,” I half expected him to stare.

  “Maisy plays the violin, we all took voice, and Rebecca plays the cello, and Vivian… well, Vivian can play the piano, but it was apparent pretty early on that her affinity was for science. So, while the rest of us were banging and bleating out classical music, she was upstairs working on her experiments. She’s actually the youngest person to ever win the national science fair. So what about you? What embarrassing thing were you forced to endure as a child? Spelling bee? Head gear? Braces?”

  He was shaking his head as I listed everything off.

  “Wait.” I realized, much to my chagrin, that I was going in the wrong direction. “Football? Prom King? Class president?”

  And that’s when he started nodding. Grant and I had had two vastly different high school experiences.

  “So where did the love of reading and desire to be a literary agent come from?”

  “I got grounded a lot as a kid. My parents gave me the choice of reading or chores. I chose reading.” He shrugged. “What about you?”

  “I think it’s pretty obvious that I had no friends growing up. So I read a lot. It filled the void.” I polished off my wine. Who knew I’d feel the sting of a lonely childhood at thirty? “So, what else does Grant Johnson do on a date?”

  “If I tell you, then it won’t be a surprise.”

  “Oh, come on, tell me,” I wheedled. “It’s not like this is a real date.” I ate the last bite of fish and placed my napkin on my plate. I looked for the busty waitress to hopefully come back with the wine.

  “How about I show you?” He stood, pushing his chair in, and I followed suit. Once again, he offered his arm, but this time, he placed his other hand on top of mine and led me toward the boardwalk. “So, what do you do for fun?”

  It felt odd, answering these seemingly ordinary questions, but then I realized that Grant and I didn’t really know each other all that well. We worked together, sure, but that was the extent of it. I decided to give getting to know him a chance. Who knew, maybe we’d be friends after this.

  “Well, I certainly don’t play French horn anymore. I do go to the symphony, though. And I’m a fan of hiking. I’ve been known to volunteer at the animal shelter on occasion. I also enjoy going to the artsy movies that have subtitles and make you cry.”

  “I find that oftentimes a good cry is cathartic, even if we don’t realize we need it. Sometimes, the little things build up, and we find ourselves in need of a release, but none of the little things are big enough to cause the tears to overflow.”

  “Yeah.” Since when was Grant this deep? “I think that’s a fair assessment.”

  “Maybe when we get back, we can go see one.”

  “Sure. I’ll pick the saddest one I can find. Hey, wait a minute!” I looked down at our intertwined hands. At some point, he’d made a seamless and apparently undetectable switch from linked arms to holding hands. “Oh, you’re good.”

  “What about you? What are some Sophie McAllister first date tricks?”

  We stopped walking, but he didn’t let go of my hand.

  “I don’t have any.” I laughed. “I’m not exactly a commodity like the famous Grant Johnson.”

  “Okay, okay. What if you were at a bar and you wanted a guy to notice you. What would you do?”

  “Honey, men at the bar aren’t after a thirty-year-old woman that isn’t a size zero.”

  “You’d be surprised. Go on.”

  He clearly wasn’t going to let me get out of this, so I took a few steps away and remembered the night I’d met Kyle. I hadn’t gotten his attention on purpose, but I’d gotten it nonetheless. We’d been at a bar, and I was wearing a dress similar to this. I’d fumbled my license and had to bend over to pick it up. He was by my side by the time I’d straightened back up.

  “This worked once, four years ago.” My side was to Grant, and I reached in my small clutch, bringing out my license and dropping it. Slowly, I bent down, making sure that my back was arched and one of my knees was slightly bent. On the way down, I flipped my hair to one side, tilting my face toward Grant. On the way up, I made sure that my back stayed arched. I inspected my license, biting my lip and feigning concern that it had gotten dirty.

  “Oh, brava!” Grant clapped.

  I curtsied.

  “I can see why that worked.” He took my hand again and continued walking. “Oh. I almost forgot.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to me.

  It was a picture of a dolphin in a shallow pool with several gashes and injuries, and it had “Sophie” written at the bottom.

  “What’s this?” I wanted to shove the picture back at him. Did he think this was a joke?

  “The hotel has a conservatory. They rescue injured dolphins and rehabilitate them. Then those are the dolphins guests swim with, since they’re used to humans. You can sponsor a dolphin, so I did. Her name is Sophie, and she was rescued this morning. Once she’s well again, she’ll be introduced to the pod. I’ll keep making monthly donations.”

  “Thank you.” His soft spot for a wounded animal had my walls down for a moment and I hugged him. When I broke the hug, he was still holding my waist, and part of me was still leaning into him. My brain told me to pull away, but somewhere due south of there had my feet firmly planted.

  “Come on, there’s somewhere I want you to see.”

  At the end of the boardwalk, I took off my shoes, following him into the sand and into a small cove of palm trees surrounding a platform on which were a large outdoor couch, more candles, and a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries and champagne.

  “Is this standard first date fare?” I set my shoes on the floor and sat on the canvas cushions.

  “Only for special girls.” The champagne popped and he poured us each a glass. “Tell me about your first book deal.”

  He sat very close, and I was hyperaware of the heat from his leg.

  “Well, I was terrified, to be honest.” I bit into a strawberry, washing it down with the crisp, chilled champagne. “After I made the offer of representation, I stayed up all night worried that it wouldn’t sell. Then I was worried about what I would do if it did sell. I know I drove Brenda up the wall. She wound up not being any help at all.”

  “She wanted you to trust yourself. She said you were one of the sharpest junior agents she’s seen in a while but had no idea why you doubted yourself so much. Having met your mother, now I know.”

  “Turns out years of therapy can’t undo a lifetime of criticism,” I said, realizing he wasn’t eating. His posture was relaxed, ankle resting on his knee, and his arm was around me. I felt self-conscious of the fact that I was the only one working on the strawberries, so I didn’t go in for a second one, even though I wanted another. I leaned back into the crook of his arm. The wine and champagne had some of my inhibitions down, and I didn’t mind so much that he was being so flirty, despite there being no one around to witness it.

  “Does she do that with the others?”

  “Not as much as me,” I sighed.

  “I don’t usually talk about mothers on a first date.”
>
  “Me, either.” I looked up when a raindrop landed on my knee. The stars had been covered by storm clouds that neither one of us knew about. They must have blown in from the sea fairly quickly.

  Before we were able to gather the strawberries and champagne, it was pouring. Plate of strawberries in one hand, shoes in the other, I ran along the boardwalk back to our bungalow. Grant was carrying the champagne and glasses. No sense in it going to waste.

  We made it to our door, giggling and soaked.

  “I hope that dress wasn’t dry clean only,” he said, taking in my state.

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  Setting the bottle and glasses on the small table by our door, he reached in his pocket for the key.

  “Well, Mr. Johnson, I had a lovely time with you tonight.”

  He gave me a sideways grin as I leaned against the doorframe, having that second strawberry. I licked the chocolate from my lips and flicked the stem into the bushes, licking the juice from my fingers.

  “You showed me how Sophie McAllister gets a guy’s attention in a bar, but what are your end-of-the-night moves if you want him to kiss you but he seems… hesitant?”

  “Oh, that’s easy.” I handed him the plate of strawberries and gestured for him to put them on the small table. “First, I lean back a bit on the door. It makes the girls look good.” I leaned until my shoulder blades found the door.

  “I must say, I am inclined to agree.”

  “Then, if he’s standing close enough—” Grant took the hint and took a step forward. “—I’ll angle my hips out a bit.” I pushed my hips out just enough to make contact with Grant. This had been the move I’d pulled when, at the end of my first date with Kyle, I found that all I wanted was a good old-fashioned roll in the sack. “If he’s wearing a tie, I might run it through my fingers and play with it, making sure my arms push the ladies forward. And if that doesn’t do it—” Before I was able to look coquettishly up through my lashes at him, he’d pinned me against the door, lips crushing mine. One hand on the back of my head, the other squeezing my hip.

  If I’d thought the kisses before made my knees wobbly, this one had me in a puddle. His hands were rough and possessive, and the kiss was passionate, but not too harsh. Before I was ready, he broke the kiss, staring at me as if he’d just been caught stealing cookies before dinner.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’ve been wanting to do that since last night.”

  “Shut up and do it again.” I used his tie to pull him back to me, and he didn’t argue. His hands were gone from me, and I could feel him fumbling for the key. The door gave way behind me and he pushed it open, holding me up with one arm. My back was to the bathroom door, and his hands were at the hem of my skirt. The practical part of me knew this was a terrible idea, but unfortunately for her, the Sophie who hadn't been laid in three years was in the driver’s seat, and she showed no signs of braking. I didn’t care how many women he’d been with; he was damn good, and I wanted a piece of it. Maybe it was the wine, but I didn’t care.

  I found myself wrapping my legs around him as he held me in place against the wall. His low growl had me worried that I was too heavy for him to hold, and I began to lower my legs.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” He pulled my legs back up.

  I groaned when he pressed his hips into me. I felt his arousal, and I clutched my legs tighter, which he leaned into, eliciting another groan from me.

  “Jesus, Sophie,” he whispered as he kissed my neck, trailing down to my chest.

  “Sorry, I can be quieter.” I’d always had a propensity to be...vocal.

  “Don’t you dare.”

  If he liked his women loud, he was in for a treat.

  As he kissed the tops of my breasts, he slid his hand under my dress, pushing it up around my hips. He rocked me as he continued kissing, and I pushed his coat off, starting in on the buttons of his shirt after I’d loosened his tie. Lifting me from the wall, he carried me to the bed as I continued to unbutton his shirt. Before laying me down, he felt for the zipper at the back of my dress.

  “I swear to everything that is holy if this zipper is stuck, I will rip this dress off.”

  “Deal,” I said, removing his shirt.

  I’d expected him to lay me down, but instead, he turned and sat on the edge of the bed, with me sitting astride his lap. Unzipping the dress was a success, and slowly, he peeled the dress from my shoulders, revealing my best lace push-up bra.

  “Thank you,” he said, looking skyward.

  His belt and pants had to go. I managed to unbuckle him, but for the pants to go, we needed to be in a different position. And this dress had to go over my head, so I needed to stand. He lifted his hips off the bed to help with his pants, and that was when we both realized he was still wearing his shoes. I couldn’t help but giggle.

  “Shit.” He leaned over to untie his expensive leather shoes, and I finished unzipping my dress, dropping it to the floor. Trying to go too fast, he fumbled the laces. “Shit.”

  I knelt on the bed beside him, trailing my fingers towards the waistband of his boxer briefs while nibbling his ear.

  “You’re distracting me, woman.”

  “I know.” I wasn’t teasing when I grabbed him in my hand, slowly moving up and down his length.

  “Fuck the shoes.” He pounced, pinning me back against the bed. I could feel him kicking wildly, trying to get his shoes off. “For God’s sake!” He sat up again, and pulled his shoes off without untying them, throwing them across the room. He was still wearing his tie, and I took it from him, putting it around my neck, rolling so that I was on top of him once again.

  “You’re incredible,” he said.

  “It’s the wine.”

  “No, it isn’t.” In one deft movement, he divulged me of my bra.

  He sat up, claiming my nipple with his mouth. I called out at the sensation that was pulsing through me, instinctively moving my hips with his. I was getting close already, and if he didn’t stop soon, I’d finish before we even started. Pulling away, he moved me back to the bed, and this time it was his turn to tease at the waistband of my panties. He licked and nipped my nipples as he gently caressed me. This was almost mean…

  “Oh, God,” I called when he was no longer teasing me, bringing me to the edge. I expected him to stop, but he didn’t. He continued until I convulsed around his finger. His glorious, talented finger. Dear God, if his finger could do that…

  “Do you have a condom?” I asked as he kissed the base of my neck.

  “What?” He stopped.

  “A condom. Do you have one?” I repeated.

  “Are you not on birth control?”

  I snorted. “Hardly.” What was the point?

  “You didn’t bring any condoms?”

  “I wasn’t exactly expecting this, so no.” I left out the part about not having any condoms from this year.

  “I might have one in my toiletry bag. I usually try to keep one in case of...emergencies.”

  I sat up on my elbows, watching as he went to the bathroom to check his bag.

  “Emergency sex?” I didn’t mind the view from here.

  “I wouldn’t exactly call this preplanned,” he said.

  He had a point.

  “Aha!” He returned, proudly holding up a single condom. “I found one. Only one.”

  “So we best make this count.”

  He laid back down and tucked my hair behind my ear. “You’re so beautiful.”

  I didn’t need any more of the Grant Johnson playbook, so I kissed him to shut him up. Looping his finger in the lace of my panties, he slid them off, and I flicked my foot, sending them to the floor.

  He was on top of me now, and I pushed his boxer briefs down, using my feet to slide them down his legs. “Well, that was talent. Are you sure about this?”

  To answer his question, I took the foil packet from him and opened it. He inhaled through his teeth as I unrolled the condom on him, and he didn’t waste t
ime before he filled me, moving his hips with mine. Knowing we only had this one time, I wanted it to be worth it. For him and me. He seemed surprised when I took control, taking my place on top. Surprised and, from the look of it, pleased.

  I could feel myself getting close once again, and I slowed my rhythm, wanting to prolong it. I clenched my muscles, and he tightened his grip on my hips. I gave him a smirk. It worked every time.

  “Jesus Christ, Sophie.”

  After edging myself a couple of times, I could tell by the look on his face that he wouldn’t last much longer, and I increased my pace. This time, our mutual release wasn’t a dream, and I collapsed on the bed beside him.

  “I need water,” I said after I’d caught my breath.

  “I’ll get it,” he said. “Actually. I can’t get up. I think you killed me.”

  “Think room service would bring us bottles of water?”

  “Maybe we can specifically ask for the earring girl.”

  I stood, walking to the kitchenette, taking two bottles of water from the fridge and tossing one on the bed for him. Wrapping myself in one of the complementary fluffy robes, I retrieved the chocolate-covered strawberries and champagne. Nibbling on a strawberry, I realized that we’d had sex with the lights on.

  Pushing it from my mind, I handed him the other robe and joined him on the bed, chugging water and snacking on the strawberries. We polished off the strawberries, ordered a pizza, and drank the rest of the champagne. Despite being tired, I was wide awake, and we stayed up until after midnight, talking and laughing.

  13

  I woke up to see Grant on the other side of the king-sized bed. Oh, yeah. That happened. Careful not to wake him, I rolled out of bed, grabbing a clean pair of underwear and a sundress on my way to the bathroom. I twisted my hair up in a clip before stepping into the shower.

  In the daytime, without the buzz of wine coursing through me, I had time to think about the events of last night, and I hoped it wouldn’t be awkward between us, though I knew that was unlikely. Friends who slept together usually had a weird relationship afterward. Although Grant and I hadn’t really been friends beforehand. Coworkers who slept together was likely even more of an awkward scenario.