I find myself blushing at work and everywhere else when I think of him. I may talk a good game, but the truth is, I haven’t had a lot of sexual experience. I’ve only ever been with my ex-husband. I think we had good sex, but I have nothing to compare it to and that makes me a nervous wreck.
It’s Saturday today and all I know is he’s picking me up at seven. I already got a mani-pedi, but I can’t decide what to wear. I need to look my best. I even started wearing a T-shirt and underwear to bed so I didn’t feel like a liar. Last night, Fisher felt me up again for the first time since the beach.
I mean, I may have touched myself while he was talking, so it was kind of the same, but not really.
He was being secretive about where we were going, so I checked my book. At this point, Penn takes Kasey to a fancy restaurant he rented out for the night. Kasey gets all dressed up and a limo comes to get her. When she walks in, Penn is sitting at the piano and starts to play. He sings “Can’t Help Falling in Love” and that night he admits he’s in love with her.
I was a little worried Fisher was still following the book, but when he told me to dress casually, I’ll admit I sighed in relief. I don’t want to follow my book anymore. I want to get to know him for him, not the guy he thinks I want him to be.
The fact I get to wear jeans and he’s picking me up himself makes me think I’ve finally gotten through to him.
I spent way too long getting ready. I finally settled on jeans and knee-high black boots, with a button-down black blouse. I’m going to wear a light cardigan-like sweater over it because these jeans are a little snug. If I eat too much, I may have to undo the top button and that wouldn’t be attractive at all. Hopefully, the sweater will help me in case I need to hide. Glamorous I am not.
It’s five after seven and I’ve been ready for forty-five minutes. I guess his being early at the airport was a one-time event. I start to worry he’s not coming when there’s a knock at my door.
Suddenly I’m more nervous than I’ve ever felt in my life. I’m confident on the phone but up close and personal is another story. On the phone, I can talk like I’m writing. In real life, in front of him, I feel like I have no words. Why is this guy so interested in me? It doesn’t make sense. He could have any girl he wanted. Why me?
I open the door to a bouquet of red roses and a smiling, panty-dropping Patrick Fisher. He’s wearing a white dress shirt, dark faded jeans, and a black suit coat. He looks like he stepped off a runway and I just walked out of Walmart.
His eyes say something very different. He stares at me like I look at a sale rack at Macy’s. “Wow. You’re beautiful.”
I roll my eyes as I take the flowers from his hand and he steps inside. “Thank you for these. You didn’t have to.”
“I know I didn’t have to. I wanted to. And why did you roll your eyes at me?”
“It’s nothing. Come on in. Let me put these in water then we can go.”
He follows me to the kitchen. “It’s something or else it wouldn’t have happened. Tell me. Is it the flowers?”
“No. They’re perfect.”
“Is it because I’m a few minutes late?”
“No. I usually wait for everyone. I’m perpetually early, so I’ve grown accustomed to it.”
“Is it what I said?”
I sigh. “It’s nothing. Can we drop it?”
He leans his back on the counter as I place the flowers in a vase and add water.
“You don’t take compliments well, do you?”
“I don’t believe compliments. Isn’t that the same thing?”
He crosses his arms. “No. That’s entirely different. Not taking them well means it’s hard for you to hear. Not believing them means you don’t see what others see.”
“Where are we going tonight?” I ask as I put the vase on my table.
His lip curls up on the side as he regards me. He shakes his head lightly then straightens his posture. “It’s a surprise. Shall we go?”
“What’s with all the surprises?” I ask as he opens his car door for me. “Why not just tell me?”
He closes my door and jogs around to his side, sliding in the seat and pressing a button to start the car. “A friend of mine owns a bar downtown. I heard they have amazing food and great entertainment. I thought we’d pop in. Is that okay?”
I can’t help but smile. “Sounds great.” I’m so glad he’s finally being himself. Maybe I can relax after all.
It’s a forty-minute drive to the bar. I find out Fisher has very diverse taste in music. He introduces me to a country band named Old Dominion and a song called “Snapback,” which I surprisingly like immediately. In the next song we listen to “Walk on Water” by Thirty Seconds to Mars. It’s constant variety. He keeps me on my toes. He’s hard to pin down.
After we get on the highway, Fisher opens his hand to me across the seat and continues to hold mine and drive one-handed. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like holding his hand. Ollie never did it. To me, it’s like claiming someone, especially in public. It lets everyone know you’re not just a random person, but rather someone important. I wonder if he’ll still hold my hand when we get to the bar.
We drive around for a good ten minutes before we’re able to find a spot to park. He offers to drop me off at the door, but there’s no way I’m going in without him. He has no idea how socially awkward I can be. Whenever I go anywhere public by myself, I feel like I have a neon sign flashing above my head that says “No one wanted to come with me.”
He places his hand on the small of my back and leads me through the door. It’s rather dark, with a reddish glow all around. There’s a stage up front with a microphone, but I don’t see a band. Maybe they haven’t set up yet.
As soon as we’re inside, he takes my hand in his and leads me around tables to the bar. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I was walking on clouds. A girl in a short skirt and heels perks up when she sees Fisher. Her eyes move over to me and I feel as if my head was chopped off in her brain. I squeeze his hand a little tighter. That’s right, bitches. This hottie is with me.
He releases my hand to shake the hand of a guy behind the bar. “Macy, this is Jeremy. He owns the place. He’s a friend of my best friend growing up. We ran into each other a few weeks ago.”
I hold out my hand to him and he shakes it. I’m really impressed that Fisher knows to introduce me as Macy. I only told him once that I never use my real name and he has honored my wishes ever since.
“Can I get you a drink?” Jeremy asks as he stacks glasses behind the bar.
“Captain Morgan and Coke in a tall glass with lime, please.”
“I’ll take what’s on tap and start a tab for me.”
“You got it, bro.”
“Want to get a table?” Fisher asks as Jeremy delivers our drinks.
“Saved that one up front just like we discussed,” Jeremy says with a wink.
My Spidey senses start to tingle.
We walk over to a table but as I sit down, Fisher steps onto the stage. “Oh, fuck no.”
He takes a swig of his beer and steps in front of the microphone, flipping it on with his finger. He taps it and the bar quiets down. I think I let out a small whimper, but I can’t be sure.
“Hey there, everyone! Welcome to karaoke night at Jackson’s! My good friend Jeremy Jackson over there was kind enough to let me kick things off tonight. I hope you’re all half wasted already. I’ll sound way better when you’re drunk.”
There’s a few laughs and I awkwardly gaze around the room. There are at least fifty people that I can see. I’m going to vomit. What is he doing?
“I’m here on a date tonight with this beautiful woman in the front row. Everyone say hi to Macy.”
There’s a collective “Hi, Macy!” I lift my hand without turning around and slide down in my seat. I beg Fisher to stop with my eyes. I even mouth the word “No.” He only smiles brighter. He removes his jacket and tosses it to me. I catch it and watch as he rolls the sle
eves of his dress shirt. What is it about rolled sleeves that make every man that much hotter?
“This song is for you Macy. You might want to chug that drink.”
It’s then that I notice a small screen on the floor. Fisher nods to someone off to his right and a screen comes down on the side of the stage. I assume for the audience to see the words.
The music starts and I realize I’m back in my book. He just re-wrote the scene.
With the opening notes I know what he’s singing. It’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” Dammit, Fisher. I thought we were done with this.
He starts to sing and my frown turns upside down. I can’t help it. He’s not bad, but he’s not great. No one in the crowd seems to care. His overabundance of confidence makes it enjoyable and fun. Before the chorus he announces, “If you know it, sing along.”
The whole bar follows his lead and lifts their drinks in the air. His singing is drowned out as the bar shouts the lyrics along with him. I can’t help but laugh as he finishes the song and takes a bow. The bar whoops and hollers like Adam Levine just finished a set. He hops down from the stage and bends down, planting a kiss on my cheek.
“Where’s Amy Taylor?” the man on the side shouts. A girl takes the stage and sings another song. I guess there’s a list of people waiting for their chance to perform. Who knew so many people were that confident?
He smiles as he sits across from me and lifts a menu. “I heard they have good wings.”
“Oh no you don’t. What in the hell? I thought I told you to stop.”
“Stop what?”
“This stupid thing you have with following my book.”
“I didn’t rent the place or send a limo.”
I sigh.
“And I can’t play the piano for shit, so I improvised. Again.”
How do I explain this to him? How can I get him to understand what I’m saying? Why is he so hot? My mind can’t help but wander. I take a long swig of my drink and hope it kicks in to give me the confidence to figure this out.
Turning my head, I try to find the location of the bathrooms. Once I see them, I stand and curl my finger at him to follow me.
Once we round the corner, I push him up against the wall.
“I like where this is going already,” he says, pulling me into him.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Huh?”
“What’s your name? Answer the question.”
He seems confused. “I thought we were past introductions.”
“Is your name Patrick Fisher or is it Penn Fitzgerald?”
He smirks. “My name is Patrick.”
“Uh-huh. So why in the name of Elvis Presley do you insist upon re-enacting every scene from my book even though I’ve repeatedly asked you to stop?”
“Is Elvis Presley a new holy term I’m not aware of? Did he get canonized?”
“It’s not a joke.” I slide my hand around his collar and run my fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck. “I don’t want you to be Penn. I’m not falling for him, I’m falling for you.”
His lips part and I think I hear and feel him inhaling a breath. Did I overstep? I push off his chest and take a step back. “Anyway. Just cut it out.”
He pulls my arm and I crash back into him. He bends his head down so his mouth is an inch from mine. He cups my cheek in his hand and his eyes search my face. He’s doing that smoldering thing and now I can’t breathe.
“I want to make your dreams come true. I want you to have it all.”
“What if I don’t know what I want? What if I write what I think women want, but what we really want . . . what we need . . . is simply to be looked at the way you’re looking at me right now?”
“Then that would be really easy.”
“Will you promise me no more surprises? No more of this Penn stuff?”
He grits his teeth and hisses through them. “I’ll agree on one condition. We stop after the next chapter.”
As he presses his lips to mine. I mentally race through the chapters of my book. I gasp when I realize what comes next and he smiles. Oh hell no.
It’s a quiet drive back to my apartment. We stayed at the bar through wings and at least ten more karaoke songs. I think I ate slower than I ever have before. I tried to make the night last longer, but we had to leave eventually. Now that we’re almost back to my place, I’m starting to have a slight panic attack.
What am I going to do? He had to have been joking, right? I mean, he can’t actually want me to re-enact this chapter for him, can he?
We have been undressing each other on the phone for a week now, but just because Kasey had the confidence to let Penn watch her masturbate doesn’t mean I can do it. Is that what he wants? He’s almost exactly followed the book up until this point, and in a way, I guess he deserves this chapter for his effort. I could throw him a bone and give him the one scene he wants. But being naked while he watches from the door? I’m afraid I’d make a fool out of myself.
How did this work again? Kasey poured Penn a glass of wine and ended up spilling it all over her dress. She excused herself to change and Penn followed her to the bedroom. He watched her undress. She realized he was standing in the doorway and decided to give him a show. Oh fuck! Why did I have to write that chapter?
Fisher pulls the car alongside my apartment building. Is he going to park the car? What is he doing?
“This has gone on long enough. You have to know I was joking. I would never, ever ask that of you.”
I nod, but I can’t look at him. I’m too embarrassed. I’m not afraid to talk about sex. I’ve sat on panels at conferences and discussed sex scenes at great length. I’m not a prude. But somehow, talking about it in front of a bunch of women is really different than talking about it with one very attractive man.
“Greer, please look at me.”
I swing my head to face him. It might have looked effortless, but turning my head was as difficult as prying a piece of wood from a vice.
“What I said to you was crude and disrespectful.” He places his hand over his heart. “Please accept my apology. I thought you’d know I was kidding, but you’ve grown more and more distant ever since I opened my stupid mouth. I don’t want you to ever feel weird around me.”
“It’s just . . . well, I write a lot of stuff. I have a very vivid imagination. But I’m afraid my actual experience doesn’t measure up to any of my characters.”
“I think I finally understand how I’ve been making you feel. All this time you’ve been asking me to stop trying to be like Penn and I didn’t listen because in my mind, I thought I was doing exactly what you wanted. But now . . . now that I even hinted at you being like Kasey, I want to take back every uncomfortable thing I’ve ever done or said. I’m truly sorry.”
He’s so incredibly sincere. I can tell he feels awful. I don’t want him to feel bad. I just don’t know how to explain my fear of letting him down.
“Can we please forget I said anything? Go inside, crawl into bed, and focus on me not being a jerk. I’ll text you when I get home.”
“You want to go?” I ask, suddenly sad the night could be coming to an end.
He turns his body in the seat to face me more directly. “Don’t you want me to go?”
“Why would I want you to leave? It’s only eleven. Unless you have to get up early for work tomorrow?”
“I don’t have to be in until noon. Are you sure?”
“Sure I want you to come in and watch TV? Yes, I’m sure.”
He smiles brightly. “Did I mention how much I love watching TV?”
“I have a really nice setup. You should park the car and come see it.”
He seems relieved. Maybe he was just as nervous as I was. Nah. Look at him.
“Go inside. I’ll park the car and be up in a few minutes.”
I shut his car door and take the elevator to my floor. I start to text Luna. She’ll know what to do. I type, “I need your help. It’s an emergency,” before
I decide not to send it. I know what she’s going to say. You made the hottest man in the world watch TV instead of letting him watch you undress? What the fuck is wrong with you? You’ve been talking about taking his clothes off all week and now when he’s in front of you, you’re going to chicken out?
She would be right. I unlock my door and walk inside. Placing my phone on the table, I lean my back on the door and try not to overthink everything.
A knock startles me out of my thoughts.
I open the door to Fisher, leaning one hand on the frame while the other hand holds his suit coat, draped over his shoulder. Did he pose this way or is this natural? He has to know how gorgeous he looks. Jesus Jones. “Right Here, Right Now” just took on a whole new meaning. And now I’m singing the song in my head.
“Come in, right now,” I say on accident, briefly closing my eyes as I internally berate myself.
He quickly steps through the door. “I really like your place. It’s a great neighborhood.”
“Yeah, I used to have a house, but Oliver got that in the divorce.” Ugh. Why did I say that?
“That really sucks. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I brought that up. Sometimes I rattle when I get nervous.”
“Hey,” he says, tossing his coat on my chair and taking my hand. “There’s absolutely nothing to be nervous about. I’m only here to see your TV.”
I point to the screen and he walks over to the couch. He’s here to see my TV. My Tanned Vagina? Toned Viagrasaurus? Tubed Vaseline?
“It’s a big one,” he says, motioning to the television set.
“That’s what she said.” Oh my God. I didn’t.
“Ha. I think that should have been my line.”
Book Boyfriend Page 9
