by Lara Swann
The Boyfriend Arrangement
A Fake Marriage Romance
Lara Swann
Copyright © 2017 Lara Swann
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, dialogue and everything else are products of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to people or events, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Please note: This copy of The Boyfriend Arrangement also contains a bonus book, Hard! This means that The Boyfriend Arrangement ends approximately 50% into this book – but rest assured, The Boyfriend Arrangement is a full-length 80,000 word novel.
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Table of Contents
A Note from Lara
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Mailing List
BONUS BOOK: Hard
About the Author
For my family -
Who are nothing like Cassie’s,
but inspired more than a few of these exchanges anyway
Chapter One
Josh
“We need to talk.”
“Oh?” I give Katy a quick glance before looking back at the performance of Hamlet I’m studying.
She turns off the TV and settles down on the couch next to me.
“Yeah, I think we need to have a real discussion, Josh.” She turns to face me, her knees bumping against mine and her expression serious.
Oh.
One of those talks.
“Okay…” I agree, already knowing where this is going.
How long has it been? Three months? Four?
Yeah, sounds about right.
“I really like you, Josh, really I do. And I’m enjoying what we’re doing here, but…we’ve been going out a while now…” She trails off, waiting a moment to see if I’ll jump in with what she wants to hear.
I feel a little twist of guilt as I don’t, knowing there’s nothing I can say here. She sighs lightly, glancing away, and I’m surprised at my own flicker of disappointment.
I liked Katy. Well enough, anyway.
She doesn’t have a drug problem, hasn’t insisted on blowing up my phone every hour, and she doesn’t expect me to buy her expensive gifts every week. Which is a remarkable improvement on my past relationships.
And the sex has been hot, drama-free fun.
She’s just…a little boring. Stable. Predictable.
And surprisingly, she got tired of my shit before I had a chance to get tired of hers. That’s a rarity in the girls I date.
“I’m just not sure where we’re going, Josh.” She takes my hand in both of hers and looks into my eyes.
I have no idea what she sees there - to me, hers are just a pleasant blue, nothing I can read or interpret. Not that I need to. I’ve had this conversation enough times now.
“I feel like I don’t know you any better than I did three months ago.” She continues, “I mean, I don’t expect you to suddenly start gushing about how you feel, I get that you’re not that kind of guy, but…you seem so distant sometimes.”
This time she really does pause, wanting a response from me.
I don’t have one. At least not one that will help.
“I’m sorry.” I say, shrugging.
She sighs again. “Look, I don’t mind giving it a little time…”
It won’t help.
“But I want to know you feel something for me.” Her voice strengthens, determined now, and she pulls on my hand to grab my attention. I blink and my eyes land back on her again. “Tell me what this is to you, Josh, you and me.”
I sigh, not even trying to hide it as I give her the wrong answer.
“I’m…having fun, Katy. With you, with us. It’s a good time, what we’ve been doing.” I say just enough to give her the reason she needs to end it. “But…that’s all I’m doing here. I’m not in the right place to be thinking about more, so if that’s what you want…”
I make it clear. That’s the least I can do, I guess.
I see the flash of hurt across her expression - maybe, despite the truth in everything she’s just said, she was hoping for something more.
“Seriously?” She exclaims, suddenly angry. “You’re not even going to try?! I come to you with a few little doubts and…and…you just…give up on this?”
She jumps up and looks back at me accusingly, then paces across my living room.
“God, I can’t believe this is happening to me.” She moans, her hands running through her hair. “Me. I really thought…”
She looks back at me, dashing tears from the corners of her eyes.
“I really thought you were different, Josh. Th—that we could’ve had something…that you were the right guy for me.”
“I’m not - I’m sorry. I wish it could be different.” I finally say, offering the expected empty platitude and hoping it will end most of the emotional outburst.
She shakes her head, anger and hurt written all over her expression, and I try to work out what I should do here.
Why the hell isn’t she just leaving now?
I dimly realize that I haven’t rehearsed being dumped enough to play my part properly. It’s usually the other way around - and then, I get days to work out the right combination of words and actions. It still mostly goes to shit, but at least I’m prepared.
You’d think this way round would be easier, but it’s not - it’s not like she’s just sending me a text or announcing we’re done and walking out. God, wouldn’t that be easy? No, it turns out that this way I get no warning or prep time, and I’m expected to play an active part. Talk, respond, argue, reason. Which is hard when you have nothing to disagree about.
And “okay” isn’t an acceptable response.
I feel like I should do something - stand up, go to her, comfort her in some way. But I also know that will just make it worse - it’s the worst kind of condescending to try to sympathize with someone about not returning their feelings. Either that, or it’d give her the wrong idea.
She’s still staring at me. Waiting for me to do just that, probably.
When I don’t, her eyes narrow and she glares at me.
“Ohh, fuck this. You cold-hearted bastard. Fuck you.” She practically spits it at me, turning on her heel and storming out of the room. A moment later I hear the front door slam and I sink back into the couch, throwing my head against the back of it.
Thank fuck for that.
After a couple of minutes, I open one eye and glance around.
Nothing broken or smashed. No out-of-control raging. No suicidal threats.
All in all, probably about as good as could be expected.
I pull myself out from the couch and head to the fridge, pulling out a beer and popping the cap against the counter that separates my small living space from my even smaller kitchen. I take a quick swig and lean back against the counter, staring at the door Katy left through and sighing.
I did actually try this time, whatever she thinks.
I was the perfect eye-candy for her
work events, charmed the hell out of her parents, took an active interest in her life.
I talked with her for hours, tried to get lost in everything that could possibly be fascinating about her. The beautiful events manager with the fun, quirky sense of humor. The girl that got looks wherever we went, admiring glances and flashes of jealousy.
I did everything I could to nourish that initial spark and excitement into a fire, a flame, hell…I might’ve settled for a candle at this point.
It died anyway.
I probably knew that a few weeks ago too, if I’m being honest about it. But I was busy with this upcoming audition and Katy was nice and fun so…I relegated my maybe-potential girl to fun-kicks-for-now.
I raise the beer to the closed door. “Good on you, Katy, calling me out on my shit.”
I down a good quarter of it, and my phone buzzes as I set the beer down on the counter.
Maybe I spoke too soon.
My stomach sinks, and I reach for it really hoping that it’s not Katy with a change of heart, or wanting to talk further and work things out or…anything else.
I flick it on, and Cassie flashes up on the screen. I relax instantly, smiling down at the device.
Then I shake my head, my smile turning wry.
Probably says something that seeing her text gave you a bigger burst of excitement than being around Katy ever did…
Cassie Jacobs.
My best friend.
And undoubtedly the reason I haven’t been able to form more than a half-assed connection with any of the women I’ve dated for the last couple of years. Or longer. Two years is just the time I’ve known that she’s the reason.
Not because I’m the kind of bastard that prioritizes Cassie over one of my budding relationships, either. If anything, I do the opposite - go quiet on her and put my time and energy into whoever I’m seeing instead. And because we’re friends, those times we see less of each other make exactly no difference to our friendship. We just pick up where we left off when those relationships inevitably fail.
No, the problem is that none of those girls has ever made me feel the way I do simply being around Cassie. That zing of energy and excitement that’s been missing with everyone else.
I always knew Cassie was hot, objectively. I always knew I had an awesome time hanging out with her. But she’s always been so utterly platonic that it never occurred to me to see her that way at all.
Until she bit me.
I’d just come out of a relationship with a girl who had a thing for biting. Not sweet little nibbles, either, but full-blown love bites and bruises, all over. One of my more painful relationships, that one, though the sex was pretty fucking hot if you could get over it.
We’d been sitting drinking, scouting for a little rebound action for me, and I’d flicked Cassie’s ear in the way I like to do.
She’d grabbed my finger in retaliation, biting the tip of it - hard - and looking back at me with a sparkle in her eyes and a wide grin, saying pointedly “keep that up, and maybe I’ll develop a biting habit…”.
I’d just sat there trying to deal with the shot of pure fire that it had sent through me, and the sudden way my body reacted as it had never done for biting-girl. The heat and lust and electric need that swamped me almost instantly, and changed the way I saw her. Maybe it was my brain’s temporarily whacked associations with being bitten, but suddenly…Cassie wasn’t just a friend anymore - she was a woman, too.
I’d struggled not to stare at the way the beautiful waves of her red-brown hair framed her face, at the dimple she gets on the left side of her face, or the stunning picture she made there, fire and fun and challenge sparkling in her eyes as we teased each other the way we always do, and looked around for a girl for me to fuck.
I didn’t find one that night. Or for quite a while after.
I thought that the shock realization that Cassie was a girl I could fuck might pass.
If anything, it was cemented a few days later when she asked me point-blank, “what are you even looking for in a girl?!”.
Someone who makes me feel…like you do.
The instinctive response I thought then still hasn’t faded. At least I’d managed to cut it off at the time and replace the last part with a pretty lame “…something”.
If Cassie had been the slightest bit available, I would’ve kept my original answer - eye-roll inducing as it was. And then I would’ve charmed the fuck out of her.
I’m certifiably good at that - there are dozens of girls who would agree.
But throughout all the time I’ve known her, Cassie has been resolutely uninterested. A career girl determined to leave relationships until later and fed up with the unending interest and pestering she gets from just about everyone.
I’d challenge any other man to possibly match me in being able to sweep a woman off her feet, but I have no idea how to compete with studying medicine.
If she were any other girl, I’d try anyway - I’m not exactly a stranger to showing good girls that there’s more to life than books.
But Cassie’s not exactly a textbook good girl - her unashamedly dirty mind makes me laugh out loud - and with her, I have something to lose if I fuck it up.
One of the best friendships I’ve ever had.
So yeah, maybe I’m waiting for her to wake the hell up. Or maybe I’m waiting for this stupid crush to die, dating around and looking for that kind of spark with other girls.
Maybe that makes me a fucking pussy…but with shit like this, timing is everything.
I’m not going to risk it all when I know the timing sucks right now.
Not when I’m still having a fucking good time living life. Dating around. Screwing hot girls.
I smile slowly, taking another sip of beer.
And with Katy gone, it’s the perfect time to enjoy being single again.
With that thought, I finally unlock my phone and look at the message, ignoring the mixed feelings that the woman sending it gives me. Another advantage of being dumped…more time with Cassie, and without Katy’s suspicions to worry about.
“Are you free?” She’s asking.
I glance at the door Katy just left through.
“Free as a bird. What’s up?”
Her message fires back almost instantly.
“Meet at Jack’s in twenty?”
My eyebrows rise. Twenty minutes is about as long as it takes to get to Jack’s Bar from my apartment…if I’d left five minutes ago.
Something is definitely up, but the chances of finding out before I get to her are low, so I put the beer down and start shrugging into my jacket.
I dash off a quick “Sure” as I leave.
Drinking with Cassie sounds like a much better plan than drinking alone, anyway.
Chapter Two
Cassie
I take a sip of the margarita that’s the only thing keeping me this side of civility right now, and glance around the dimly lit room as I wait for Josh.
Wednesday night means that Jack’s Bar is pretty quiet - and it gives me a two-for-one special on cocktails.
Which, right now, I need.
Jack’s isn’t exactly upmarket, but on a shoestring budget that’s exactly what Josh and I want, and we’ve been coming here for years. It’s the kind of underground bar that thrives on its quirky atmosphere, and boasts an attempt at chic art decor that probably wouldn’t hold up for more than a minute under an educated gaze.
I’m tucked away at a corner table that I’d never be able to get away with if the place was busier, nursing my margarita and scowling as I try not to think about the conversation I had earlier today.
Josh walks through the door a few minutes later, and despite my out-of-the-way position, his quick look around the bar finds me almost immediately.
“You’ve already started?” He nods at the empty margarita in front of me as he walks up, sliding into the seat opposite and cocking his head at me.
“I might’ve been outside the bar when I text yo
u.” I admit, taking another sip of my second drink and pushing a third over to him.
I have to agree that having four margaritas on the table certainly looks better now that he’s here. One slight disadvantage of ordering for a friend when there’s a two-for-one deal going on.
“Drinking alone, you know that’s not sexy, babe.” Josh grins at me, lifting the drink and tapping it to my glass before taking a large swallow. Catching up, I’m sure.
“And you know I could have company the moment I wanted it.” I smile sweetly at him, tossing my hair back over my shoulder as he rolls his eyes at me.
I know exactly what he’s seeing - the absolutely zero effort I made coming out tonight. Barely-there makeup, semi-wild hair that was lucky I pulled a brush through it and a skimpy tank top over tight jeans.
Coupled with the admiring glances of at least a couple of guys at the bar that I’ve been steadfastly ignoring.
“Is that what I’m here for then, hmm?” He asks with a sardonic smile. “To keep the unwelcome attention at bay?”
He’s teasing, but when it comes to us there’s an undercurrent of truth to it. I’ve been glad of having him around to deflect heated advances more than once before.
“Not quite. Just a fortunate side benefit.” I shoot him a grin and raise my drink in appreciation. “Thanks though, drinking alone would’ve been sucky.”
“Doesn’t take much to get me interested in two-for-one cocktails.” He takes another long swallow, as if to emphasize the point.
“So, how long have I got you before Katy freaks out?” I ask, tilting my head with a knowing smile.
It’s awkward, sometimes, the inherent suspicions that Josh’s girlfriends - or hell, anyone we know - end up with about Josh and I. That we’ve fucked. Or we secretly want to and we’re definitely, totally, absolutely going to fuck. And it’s all just a matter of time.
As if a guy and a girl can’t possibly just be good, platonic friends. As if fucking could possibly be better than having the kind of lifelong friendship Josh and I have going.
I get how his girlfriends feel, of course I do, but there are times like this - moments like tonight - when I really wish I could just have my friend without the sideways glances and extra precautions we have to take to make it absolutely clear that no, tonight is not the night we break our four-year streak of not fucking.
