by Marika Ray
But eventually, I floated back down and had to rejoin the body that was currently in the middle of a busy coffee shop with a nice guy who just told me his big, dark secret. And now I’d have to take all the cringe-worthy awkwardness I felt and make him feel it when I told him he had the wrong interview.
I finally regained bodily function and sucked in a large gulp of air and blew it out. “You’re right. I don’t think there are a lot of men with three nipples. I mean, I’m only a case study of one, but I’ve never come across a male like that and I’ve seen quite a few chests in my life.” I screwed my eyes shut and shook my head to get back on track. “I’m so sorry, Adam. I think you may have the wrong coffee shop. I’m interviewing fake boyfriends, not nipple models.” I almost scoffed, but caught the irony of the whole thing before it came out in my tone of voice. Who was I to judge when I was here on a similarly ridiculous mission?
His face blanched and he sat back, his knee hitting the underside of the table and sloshing my coffee around dangerously. “Yo-you’re not Blair?”
Shaking my head slowly, I attempted to let him down as easily as I could. “No, I’m sorry. I’m Gabby. But good luck with the modeling thing. I, for one, am a big proponent of just being yourself, third nipple and all!”
He blinked. I got curious.
Leaning in, I had to ask, “Does that third one have sensation?”
He rolled his eyes and stood abruptly, leaving the coffee shop before I had a chance to apologize. Damn that mouth of mine. Always meaning the best, but coming out with the worst.
I went back to rubbing that spot between my eyebrows, eyes closed. Maybe I needed a new plan. Maybe instead of a total stranger, I should go down the list of friends and coworkers to see if I could convince them to do the job. Might make things awkward after the show, but that was in the future and I would deal with it then. I needed a fake boyfriend now.
“I kinda wanted to know if the nipple was on his chest or some other area of his body.”
The voice held laughter, barely constrained, possibly having the same weak filter my mouth had. I popped open my eyes and looked left to the source of the voice, seeing a good-looking ginger smiling at me deviously from the table next to me. The part of me that had gathered dust in the last year since Hewitt and I had broken up perked up from its slumber and leaned in for a closer inspection of the young man. He appeared late twenties and straight-up adorable with a dimple winking at me from a face that looked like it smiled on the regular.
2
Gabby
I shrugged, feigning nonchalance, though half of me was turned on and panting while the other half was so embarrassed by the day’s events I wanted to flee the coffee shop. “I thought my sensation question held merit.”
He nodded, a light in his eyes flaring as he talked. “Oh, it certainly did. There were quite a few questions that needed to be asked. It’s a shame he left so quickly.” He glanced up at where my line of men had left a collection of trash like the beaches in LA after Memorial Day weekend. “Looks like you’re out of interviewees.”
I glanced over too, seeing not one man left as a possibility for my project. My shoulders sagged and my bum screamed at me to get off the damn wooden chair already and get the blood flowing.
“Well, I guess that’s that.”
“What’s that?” the handsome stranger asked.
“I’m sorry?”
He increased the wattage on the smile. “You said that was that. What was it you were trying to accomplish? Besides entertain your fellow coffee addicts with your titillating conversation. Pun intended, by the way.”
I guffawed, the sound more like a burp than a laugh, but that was what happened when I startle-laughed. Some people snorted. I guffawed. The caffeine kicked into gear in mysterious ways, loosening my mouth mostly, which was never a good idea.
“Good one. I’m actually trying to hire someone and you’d think there’d be eligible men in a big city like this, but it’s been udderly disappointing.” I gave him a saucy wink, playing his word game and hoping the eye flutter came across better than Fabio from earlier.
“What’s the job?”
I raised an eyebrow. “You looking?”
He shrugged and I enjoyed the way his T-shirt stretched across his shoulders. “For the right job, yeah, I’m definitely looking. So give me the deets.”
I smirked, yes, actually smirked at him. “Did you just say deets because it rhymes with teats?”
He hopped out of his chair and for a hot second I thought I went too far, as usual, with the nipple references. Then his tall body plopped down in the chair across from me and he leaned his forearms on the table, his gaze drilling into mine. A faint waft of cologne and soap hit my nose and now all parts of me wanted to stay and play with this stranger.
“Marry me or hire me, you decide.” His lop-sided grin told me he was playing, but my heart lurched in my chest nonetheless. Then again, I’d had about six cups of coffee and no food, so it could have been the caffeine prompting an imminent heart attack. Fate only knew.
“Funny you should say that actually,” I mumbled, pausing to drink him in, the straight nose, broad smile, angular jaw all doing weird things to my stomach. At this proximity, I could even make out a faint line of freckles across his cheekbones. His hair was longer on top and had a distinct auburn tinge to it, making me wonder, combined with the freckles, if he’d been a vibrant redhead at birth.
“I’m Rhett, by the way. Figure if we’re getting married, we should know each other’s names.” He lifted his hand and stretched it out toward me, letting it hover there over the table, waiting for me to reciprocate.
“Gabby,” I breathed out, sounding entirely more breathy than I intended. Inwardly I winced as I was going for confident businesswoman, not twenty-year-old Britney Spears. I compensated by sliding my hand into his and gripping like my life depended on crushing his bones in an arm wrestling match. He flinched a second, squeezed back, and then tried to let go. I shook his limp hand and then finally let him go just as the moment teetered on awkward. Though everything today had been dripping in awkward, so why not add more to the mess?
I cleared my throat and tried to get back on track. “I, um, need a man to fill a position.” Why did everything I said sound so sexual now with Rhett around? “You’ll need to sign a confidentiality agreement and be able to give me three months of your time. I’ll pay well, with bonuses for going above and beyond.”
He nodded thoughtfully, then scratched behind his ear. I noticed for the first time his T-shirt said “WTF Where’s the Food?” Any guy who liked food that much had to be a decent citizen, right? Did ax murderers have a sense of humor? Wait, wasn’t Ted Bundy a super congenial guy along with being a serial killer? Crap, I hadn’t thought about it earlier, but maybe I should have put a background check as a prerequisite for landing the job. I didn’t want to publicly attach myself to a guy fresh out of prison or on the run from the law. Fake boyfriend or not.
“I’m sorry, I think I missed it. What’s the job exactly?”
I held his steady gaze, quite proud of myself for not drowning in his blue eyes—noticing yes, maybe swimming, but not drowning. Clearing my throat again, I figured ripping the Band-Aid off was the best approach. Get it out there all at once.
“I need you to pretend to be my long-term boyfriend and go on a reality show with me.”
He stared at me, not moving. My knee started bouncing under the table, my body unable to sit still while I waited for him to laugh me out of the coffee shop. I couldn’t believe I’d actually offered the job to someone. I’d honestly lost all hope a few hours ago and there I was offering the position to a random stranger who wasn’t even there to apply for the job.
My phone rang from my bag on the floor by my feet. I held up a finger and reached down to grab it, seeing it was one of the guys from the newspaper office calling.
“Sorry, I need to grab this.” I answered and pressed the phone to my ear, looking away from Rhett
’s heavy stare. “Gabby Cole.”
The guy on the other end droned on and for the first time I welcomed his long winded questions as it gave me a chance to take a break from this conversation with Rhett.
“Bob?” I finally cut him off. “I already sent the article in this morning. It should have already been proofed by now.” I glanced back at Rhett, seeing that he’d gone pale behind those freckles, and I started to worry I’d really shocked him with my outlandish job offer. Maybe the Band-Aid method wasn’t the best approach. Maybe baby steps into the cold water would have been ideal. Too bad I’d dumped him into the icy waters of the Pacific. “I gotta go, but check with Wendy. She should have it.”
I hung up and slid the phone back in my bag before looking back at Rhett. Time to end his misery and mine, moving onto the drinking and drowning my sorrows portion of the evening.
“Look, you don’t—”
“I’ll do it.” The words rushed out of his mouth, startling us both, based on his wide eyes and lack of dimples.
My head listed to the side as I tried to figure this guy out. Would a sane person agree to this job? Maybe I should ask a coworker instead. At least I could vouch for their sanity. I mean, what did I really know about Rhett other than his dimples caused my girly parts to stand up and twerk?
Rhett leaned forward again, crowding my space. “When do they start filming?”
“Eighteen days,” I answered, in a trance of indecision. I’d been counseled to make decisions with my head and other times my heart, but never had anyone advised me about listening to my vagina. Was she a good decision maker? Or would she lead me down the wrong path with her lusty ways and single-minded focus?
Rhett nodded vigorously. “Look, we don’t have much time to get this together and make it look believable. Let’s just do this and while we get ready you can explain to me why you’re hiring a fake boyfriend.”
Ultimately, I didn’t listen to my head, heart, or vagina. I said yes because I liked the way he said “we.” I’d been stressing since the moment I hung up with the director and it felt pretty damn good to have a partner in this crime. Like a validation of sorts. My idea wasn’t crazy. Look, this guy was going along with it too!
So I put my hands on his forearms and gave them a little stroke as I got distracted by the way his muscles felt under that warm skin of his. He glanced down at my hands and I froze, realizing belatedly that touching like that probably wasn’t the best way to start this platonic working relationship. I snatched my hands back and folded them on my lap.
“You’re hired.” I nodded and let my heart dance in my chest when he broke out into a huge smile, dimples and all.
3
Rhett
I’d been checking her out for over an hour by the time Nipple Boy left in a huff. At first, it was only because she was freaking gorgeous with that straight black hair and perfect red nails. So put together yet clearly exasperated with the men she interviewed. I thought she was doing some sort of speed dating thing, so I had a seat next to her when a table opened up.
You see, life’s too short to go around all serious all the time. I made it a habit a long time ago to search out the funny. The crazy moments in life. The weird quirkiness of humans that made life interesting. By twenty-eight years of age, it came naturally. I had stories you wouldn’t believe, but they made for good entertainment around a campfire or over a beer.
As one could only expect, when you see a train wreck of a speed dating situation happening, you got up close to that shit and took in the free entertainment. Porn stars, third nipples, and that one guy who could roll his eyes back in his head and make himself pass out. Freaky. These people were interesting and I had a front row seat.
Of course, I had to open my damn mouth and get to the bottom of this mystery. Why would a beautiful woman, who seemingly had her shit together, based on the well-kept hair, nails, and clothes, need a speed dating event to get a date? I expected rolled eyes, maybe even some shifting away from me and then a hasty exit. What I got was a stimulating word play game about nipples, which proved this chick had a sense of humor. Then I got lost in her flashing dark eyes, the kind that make you stare like a mesmerized fool. Finally, she dashed my speed dating concerns with a plea for a man to fill a work position.
And boy was I ready to fill that position.
Here’s the kicker: I knew her. She didn’t know me, but I sure as hell knew who she was the second she answered that phone with her full name. There was absolutely no way I could tell her who I was until I’d secured this job. I was sick of eating Ramen, okay? A little white lie wasn’t going to matter in the grand scheme of things. She was desperate and quite frankly, so was I. Match made in heaven.
She slid a stack of papers toward me and laid a pen down on top. “Read through the contract and if you still want the job, you’ll need to sign that. I’ll do a background check later this evening and if all checks out, I’ll sign it also and send it to you.”
I forced my eyes to look down at the paper instead of memorizing every inch of her visible to my gaze. I wanted to know each detail about her. Not in some creepy sex offender way, but knowing her name didn’t gel with the gorgeous vision that sat in front of me. Despite knowing who she was, she was a mystery.
The contract was fairly standard, like she’d cut and pasted paragraphs from another contract. I wasn’t a contract wizard by any means, but it was obvious this thing hadn’t been run by a lawyer first. Take clause seventeen about no time off for three months. It literally said I’d be working twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Pretty sure sweatshops were against the law by now, and even though my college party days had prepped me for very little sleep, I didn’t think I could go months on end with no shuteye.
The thing is, I had no assets. Well, I had some cool T-shirts that were probably vintage classics, but I didn’t think the stuffy bank guys would bother with them. So if I had to break this contract, she could sue me all she wanted and she wouldn’t get a dime out of me. Gabby, on the other hand, looked like she had some money stashed somewhere and it probably wasn’t in her bra. That bag of hers, placed so carefully on her feet, had a designer label you didn’t find at Ross Dress For Less. If anyone had something to lose, it was this chick.
I scribbled my signature across the last page, along with my social security number, and handed it back to her. She put the contract in her bag and flicked her jet-black hair over her shoulder before clearing her throat.
“Okay. Well, that’s done. Um, okay. I’ll call you tomorrow. Is that okay?”
Her nervousness was adorable. Keeping a grin in check was getting harder. “Okay.”
She froze for a second, maybe wondering if I’d just teased her—which I had—and then stood, pulling on her blouse and trousers. A sheepish grin stretched across her face.
“Sorry. I’ve never hired a fake boyfriend before, so I’m a little out of sorts.”
I stood slowly, willing my eyes to stay on her face. There’d be plenty of time later for drinking her in and getting to know her. “I’ve never been a fake boyfriend before, so I get it. Though I will admit to feeling woefully inadequate for the job with just my two nipples.”
She threw her head back and let out some sort of honking cough again. I wasn’t sure if she had asthma or Tourette’s, but I was pretty sure she wasn’t choking given she hadn’t eaten anything. I waited her out, wondering not for the first time if I was insane for going along with this crazy job. I didn’t really know her. I knew of her. And what I did know of her from rumors wasn’t good.
It would make for a hell of a story, though, so you can bet your ass I was in.
When she settled down and was breathing normally, I slid my phone out of my pocket. “What’s your number, Gabby?”
She rattled it off and I called her so she had my number. Her phone rang in her bag, so I knew she didn’t give me a fake number. You only had that done to you once—okay fine, ten times—before you learned your lesson.
“Call me when you get the background check back and we’ll get to work. I’m an open book, baby.” Pretty much.
I stuck my hand out, wondering if a handshake was the proper way to say goodbye to your future fake girlfriend. Pretty sure Ann Landers didn’t have etiquette advice for this situation.
Gabby’s lips pulled back a bit, exposing perfectly straight white teeth. As far as grimaces went, it was mild, but maybe I should have laid off the sleazy pet names. She hesitated for just a moment and then slid her hand into mine, this time having mercy on me by leaving off the vice grip.
Something flared to life in my chest. Maybe it was hope, maybe it was desire, maybe it was just my body reacting to standing on the edge of the proverbial cliff of something new and exciting and what was sure to end in an emergency room visit.
I opened the door for her and let her pass by, noticing how nicely she was dressed, like this was an actual business interview. Or maybe she always dressed that way. Glancing down, I took in my board shorts and T-shirt. My Rainbow flip-flops had seen better days, but damn, those things took a beating and just kept flip-flopping. Who was I to throw out a perfectly good pair of shoes?
“Goodbye, Gabby.”
She looked over her shoulder but didn’t quit walking toward the parking lot. A lock of hair blew into her face and I had to pull myself back from following after her and not letting her out of my sight. She gave me a small smile and I took that as a good sign. A little more enthusiasm would have been an even better sign, but I wasn’t going to get greedy. She had all the reasons in the world to doubt me and she didn’t even know the biggest reason of all.
4
Rhett
“Yo, Jayden! I’m home!”
