Pretend I'm Yours

by Aiden Bates

  3

  Kyler

  I woke up to the sound of banging. I was momentarily disoriented, partly because I had been in the middle of an erotic dream, in which I was in the arms of a powerful, muscular alpha, and he was probing me with his tongue. The details were fast vanishing, but the erection remained, firm and persistent. My hole pulsed, and I was sure the seat of my boxers was a little damp.

  One of the problems with being an omega was just how hard it was to hide our arousal. The second we became sexually excited we started to leak fluids out of embarrassingly, though sometimes handy, self-lubricating holes.

  The banging came again, louder this time.

  My eyes opened properly for the first time. I shifted angrily as I slid off the bed. That had been a good dream. I rubbed my eyes and headed for the door, trying to recall what the alpha had looked like. Large hands, definitely. A bushy beard, maybe?

  I swung the door open, resisting the urge to yell “What?” as I did.

  My landlord was blinking up at me, his arms crossed in a clear display of anger. He opened his mouth to speak, and then his gaze snapped downwards and landed on my boxers, which were still tented from my erection.

  Whatever he had meant to say, it disappeared in a string of monosyllabic utterances.

  I did not even flinch. Not only was I ridiculously comfortable with my body, and therefore unconcerned about walking around the house naked, I also had no problem making the old man flinch.

  “I…you… You’re hard… I mean long…sorry, late.” He cleared his throat noisily. “You’re late. Rent was due three days ago. And that’s without factoring in the overdue payments from last month.”

  “I’ll get you your money,” I told him, stepping back to close the door.

  He stuck out a hand to the door as it swung shut. I saw him take a surreptitious glance at my boxers once more and swallow nervously.

  “No excuses this time, kid. If you can’t make the full payments by tomorrow, I’m going to be forced to evict you.”

  It was a dance we held every end of the month. He would make his threats, I would make my promises. Ultimately, he would relent when I presented him with a portion of what I owed him. I nodded and closed the door. I could not afford to worry about the rent right now. Not with the situation with my dad. On the bright side, the exchange had finally rid me of my morning wood.

  I was walking into the shower when my computer dinged. I knew instinctively that it was the message I had been waiting for. It had been almost five days. Indeed, it was a notification from Mail Misters. I opened it and gasped. The first line of the message read “Congratulations, you have been matched up with Mr. Saul McCormick.”

  My heart gave a little lurch.

  I sat down and read through the rest of the message. I was impressed and a little scared of how quickly it had all happened. Apparently, I had made a match with this Mr. McCormick. The message included two attachments; a marriage certificate that I was expected to sign if Mr. McCormick’s terms were acceptable, and a contract from him explaining his stipulations for the marriage.

  I was expected to embark on the journey to his place right away; details would be provided upon my acceptance. There was also a breakdown of how much money I would be paid, and how, but I was distracted by the man’s profile.

  I stared at the name McCormick, certain I knew it from somewhere, but I couldn’t remember where. His photo was simple, yet tasteful. He was smiling slightly into the camera as he stood over a wooden mantelpiece. He was dressed simply, in fitted jeans and a button-up sweater, but he looked exquisite. He looked gruff and manly, a combination I always found drove me insane. He looked a little over 30, which was great. I liked my men older. But it was his eyes that drew me in and kept me there. They were dark and dangerous, almost unbearable in their intensity. There was a man who could take charge. A vision of him on top of me rose to my mind, and I realized the morning’s erection was back.

  I realized I had no difficulty fitting him into the painting I had drawn in my mind from my dream. He could definitely be that guy.

  I picked up my phone and dialed Jess’s number.

  “Dude,” she said groggily after a few rings. “It’s 8 in the morning.”

  “Is it? I hadn’t noticed. You need to get here like yesterday.”

  “Why? Is everything okay?”

  “Everything is great. Get over here, Jess. It’s urgent.”

  “You’re not dying, are you?”

  “I swear to God, if you don’t get your ass over here in the next thirty minutes, I’ll break off your vagina.”

  “Like you’d know where to find it. Okay, Gaga. Calm your tits. I’m coming.”

  I looked at the photo once more and slipped one hand into my boxers. Me too, Jess. Me too.

  Jess reacted exactly as I thought she would. She squealed, and then she launched herself at me, and then she demanded I ‘tell her everything’.

  I brought her up to speed, though there wasn’t that much more to tell. Like me, she was surprised at how little time it had taken for the match to be made. We had signed up less than a week ago.

  “He’s gorgeous, though,” she commented, scrolling through his profile.

  And then, without warning, she screamed again.

  “Jesus, woman,” I said, covering my ears.

  “Is this him?” she asked me. Her eyes were like saucers.

  “Yeah, that’s my…husband-t-be, I guess? Holy shit, I’m getting married.”

  But Jess wasn’t even listening to me. She was staring at the screen like she expected it to burst into flame.

  “Dude, do you know who this is?” she asked. I didn’t understand what the big deal suddenly was, so I shook my head slowly.

  “This is Saul McCormick.”

  “Oh. Believe it or not, I figured that bit out, Jess…”

  “No, you idiot. I mean the Saul McCormick. Hollywood’s Lost Son? His father was in like a million movies?”

  It was starting to pull at my memory. No wonder the name had looked somewhat familiar.

  “Wait. The dude who had that massive scandal with a public meltdown and everything?”

  “Yes! The very same.”

  She sat back down heavily, her eyes still glazed over.

  “Fucking hell, man,” she said. “You’re marrying Saul McCormick.”

  “I am,” I said. This was getting interesting. Not only was he the man of my dreams. He was also a bona fide celebrity.

  “I wonder where he’s been this whole time…” Jess mused.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “You don’t know the story of Hollywood Prince?”

  “I can’t say that I do. I’m not that keen on tabloids.”

  “You wouldn’t even need to follow tabloids. It was all over. The scandal dominated the news cycle for weeks. At the time, Saul’s father had just won an Oscar for his role in The First Law. There was a bit of a public hunger for any stories on the McCormick family. Particularly Saul, who everyone loved. He was engaged to some artsy guy. It had been a public courtship, so naturally, everyone wanted to know what was going on with them. Then some paparazzi trailed Saul after a party and witnessed him walking in on his fiancé cheating on him.”

  I nodded, but I couldn’t remember any of it.

  “How do you know all this?” I asked her.

  “I followed the story when I was in middle school. And I read an article recently where the author was talking about how Hollywood mistreated its stars.”

  “Huh.”

  “Yup,” she went on. “Naturally, the scandal received extensive coverage. Saul was forced to play out the dissolution of his relationship very publicly. He was humiliated by the same press that had once worshipped him. There were rumors of a very public confrontation with his dad, and then suddenly, he was gone. He just disappeared. No one could trace him, he was never heard from again, and people eventually assumed he had killed himself.”

  “Well, he clearly didn�
��t.”

  “Right. And now you’re getting married to him!”

  I blushed. It was finally beginning to sink in.

  I went back to the profile and read the message through once more. I opened the contract I had neglected before and perused that as well, and that was when some of my excitement began to fizzle out.

  There were very specific stipulations that I had to adhere to before the marriage could proceed. A lot of it was standard. He wanted me to get off any birth/heat control I was on, for example. Logical enough, considering he had also stated explicitly that he wanted to have a child within the first two years of marriage. That wouldn’t be a problem, as I wasn’t on any. A year of failed attempts to initiate relationships would do that to you. I wasn’t due to go into heat for another six months or so, either.

  I was to get tested. He was adamant that I only told two people about where I would be. I had only a week to uproot my life as I knew it and move to God knows where.

  But it was the last stipulation that gave me cause for concern.

  There was to be no romance involved. He was not looking for love, just a husband, and from his phrasing, it was clear he considered this a business deal.

  I shared my doubts with Jess, but she was less skeptical.

  “It’s coming from a place of hurt,” she explained. “He’s afraid to put himself out there again. This clause is more for him than it is for you.”

  I hoped it was true. Even if it wasn’t, I consoled myself with the knowledge that I would be well compensated if I went through with it. If I agreed to the marriage, I was guaranteed 1 million dollars. With everything going on in my life, it was hard not to look at that as a small miracle. There was nothing to think about, really. Gorgeous man. One million dollars. A chance at a new life, even if it was only for a little while. If the possibility of love was the price I had to pay, so be it.

  I went over the contract over and over again. It wasn’t an easy decision, but I knew I had to give it a shot. Ultimately, the thing that swayed me was the fact that I had an out. If it did not work out in the first ten days, I could still walk away.

  I signed the provisional certificate, and a few minutes later, I received a message congratulating me on my marriage and detailing travel arrangements.

  Once the decision was made, I suddenly realized there was a lot I had to do. Always a step ahead, Jess had already began shooting around the house, muttering about what I should or should not take. I had to see my dad. That was the priority. I had already told Jess, so he could be the second person. I knew exactly how he would react. Careful trepidation, and then reluctant acceptance. But he would be happy for me. I was sure of it.

  “I need to go see my dad,” I announced to Jess.

  She turned and held up a bright purple shirt. “What the hell is this, Ky?”

  “Oh, that’s part of my Prince costume from last Halloween.”

  “Nope. I’m going to stay and create a Yes and No pile. This one is definitely going in the No pile.”

  And she walked away, humming happily. I heard the sound of hangars clattering to the floor and knew she had invaded my closet. With friends like these, huh.

  Nurse Rachael met me at the entrance to Cranberry Woods. There was an odd look on her face. I was instantly on alert.

  “No, your dad is fine,” she said quickly when she saw the expression on my face. “There’s just a little problem. Although it is to be expected, really.”

  “What is it?” I asked. She set off down the hall and I followed her. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure she could hear it.

  “He woke up today and he wasn’t lucid. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to see him like this.”

  My spirits sank like a rock. It had been some time since my dad had an episode. I knew it was foolish, but I had allowed myself to hope that it wouldn’t happen again, that the reduced frequency of the episodes meant he was getting better.

  “No. I have to see him.”

  He was sitting by the window again, looking quietly into the yard outside. I approached cautiously. He did not appear to hear me or even see me until I was right beside him, and then he turned and looked at me with a genial blankness.

  “Hello!” He beamed up at me. “Are you one of the nurses? I don’t think I’ve seen you before. You must be new.”

  I smiled back at him, unsure what to say. I crouched down so I was eye level with him. He looked tired. Crow’s feet webbed out from the edges of his eyes, and his forehead was creased in the manner I had come to associate with worry.

  “Yes,” I said finally. “It’s my first day here. My name is Kyler.”

  “That’s a lovely name. And you’re such a handsome boy, too. I knew a Kyler once, I think…” He looked away, and I knew he was trying to sift through the jumbled mess in his mind.

  “Well, it was nice to meet you, Mr. Nielson.”

  He did not seem to hear me. He had already turned back to the window.

  “I’m sorry,” Nurse Rachael said when I rejoined her outside.

  “It’s okay. I should be used to it by now, really.”

  “I don’t think anyone can get used to seeing their loved ones fail to recognize them.”

  She was right, but I didn’t want to linger on it. It would just haunt me more. So I decided to tell her about the marriage situation. It seemed like the right thing, since I couldn’t tell my dad.

  It was weird saying it out loud and trying to explain it to her. It must have sounded insane to her, that I was moving away to get married to someone I had never met. I kept out the specifics of the arrangement, only telling her I would not be able to come visit my dad as often as I had been, but that the financial situation would be taken care of for as long as my dad was there.

  If she had any questions, she kept them to herself. She listened quietly, and when I was done she took down my phone number and promised she would send me daily updates. I thanked her and turned to leave. I felt a hand on my arm and turned to see her staring at me intently.

  “You’re a good son,” she said simply.

  I did not feel like it. In that moment, it felt like the only thing I cared about in the world was slipping away from me, and there was nothing I could do about it.

  4

  Saul

  I would never have anticipated it, but I was excited. And I knew it was a problem when I caught myself grinning for no reason at all; or at least no reason I was immediately aware of. It might have had something to do with the fact that I was, as of yesterday, officially married. And I would be lying if I said I wasn’t anxious to meet this new husband of mine.

  I had spent the night obsessing about it. I wondered whether it made sense to plan a wedding. A proper wedding, with family and friends, a scenic venue and a proper ceremony. The idea had a certain appeal. The issue of the venue was easily taken care of. We could have it right here. There were few places more naturally beautiful than this little neck of the woods. Family and friends was where the idea lost its sheen. Thanks to my self-imposed exile, I had significantly trimmed down the list of people I could call friends. There were probably people who would be thrilled to hear from me again, people who would swear they still cared about me. But it was telling that in all this time, the phone calls had been virtually nonexistent. When Hollywood’s Golden Boy vanished, so too did the majority of my circle.

  Which left my immediate family. Mother would no doubt be thrilled with a huge wedding. The splashier the better. And she would invite just about every star on the damn planet. Dad would match her star for star. Really, if I let them, they would turn the whole thing into an awards ceremony scale celebrity cameo-fest.

  So… no big wedding, then.

  A small intimate wedding would no doubt be better, but there was essentially no point to it at all. If the idea was to let the people closest to us know we were married, why not just have a little dinner party and announce it to them instead? As the great Rance McCormick had said in one of his more memora
ble movies, public weddings were no more than civilized voyeurism.

  A case could be made for eloping, too. If I waited for a while, I could just tell my parents I had met someone and we had eloped.

  But what if Kyler wanted a wedding?

  I already felt guilty about the contract, and the coldness of my proposal. Sure, I had to include the clause about romance. But maybe I could have been a little nicer about it. But he had accepted, much to my relief and excitement.

  So, what if he did want a wedding? I thought about it, then decided it would be best to have that conversation with him when he got here. We would agree on a course of action together.

  The only thing I could do was prepare for his arrival.

  I called a lawyer and had them initiate the paperwork procedure. Aside from the permanent marriage license, I needed the contract ratified so we wouldn’t have any issues going forward.

  Afterwards, I set about clearing the mess I had made around the house. I did not want to call a cleaning service, partly because it felt like the cleaning that needed to be done was very personal. Beyond picking up shirts I had not seen in weeks and disposing litter from days ago, the real cleaning was almost emotional. I had to comb through what was about to be my old life if I was to start a new one.

  In the first few weeks after I moved here, I had been eager to purge Chris from my mind, and that meant getting rid of everything that reminded me of him, or anything I still owned that was even remotely connected to him. Out went the shared albums, the books and clothes. It wasn’t easy, because at that time everything reminded me of him. But the purge went on for days, until a pile had accumulated in the middle of my bedroom; a pile of the most innocuous things.

  Yet it had not been complete. In the midst of all my rage, I had been unable to get rid of the tiny black velvet box that now sat at the bottom of my bedside table drawer. I don’t know why I kept it. It was symbolic of my pain. I never took it out, but knowing it was there was like a dull but comforting ache I needed to remind me of it all.