The Pretend Boyfriend (Inhumanly Handsome, Humanly Flawed Alpha Male Erotic Romance)

by Artemis Hunt

  “Maybe later. I’ve got to find my friend.”

  He bends down to kiss her full on the lips – a lavishly sexual kiss that leaves no room in the imagination for what he has in mind. The brunette gasps when their lips part.

  Brian smiles and leaves her standing there by the bar.

  “Later,” he promises. He doesn’t miss a beat as he turns to walk out of the room.

  In the next room, a poker game is going on. Spying Caleb, he goes in.

  “What’re doing, Cal?” he asks.

  “Sssssh.”

  Caleb is at a table of five players. The dealer deals two cards facedown to each player. Brian sits back to watch. They are playing the Texas Hold’em variant of poker, with the dealer exposing five community cards which can be used by the players for the best five card combination utilizing two of their own cards.

  It’s the final round of betting. The fifth community card, called the river card, has been dealt.

  “Raise,” Caleb says, pushing two hundred dollars into the pile of money in the center of the table.

  The man to his left sneaks a look at his two facedown cards. He grimaces.

  “Fold,” he says.

  “Fold,” says another man.

  Caleb is left playing against a thin black man with a sparse moustache. The black man has a tic in his left eye, Brian observes. He wonders how that tic figures in bluffing.

  “Call,” the black man says, pushing two hundred dollars as well into the pile.

  “All right, showdown please,” the dealer says.

  The black man reveals his cards. The dealer takes them to arrange them in the best five card combination out of the seven.

  “Full house,” he says.

  “Damn.” Caleb throws in his cards. The dealer grabs them.

  “Two aces.”

  Caleb is crestfallen. Brian watches as the black man seizes the entire pot of money on the table. His mind is churning.

  He has just found a way to give Caleb his mother’s mortgage money.

  3

  “What about this one?” Cassie says. “We haven’t tried this one before.”

  Sam cranes her neck to look up at the sign above the bar. ‘WOODY’S’. The multicolored oblong lights dance around the alphabets.

  “OK,” she says dubiously.

  “Oh come on, Sam, when was the last time you got laid?”

  “I’m not going in there to get laid! I don’t . . . do things like that,” Sam almost splutters.

  She catches sight of her semi-reflection in the dark panels of glass on the door. Her hair consists of unruly brown curls that just refuse to be tamed by a comb. She has pleasant features and an upturned nose. Most people consider her cute rather than pretty. Her best features are her eyes – large and baby doll blue.

  She’s not someone any man would go for in a jiffy.

  Cassie on the other hand is significantly attractive with her shoulder-length blonde hair and green eyes. She has the notches on her bedposts to prove it too. She’s the type of gal who would actually walk into a bar to pick someone up. Or a chatroom. She has two thousand Facebook friends to prove it too.

  Cassie is already walking through the door. Sam sighs and bounds after her. Anything to get out of the cold.

  The barstools are all occupied, but there is an empty table beside the bar. They seat themselves before someone else gets there. There are a couple of pool tables to the side of the room.

  Sam peruses the people at the bar.

  “Maybe instead of downloadable photos from the Internet, I should get a real photo of a nice-looking guy for my screensaver instead,” she remarks.

  “Better still, hire an escort and take him with you.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not? I can lend you the moolah. Oh wait, you don’t do escorts.” Cassie signals to a passing waiter. “What does a girl have to do to get a drink around here? Two vodka martinis, please.”

  A disheveled looking blonde strides out from a doorway. Her little black dress is askew with one shoulder strap off. She looks like she’s just been fucked thoroughly, but her expression is a thundercloud.

  “Bastard,” she says as she storms to the bar. She glances at the bartender. “Gimme a gin. Stiff.”

  “What’s the matter?” a short-haired brunette at the bar drawls.

  Sam can’t help eavesdropping on their conversation.

  “He says he doesn’t do encores. Was I really that bad?” laments the blonde.

  The brunette throws back her head and laughs. “You must be new around here. You’ve obviously been doubly fucked by Brian Morton.”

  Sam pricks up her ears.

  Brian Morton?

  The eight grade thug who steals everyone’s lunch box and empties their sandwiches on the teacher’s desk?

  *

  In the next room, the poker game is in full swing.

  “Raise.” Caleb’s eyes glint. He pushes five hundred dollars into the pot in the middle of the table.

  He could never play poker, Brian surmises. Could never keep his emotions in check. He practically wears ‘I’m have cards that are so big that I’m gonna win this round and whup your asses’ on his sleeve.

  The black man raises his coal dark eyes from his cards. The space in front of the dealer is decked with four community cards to be shared amongst the players – an ace of spades, a queen of spades, a ten of diamonds and a ten of spades.

  “Raise,” he says in his deep velvety voice. And slides a cool one thousand dollars into the pot.

  The dealer turns to Brian. “What about you?”

  Brian taps his two downturned cards. He takes in the faces of all the players at the table.

  “Do you take personal checks?” he asks the dealer.

  “Only if you’re good for it.”

  Caleb says, “Oh, he’s good for it all right. Don’t you know who he is? He’s Brian Morton, owner and CEO of Vanguard Advertising.”

  The dealer says, “Morton? As in Morton Enterprises?”

  “Yeah. My uncle is the Chairman, so sue me.” Brian has never been too comfortable in revealing who he really is even though he has never hidden his family name. But in this case –

  He takes out his check book from shirt pocket and scribbles an amount. He shoves it to the pot. The dealer picks it up and scrutinizes it. He glances at Brian.

  “You serious?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s a pretty huge raise.”

  “I’m confident I’ll win.” Brian flashes a grin at Caleb, who is eyeing him quizzically.

  The dealer says, “Twenty thousand, gentlemen. Next round of betting, please.”

  He deals the final community card, face up. It’s the nine of clubs.

  The black man’s tic is more pronounced than ever.

  “I’ll fold,” the dealer says.

  “Fold,” the black man says.

  It’s now between Brian and Caleb. They face each from opposing sides of the table.

  “Care to call?” the dealer says to Caleb.

  Brian scrutinizes Caleb’s face. His best friend’s expression is simultaneously beatific and wary. It means he’s got a very good hand, Brian thinks.

  Caleb raises his eyes.

  “I know what you’re trying to do,” he says in a low voice.

  Brian bares his teeth. “You don’t know anything.”

  A glimmer of uncertainty passes through Caleb’s face. He’s calibrating the situation, as he always does.

  He says, “I don’t have twenty thousand dollars.”

  “I know.”

  “So I should just fold.”

  “But you don’t want to do that. You think you’ve got a winning hand . . . but you don’t know for sure.”

  Caleb visibly swallows.

  “What if I can’t pay up?”

  “It doesn’t have to be just money. If you win this round, the pot money’s all yours fair and square. But I win, you’ll have to come to work for me a
t the salary we agreed upon.”

  Caleb stares at him for a long, long while. “Why, you sneaky bastard.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you but my Mom was married to my Dad when she had me.”

  “You can’t keep bailing me out like this.”

  “I’m not bailing you out. I need an accounts manager to handle all the money I’m making and you’re a damned good one.”

  “I work at Q-Tip. I don’t know anything about advertising.”

  “Bullshit. You know everything there is about accounting. And you’re honest. People respond to that.”

  They glare at each other. The side of Brian’s sensuous mouth twitches.

  *

  “Excuse me,” Sam says to the brunette, “I couldn’t help overhearing you. Brian Morton is here?”

  “Yeah. What’s that to you?” The brunette sizes her up as though she’s competition.

  “Brian Morton.” Cassie cackles. “Oh come on, Sam, there are plenty of Brian Mortons in Chicago.”

  “And we were just talking about one of them,” Sam says. It’s just too uncanny. But Cassie is right. Brian Morton is probably a common name, like John Smith. “I went to school with him. He was the most awful eight grader in the state.”

  “Oh really?” The brunette leans over interestedly. “Same guy, do you think?”

  *

  Caleb says, “OK, I’ll bet on one condition. Twenty thousand dollars is chump change to you.”

  Brian grins. “You want me to raise the ante?”

  “Let me finish.” Caleb’s eyes and hands are steady. “If I lose, I come to work for you. But if you lose, I want you to add a little condition to the pot.”

  Brian raises an inquiring eyebrow. “Oh?”

  “Yeah. Losing a bet has gotta mean something to you.” Caleb’s face spreads in a slow smile. “If you lose, you’ll have to do something you normally wouldn’t do.”

  “Such as?” Brian is intrigued despite himself.

  “Hey, is this allowed?” the black man asks the dealer.

  The dealer shrugs. “Only two players left in the game. The pot is theirs to spice up any way they like.”

  Caleb says to Brian, “I want you to perform good deed. It’s for your own redemption and personal growth, bro.”

  “That’s easy.”

  “Not this one. I’m going to throw you a lifeline with God for all your misdemeanors.”

  “You make my misdemeanors sound like a police charge,” Brian complains.

  “Women. You fuck them and leave them, all in the same night. There are a lot of broken hearts out there, Brian.”

  Brian is speechless for all of ten seconds.

  “There are no broken hearts . . . none caused by me. We are all consenting adults. I don’t do promises or stupid love declarations. They all fuck me because they want to.”

  “Yeah, but most of them want more than that. I’ve seen them. I’ve heard them.”

  Brian raises his hands in mock surrender. “Well, sorry, that’s all I have to give.”

  “That’s why atonement starts with you doing a good deed.” Caleb’s grin is infectious. “You’re going to have to be a slave to some lucky woman whom I’ll pick – out of my own personal magician’s hat – for the weekend. You’re going to have to do anything she wants.”

  Brian starts to laugh. “Boy, you’re rich. What if she wants nothing but sex?”

  “What if she doesn’t?”

  “They all want sex.”

  “Then it’s your lucky weekend?”

  “A whole weekend with some random woman? No way. No one’s gonna fall for that.”

  “Hey, give her some credit. You’re gonna have to be her slave, that’s enticing enough . . . ”

  “Sex slave.” Brian hasn’t stopped laughing.

  “ . . . to the first lucky woman I’ll pick.” Caleb jerks his chin at the door of the poker room. “Do you have the balls to take this one on?”

  “Balls? You’re talking to me about balls?”

  *

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Cassie says, grinning. “Go see for yourself. I’ll come with you.”

  The brunette holds out her hand. “I’m Melanie.”

  Sam gives it a shake. “Samantha. And this is Cassandra.”

  “Cassie and she’s Sam.” Cassie rolls her eyes and elbows Sam. “What’s with the formality?”

  Melanie says, “This Brian Morton that we’re all talking about . . . he thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”

  “So what’s new? He’s a regular prick,” Cassie says.

  “With an ego the size of the moon,” Melanie affirms.

  The blonde tosses back her drink. “You can say that about his cock,” she slurs.

  “But you still want him,” Sam says to Melanie.

  She flushes slightly. Then again, it could be due to the martini in her hand. “Just to try him out. You know, to see what the fuss is all about.”

  “Like a one night stand?” Sam is aware that her tone has taken on a little disapproving lilt.

  “What? You don’t do one night stands?”

  “More like a one hour stand,” the blonde throws in. “And we weren’t even standing.”

  Sam says carefully, “Well, I sort of want more in a relationship with a man. Sex is just a very small part of it.”

  “That’s why she never gets laid,” Cassie remarks. “So tell me more about this Brian. He sounds interesting.”

  “You’d say that.” Sam rolls her eyes.

  Melanie says, “He sleeps with anything that moves, apparently, but he doesn’t sleep with a woman twice. Ever.”

  “It’s his rule,” says Melanie’s brunette friend. “He doesn’t want emotional entanglements.”

  “Why not?” Sam asks.

  The two brunettes eye each other and shrug.

  Melanie says. “Maybe you should ask him yourself.”

  “But the man can sure fuck,” the blonde interjects. She’s slumping in her seat now. She quickly downs the rest of her drink before she can lose her balance.

  Cassie says, “He does sound like our high school bully. That guy could fuck you in ways you’d never imagine. And he doesn’t even have to use his penis. Only thing . . . I don’t remember him being a dreamboat. Do you, Sam?”

  A procession of vivid memories fleet through Sam’s mind. The Brian Morton she knew was a huge kid in eighth grade – a little on the tubby side. Scratch that. He was hulking, overweight and tall. Towered over everyone at fourteen. Ham-fisted. Sulky, petulant mouth. He was always with his two buddies, Caleb and Norman. He scored surprisingly good grades. Better grades than her, which was something she could never stomach about him.

  “Hey, Jaws,” he used to yell at her. “Bitten off someone’s leg yet?”

  Then there was that incident with the chalk. Brian Morton drew – with white chalk – a picture of shark teeth encapsulating the words ‘FUCK ME’ on her chair in mirror image. Unsuspecting, she sat upon it. And walked around school the entire day with it imprinted upon her black skirt.

  In the smoky atmosphere of the bar, Sam can feel her blood beginning a slow simmer.

  She declares, “If I ever see him again, I’ll give him a piece of my mind. It was always me he targeted, never Cassie.”

  Cassie chortles. “Give him a piece of your mind? You should do more than that, girl. You should slap his pudgy face.”

  Melanie points towards the door of the pool room. “Well, today might be your lucky day. Go get him, if he’s the one you’re looking to decapitate.”

  *

  “OK, now that we are all agreed on the bets, it’s showdown,” the dealer says.

  Brian flips open his two cards. They are a two of diamonds and a five of clubs. He knew he didn’t have a good hand but that wasn’t the point.

  He grins. “Bring it on, Cal.”

  Caleb opens his cards. They are a king of spades and a jack of spades.

  Straight flush.

  “Wow,” B
rian says. “No wonder you were so confident.”

  Caleb is smiling from ear to ear as he grabs the pot of money. A tingle of satisfaction traverses through Brian.

  Mission accomplished.

  Of course, there’s now that little thing about losing his bet. But he’s confident he would be able to waltz through it easy-peasy. A weekend full of sex (albeit with the same person) may be not be as torturous as it initially sounds. He wouldn’t mind it if she got kinky either. Maybe he could tie her to the bed and go for a smoke when she gets all wet and horny. Or maybe she can tie him to the bed.

  He can’t remember the last time he actually spent more than a night with a woman. It must have been in twelfth grade. And he must have been desperate.

  Caleb looks up. “Uh oh.”

  Brian turns his head to gaze at what his best friend is looking at.

  A thundercloud of a woman storms into the poker room. She has a mass of appealing brown curls that make her look blow-dried and ditzy, but nevertheless extremely attractive. She has a cute button nose, so he would guess her age to be under twenty-five. Her complexion is slightly freckled. She gives off the aura of being passionate, robust and healthy – with a clear zest for life.

  And her eyes. She has the most incredibly mesmerizing eyes. They are a vivid blue, and so large that he thinks he can drown in them forever.

  Careful, he warns himself.

  Oh boy, but she’s so fuckable. He wonders if she would make a pass at him – in which case, he would drag her into the pool room, clear everyone out and fuck her on the table immediately amid all the colored balls rolling around. Hell yeah, he can even imagine the table creaking and groaning under their collective weights. Balls rushing into their pockets everywhere as he sinks himself repeatedly into her.

  It’s amazing. He had just fucked somebody a mere hour ago, and he now has a raging hard-on under the table. The familiar rising of his cock sends the entire crotch area of his jeans into massive strain. Enough strain to pop his zipper.