Good Boy

by Sarina Bowen

  I glance around. Thank God for the darkly tinted windows. “Your truck is bigger than my dorm room. I’m pretty sure.”

  “Aw.” He fusses with my hair. “You want me to drive you home?”

  I cringe, wondering if Violet thinks I’ve been kidnapped. “I have to find the evil roommate.” Wandering off with Blake has wrecked all my plans to bond with Violet. Nice going, Jess.

  He reaches into the front seat with his giant arm. “Here’s your double-barreled slingshot. And your shirt.”

  I hurriedly put my bra on, and he does something with the condom. I hear the crinkle of a plastic bag, and I don’t ask questions.

  A few minutes later, he opens the door. “Coast is clear, I think.”

  I emerge, shaking myself off. “Do I look…” Like a girl who just bounced on your dick in the parking lot?

  “You look fabulous, as always. I’ll walk you inside. If Violet asks where you’ve been, I’ll make up a story. I’ll tell her that a giant squid attacked. Or pirates.”

  “Good thinking,” I scoff.

  We head inside, but Blake stops in the middle of the hallway before we can reach the main room. He fishes his phone out, studies it, then grumbles out a curse.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “Nothing.” He shoves the phone back in his pocket.

  “Okey-dokey.”

  We take about five more steps, and then he halts again. “I need a favor,” he blurts out.

  I turn around with a sigh. “I already had sex with you. Doesn’t that fulfill my favor quota for the night?”

  He snorts. “If anyone was doing someone a favor out there, it was me. To your va-jay-jay.”

  I roll my eyes. “Uh-huh, sure. Now tell me what you want, or I’m walking away.”

  “I need a date.”

  Exasperation shoots through me. Did he not hear a word I said in the Hummer? We’re not making this a habit! And we’re certainly not going on a date.

  “Absolutely not,” I announce.

  His green eyes narrow. “Wipe that horrified look off your face, J-Babe. A date with me is like a trip to Disneyland. You’d fucking love it. Because everyone loves Disneyland. Anyway, that’s not what I meant. It’s a fake date, okay?”

  Well, now I’m confused. “A fake date?”

  He nods glumly. “My ma just texted to remind me that my sister’s baby shower is this weekend. It’s a lunch thing. My family’ll be there, some friends…”

  He pauses just long enough for my guard to rise. Friends, huh? I wonder which friend is responsible for the very uncharacteristic deer-in-the-headlights look on Blake’s face.

  “You want me to go to a family event with you?” Hell no. “I, ah, I’m not sure I feel comfortable with that. I won’t know anyone there.”

  “You’ll know me,” he protests, looking offended. “Besides, you owe me. I’m the one doing all the favors. The smokin’ sex—you’re welcome—and telling you how to bond with your roomie. I’ve done you two solids.” He shrugs. “It’s your turn.”

  His logic is in no way sound, but I can’t deny that his idea to bring Violet to the bar had been a good one. Granted, I’ve ignored her for the past, oh, thirty minutes, but we seemed to be connecting before that.

  “Please?” he presses. “It’ll really help me out if you came along. That way the fam might finally get off my case.”

  “What are they on your case about?” I ask curiously.

  “They think I need a wife.”

  I squeak in alarm. “I am not going to pretend that we’re engaged!”

  “Didn’t ask you to. I told you, it’s just a date. I’ll tell ’em you’re my girlfriend, they’ll be happy as clams and, in a few weeks, I’ll say you dumped me or something.” He mimics my earlier words. “It’s a one-time thing.”

  Despite my reluctance, I find myself nodding. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

  He brightens.

  “But it’s not a real date,” I say hastily. “It’s just a favor for a friend, okay?”

  Blake leans in and smacks a kiss on my cheek. “You’re the bestest friend ever, Jessie.” Then he sucks my earlobe between his lips and murmurs, “Plus, you’re fun to fuck.”

  I shove him away. “You’re incorrigible.”

  When we walk back into the bar, I find Violet swaying on a bar stool, her face enraptured as she listens to Will O’Connor boast about how many teams he’s played on.

  “Violet?” I ask carefully. “Are you okay?”

  “Yea-ah,” she hiccups. “I had a few beers.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’ll take her home,” Lemming pipes up from Violet’s other side.

  “Sorry, stud,” I say firmly. “I don’t think tonight’s your night.” I hold out a hand to Violet, who looks a little green. “Come on, roomie. Time to go.”

  “I’ll drive you guys home,” Blake offers.

  It sounds much better than dragging my drunk roommate onto the subway, so I take him up on it.

  What’s one more ride from Blake Riley tonight?

  16 Mountain Out of a Molehole

  Jess

  It’s Sunday afternoon and we’re zipping along a nice suburban road in Blake’s Hummer. I could high-five myself for keeping my eyes straight ahead. I haven’t snuck any looks into the backseat, not even one. But I swear I got all hot and bothered the second this vehicle pulled up in front of the dorm. My body has a thing for Blake’s ride.

  Or, let’s be honest, Blake.

  “So, who am I meeting today?” I’m not watching the muscles in his forearm flex as he drives. Not much, anyway.

  “The shower is for Brenna. My other two sisters will also be there, Beth and Britt. Two of them are married, including the pregnant one.” He chuckles. “Mom is over the moon. She’s bought out the baby store already, so my sister is gonna end up with four of everything. I mean, what does a baby really need? A bed and a hockey stick. The end.”

  Hysterical. “So then what did you get the baby?”

  “A hockey stick. Duh. And I paid for some fancy stroller. The Hummer of strollers, supposedly.”

  “Nice.”

  A few more miles roll by.

  “Do you get along with your folks?” I ask curiously.

  “Of course. They’re awesome.”

  Hmmm. Something just doesn’t add up. I can’t figure out why Blake would need a fake date for a family party. Unless there’s someone else giving him the willies. “Who else am I meeting? Anyone I should look out for? Any exes?”

  And, aha! He flinches.

  “That bad, huh?”

  Blake scowls. “It’s no big deal.”

  Riiiiight. “Is she the reason you suddenly needed a girlfriend? Just level with me, and this will be easier to pull off. What’s her name?”

  He sighs. “Molly. She’s my sister Brenna’s best friend. I don’t see her that often, but sometimes she gets all clingy.”

  Ah. “But if I’m there she’ll back off?”

  “She’ll have to,” he grunts.

  We turn down a tree-lined street in some area called Brampton. It’s lush and pretty in a way that’s completely different from California. I know nothing of Ontario, I realize, and this short break from my textbooks is a welcome reprieve, even if I was secretly brought here to defend Blake from the sharpened talons of an ex.

  “You should have warned me,” I say quietly. Then I immediately feel guilty because I tried to pass off Dyson as my boyfriend at Jamie’s wedding.

  Hypocritical much?

  He parks the car at the curb of a sprawling house with pink and blue balloons tied to the mailbox. There are potted mums on the front porch and a hedgerow of sunflowers. I love it already.

  Blake snaps the keys from the ignition and turns to me. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. I really appreciate you coming with me today.” His green eyes look uncertain, and it’s an expression I so rarely see on his face that I can’t help but melt a little. Blake Riley’s confidence has slipped
? Call 911 and administer CPR.

  I reach up and pat his cheekbone. “Am I allowed to have a little fun with it? Can I make up a story about our first date?”

  “Go nuts, girlfriend.” He grins, making his face instantly more familiar. “I told ’em we met when we were both looking after Jamie. But I skipped the part about taking off my pants and daring you to find out if Wesley’s massage chair would turn my dick into a real-life vibrator.”

  All my nether regions give a big shimmy at the memory. Gah.

  Blake points his finger at me like a gun. “Keep that expression.” He winks. “You’re very convincing with that sexed-up look in your eye.”

  I frown on purpose. “I do not look sexed up. Nobody here is sexed up.”

  The backseat laughs behind me.

  Blake doesn’t bother arguing the point. He gets out of his monster truck and comes around to my side, opening the door with a flourish. “Come and meet the Rileys, girlfriend.”

  The house is chaos inside. Blake steers me into the kitchen, where at least a half-dozen women buzz around like bees. Though it’s no trouble identifying the Riley sisters. One of them is hugely pregnant, but the other two are just as easy to pick out. The female editions of Blake are basketball-player tall, with wide shoulders and even wider smiles. They wear floral-patterned dresses in different colors, and I can’t decide if the similarity is intentional.

  In contrast, I look positively bashful in my little blue sleeveless dress.

  They don’t notice our arrival, because they’re clucking over a giant bakery box that just arrived. “Omigod!” the pregnant sister shrieks. “These are the best thing ever.”

  I stand on my tiptoes for a peek in the box. Row upon row of beautiful cupcakes wait, each frosted with a cloud of white icing and a single chocolate sperm swimming across the top.

  “Damn, those are scary!” Blake crows.

  Heads swivel, and then the clucking hits a deafening pitch as his three sisters charge him. “BLAKEY!” “He’s here!” “Have a beer!”

  Instinctively I engage in defensive maneuvers, ducking behind Blake’s bulk to avoid being trampled. With a cheerful roar, he lifts each of his sisters off their feet in turn. “Let the fertility festivities begin! Where did you say the beer was?”

  “I’ll get you one,” a sister volunteers. It’s easy to see that Blake is well-loved by his family.

  “Bring two,” he says. “I brought someone to meet you all, and she’s probably thirsty.”

  He turns his head left and right, wondering where he’s misplaced me, so I duck under his arm to show myself.

  His fingers graze the bare skin of my shoulder. “Girls, this is Jess. My girlfriend.”

  The room goes so quiet so fast that at first I think I’m suffering some kind of audiological anomaly. But then I see the surprise crisscrossing all the women’s faces. One of Blake’s not-pregnant sisters has her hand on the refrigerator door, but she’s forgotten to open it. Instead, she’s staring at me, jaw dropped like a hungry grouper.

  The silence is as deep as the Pacific, and I use the time to study all the shocked faces. Besides the sisters, there are two or three more women gaping at me. One in particular—she’s got springy curls that frame her pixie face—has slapped a hand over her mouth in dismay.

  “Uh, girls? Hello?” Blake prompts. His palm strokes my shoulder absently. “Come over here and meet Jessie. Cheezus.”

  “Sorry.” The sister at the fridge recovers first. She crosses the room on giraffe’s legs and grabs my hand, giving it a bruising shake. “I’m Britt, the youngest of us four. It’s so nice to meet you,” she says, pumping my hand. “Blake didn’t tell us he was seeing anyone.” She lifts big eyes—green like her brother’s—to Blake, and there’s a question in them.

  “I’m doing that now,” he answers, sounding grumpy. “Let’s not make a mountain out of a molehole.”

  “Molehill,” I correct.

  “Nah, J-Babe. That can’t be right. Moles dig underground, they don’t build shit.”

  Oh for God’s sake. “But the dirt they kick up out of the lawn gets…” I see at least a dozen eyes on me, and they’re burning with curiosity. “Never mind,” I mumble, and Blake chuckles.

  “Beer?” he asks. “There’s probably some girly white wine around, too.”

  “Beer would be awesome,” I say quickly. And keep ’em coming.

  I meet both of his other sisters and then Blake’s dad. To say that Mr. Riley isn’t what I expected is an understatement. Blake is six inches taller than his father, and he outweighs him by at least a hundred pounds. Mr. Riley shakes my hand as politely as a school principal, and then he steals a sperm cupcake out of the box and slides quietly out of the room.

  Just when I’m ready to declare the science of genetics a fraud, there’s a great pounding of feet and an enormous woman launches herself at us.

  “BLAKIEEEEE!”

  “Oof,” my faux boyfriend says, catching her. “Easy, Ma. Good to see you, too.”

  “It’s been NINE DAYS since you came home for dinner!” she hollers.

  “But who’s counting?” He grins.

  “I MADE BRISKET! You need protein if you’re gonna POUND MONTREAL INTO TINY BITS OF DUST.”

  “Awesome,” he says. “Hey, Mom? This is Jess. My girlfriend.”

  I brace myself as Blake’s mother turns to inspect me. Unlike Blake’s sisters, she doesn’t gasp or express shock and dismay. She does, however, look me over from head to toe, as if I’m a brisket she might purchase, depending on whether or not I’m worthy.

  “Nice to meet you,” I say in a shaky voice, extending a hand.

  Her giant mitt closes over mine. She has a handshake like Mike Tyson’s. “Welcome to our home, Jessica. How long have you known my boy?”

  “Um, since March. He and my brother are friends.”

  “Six months. Hmmm…” Mrs. Riley muses, arching an eyebrow. “And what is your favorite thing about him?”

  Just as my traitorous brain offers up a truly inappropriate image, Blake jumps in to rescue me. “Mom, Jessie hasn’t gotten the tour yet. We’ll catch up with you in a little while?”

  His mother frowns, unhappy with this interruption. I get the feeling she’d rather pull me into a windowless interrogation room for a little truth serum and waterboarding.

  Blake’s hand closes around mine. He passes me one of the two beers he’s collected, and I take a deep swig as we make our escape out a pretty set of French doors and into the backyard.

  “Cheezus,” Blake gasps when we make it outside. “J-Babe, I’m sorry. I didn’t know they’d go all DEFCON 4 if I brought someone home with me.”

  “When’s the last time you had a girlfriend?” I ask.

  “Uh. Five years ago.”

  “Okay…” The puzzle pieces are sliding together in my head. “So you broke up with whatsername and then stopped dating entirely?”

  “Pretty much,” he says gruffly. “Check this out.” He sweeps his hand across a gorgeous yard with a shimmering pool at the far end. “We dug this ourselves the year I was fourteen. It was a blast.”

  “Looks like fun, too.” There’s a basketball net at one end of the pool, and I can just picture all the larger Rileys battling over it together. On the surface, Blake’s home and mine look nothing alike. But I feel a familiar big family vibe here, and it’s comforting to me. That weirdness in the kitchen really wasn’t so bad. “Nice place you got here, Blakey.” I hook my arm in his. “Show me some more.”

  He takes me to the pool house, with its refrigerator full of Canadian beers. We return to find that the baby shower is just getting going in the huge sunroom off the kitchen. Guests are arriving in ones and twos, piling gifts on one table and sampling appetizers on another.

  “Let’s find you something to eat,” Blake says, rubbing the small of my back. “I know my mom is a little much, but she’s a damned good cook.”

  “Sounds great.”

  He hands me a plate, and I help
myself to a mini quiche and a deviled egg. His sister Britt gallops over, smiling at me. “There’s a lot more food right in there,” she says, indicating the dining table through the French doors. “And we’re playing a party game.”

  “Quarters?” Blake guesses. “Beer pong?”

  His sister rolls her eyes. “No, Blakey.” She doesn’t even have to stand on her tiptoes to attach something to his shirt pocket. It’s a safety pin with a tiny blue ribbon on it. She hands me one with a pink ribbon. “For the whole party, you can’t say the word baby. If you do, you forfeit your pin to whoever heard you say it first. There’s a prize for the person who has the most pins at the end.”

  “Beer pong is funner,” Blake argues.

  She pats his chest. “Eat some brisket. Make Mom happy.”

  We queue up for the buffet. The Riley dining table practically sags under the weight of all the food on it. As I load up my plate, Blake gets pulled into a discussion with his brother-in-law about the team’s chances for the season.

  On the other side of the room, the curly-haired girl from the kitchen stands holding her plate. She’s listening to Brenna and shooting me dirty looks at the same time. That has to be Blake’s ex, and I find myself studying her. She’s cute, with big brown eyes and a heart-shaped face. The only ugly thing about her is the sour expression.

  Blake gives my ass a squeeze, and I realize he’s prompting me to move forward. I take a chunk of the famous Riley brisket and a soft, buttered roll. Looking at the food, I’m suddenly starving. For a month I haven’t eaten all that well. Meals with Wes and Jamie are always terrific, but otherwise I scarf down a lot of takeout with the window open so Violet won’t sense how often I violate her no-food rule.

  She’s softened up to me, though. I thought there was only one way to impress her—medical knowledge. But now I know there’re two. Since I introduced her to the team, she now looks at me like I’m someone worth knowing, which is just bonkers.

  “Shoulda used two plates,” Blake comments. When I look, his is practically overflowing.

  “You can stash something on mine,” I offer.

  “Aw, thanks, J-Babe.”