“I’m not a classic car mechanic.”
“Well, whatever. You could say you were working on a car for a project or something. Something that you like. We don’t have to be specific. It’s probably best if you’re more mysterious anyway.”
“That way we won’t get our lies confused?” he shot scathingly.
“Yeah, that’s right.” Amy stuck out her lip in a pout. “I’m not going to even ask you why you ended up agreeing to this. I already know. It was because you were guilted into it, but nevertheless, you said yes. You said yes and you have to go through with it. People already know that I’m bringing a plus one to this thing.”
“What is it anyway? You said a little social gathering. I’m not sure what that even means.”
“It’s just a thing at this house. Drinks and mingling and stuff. People talk though. I want them to meet you. I think it’s a great way to get this whole thing started up. It’s not a huge party. There is only going to be maybe twenty people or so there. Maybe only a few more.”
“Maybe a few more? What’s that supposed to mean? You can’t just drop this on me. We haven’t even planned it out. We’re going to sound like idiots when we go there and no one is going to believe us. We should at least sell the shit out of this if we’re going to do it. We have to get our stories straight.”
“Yes,” she leveled him with a direct stare of those killer blue eyes. “We’ll get it straight. Sit down, new fiancé, and we’ll talk.”
Chapter 6
End Of Story
Amy
After going over a shitty sort of plan in which she detailed their non-existent life; met online a little over a year ago, together for the past six months, love at first sight, whirlwind romance, Amy sent Sam off to change.
He came back ten minutes later and her jaw nearly hit the floor. She buttoned it up at the last second and tried to wipe off her silly grin and the sudden blush that was heating up her face. Her heart did a rapid pitter-patter skip hop that was completely out of line.
I asked him because there was no one else I trusted enough. End of story.
Except that Sam, standing there in a fitted black dress shirt and skinny black tight fitting pants that outlined every square inch of his broad shoulders, jacked arms, huge chest and ripped abs, looked like anything but the end of a story. He was fantastic. Gorgeous in a way she didn’t know he could be. He was strong and masculine and those clothes… god, those pants… she could detect a barely visible bulge in the front and had to look away real quick before her face went totally scarlet and gave her away.
“Where- where did you get those- uh- pants?” she stammered.
His lips actually quirked up in a knowing smile. “Don’t you remember? You bought them for me. Liked to see how tight my ass looked in them.”
She couldn’t help it. She blushed immediately while her stomach clenched violently. Other spots, spots she didn’t want to think about at all, spots that definitely weren’t part of the plan, pounded relentlessly. She felt heavy and soaking wet. She knew her nipples were peaking under the tight dress, since she hadn’t bothered with a bra. Fuck. Her body’s response was completely inappropriate and completely telling.
Sam was hot. Real fucking hot. She couldn’t do anything about it. She had eyes. She’d once had a hell of a lot more for him. My body might still react, but that’s just biology. My brain doesn’t have to. My heart doesn’t have to.
“So, how did I propose?”
“Oh…” She hadn’t actually thought about that part. She closed her eyes and tried to force a romantic image to come to mind. The only image that ended up clouding her brain was an image of Sam, standing half naked, shirt peeled away, those tight fucking pants outlining every inch of his erect cock. Fuck me. No… don’t. Don’t fuck me. That’s not what this is about. It can’t be what this is about.
“You have a studio you said?”
“Yeah… I have a studio for my art on the bottom and I live in a really small apartment on top.”
“Sounds perfectly romantic,” Sam said sarcastically. “You came home one night and found the studio filled with candles. Candles everywhere. And a circle in one room that had a single red rose in it with a ring tied to it.”
“That sounds fucking fake.”
“Yeah? Okay, well candles everywhere and then you walked through and find me waiting for you and I asked you to marry me.”
“Maybe that’s more doable.”
“Would candles harm the artwork.”
“Doubtful. Unless you lit it on fire. Small flickering kinds on the floor would be alright.”
“Let’s go with that then.”
“What if people ask us about a date?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “I knew this was a terrible idea. There are so many things we didn’t discuss, let alone my fake persona.”
“Well, I thought about that and I decided you should be a mechanic. People like a little bit of a bad boy touch. Dressed all in black, you’re sure to be super mysterious. It doesn’t matter if you come from the same background as them. They’re going to be intrigued.”
“Background? You mean class?”
“Is class still a thing? This isn’t two hundred years ago.”
“I don’t know, Amy,” Sam shot back. “Is class still a thing? I don’t know anything about these people, but you seem to want to be a part of them awfully bad. I think that’s why you got married in the first place. You saw what you want and you went for it.”
“God, Sam, the reasons I got married aren’t any of your business. If you’re going to be rude, just forget about the whole thing.” She whirled, tears obscuring her vision. Her entire body burned with shame.
A hand, strong, warm, and solid, closed around her arm. Sam’s grip was firm and made it impossible for her to get away. “Wait.”
She shrugged his hand off and whirled. “What? Why would I wait? You obviously don’t want to do this. I should never have asked. This was just stupid. It’s not going to help either of us.”
“You can’t go,” Sam said firmly. His jaw clicked into place and remained rigid. His eyes flashed with anger even though he was the one who enjoyed insulting her. “I’ll never hear the end of it from my parents. I’m sorry I said anything about your first marriage. You’re right, I don’t know anything about it. Let’s just go, okay. The sooner we’re there, the sooner we can leave.”
“That’s a great attitude going into it.”
“Don’t worry. I’m able to play the part.”
“Says the guy who flunked drama in grade eleven.”
Some of the anger left Sam’s eyes and she swore she saw a hint of amusement there. “I might have, but the next year I got a D. It was a significant improvement I would say.”
She rolled her eyes. She found it hard to stay angry with Sam, or even annoyed, when he flashed her a grin that was far too charming. Was it just her or did all women fall all over the place for that kind of devious, bad boy look? Sam didn’t have to play the part of mysterious and intriguing mechanic. He really was. She didn’t know him at all anymore.
“Well then,” she said, far too breathless. “Let me fix your hair and we can go.”
“What’s wrong with my hair?”
She stared at his too long, too shaggy, dark locks. “It’s all over the place.” I like it like that. “Let me see what I can do with a little product and a comb.”
“Probably make me look ridiculous.”
“Maybe, but we can always put it back the way it was.”
He arched one dark brow, which made him far too handsome. “Then, challenge accepted.”
Chapter 7
The First Real Fake Date
Sam
He wasn’t sure what he was expecting their first real date as a fake couple to be, but the massive sprawling mansion in the gated community with the six car garage, rambling house, huge pillars, walk out balcony, green grass that resembled a golf course and a huge backyard that looked like a tropical oasis
with a pool, wasn’t exactly it.
“This is insane,” he hissed into Amy’s ear as they walked up the sidewalk together. “This is a six million dollar house.”
“Oh, at least.” Amy rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry. Johnathan and Samantha are great. They have lots of money and their house is over the top, but they do a lot for charity and everything. They’re good people. They have a few of my art pieces. My ex did some work for Johnathan’s business way back years ago when they weren’t so well off. It really took off after that and the rest is history.”
“Obviously.”
Amy turned to Sam as they took the front steps together. There were two lion statues on either side of the house. He hoped it wasn’t true what he’d heard, that it meant the house was paid off.
Before he could come up with any other snarky come backs, Amy slid her arm through his. It sent off a shock wave of electricity that he wasn’t prepared to deal with or equipped to handle. He inhaled sharply and turned his head to stare down at her. She gazed up at him with an absolutely adoring smile that didn’t look pasted on at all. One thing was for sure, Amy was an excellent actress.
“What are you doing?” he hissed as he glanced at their arms locked together.
She blinked innocently. “Well, if you’re my fiancé, some PDA is expected. It’s either this or hold my hand or something.”
“How about a pinch on the ass?” He wanted to smack himself for suggesting it. Lord, the last thing he needed was to think more about her already magnificent ass.
“Shut up,” she ground out right before the door opened.
“Amy!” A pretty, probably late thirties, petite blonde woman with a tight fitting black cocktail dress and a diamond necklace that was, no doubt, entirely real and entirely insanely expensive, pulled open the door. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
The woman, who was probably Samantha, held out her hand and Amy took it. She squeezed it gently in a completely redundant gesture and let her hand fall away.
“Samantha, this is Sam.”
Samantha tittered away behind a dainty hand with a huge rock on it. Sam couldn’t help but be fixated by the diamond’s size. The smaller diamonds on the band snugged right up to it were of no less consequence.
“Sometimes people call me Sam,” Samantha admitted, as though she was sharing the world’s greatest secrets. “I guess there are two Sams here tonight.”
He barely cut himself off from having to utter something about that being real special. Amy pasted on a smile and saved him from ruining the night within the first few minutes. She started prattling on about her ideas for a new painting and Samantha got real into it. She ushered them inside.
He wished he could stay out. He already sensed that the night was going to be a disaster. One look at that house and the neighborhood in general told him he sure as hell didn’t belong there. He had no idea how to act. Amy’s stupid plan would surely falter and die a hard death when people figured out he was part of a class they probably weren’t even born into.
Unfortunately Samantha was on a mission. In the span of five minutes he was introduced to the entire room full of people, her husband included. The guy, though he was dressed as formal as his wife, like they were going for a wedding, did offer him a glass of whiskey on the rocks and was fairly normal, all things considered.
The rest of the guests, Sam wasn’t sure about. They eyed him up and down and he could tell that even if they were trying to get a bead on him, they were silently judging the hell out of him. It looked like there were far more than twenty or twenty-five people there, like Amy had said. The whole house was buzzing with people dressed like they were going to be stepping out onto the red carpet.
“I’m just going to go and talk some business with Samantha.”
The words reached him through a fog. They didn’t actually register with him until Amy’s small hand came to rest gently on his arm. That same shock zinged straight up his skin and underneath the black cotton shirt, his hair stood on end.
“I’m sorry, what?” He turned to the side and faced Amy.
She smiled at him and he tried to keep his heart from beating right out of his chest. He literally felt the pulse jumping at the side of his neck.
“Yeah… sure,” he mumbled.
“You’ll be fine here?”
He bent, taking Amy by surprise. He inhaled sharply, which was a mistake, considering that he got a nose full of her sweet perfume. He had to push the words out and even still, they came out shaky and unsure.
“Yeah- sure.”
“Okay. Good.” She turned and though there was something wild in her eyes, she flashed a confidant smile and strode off, trailing behind Samantha.
Sam wandered around the room, feeling at a loss. He wanted to try and talk to someone, but he didn’t know who to target. He knew he had zero in common with anyone in that room. He picked up a dainty little sandwich off of a table and munched on it. The thing was disgusting, the bread dry and whatever brown paste spread on it, horrific.
He spotted an emptier room, some kind of sitting room or useless space in the house, where few other people were, and headed for it.
It was a mistake. Immediately a woman with raven black hair and violent curves spotted him. She started across the room, her intent unmistakable. She was older, probably early to mid-forties, but her body was that of a much younger woman. She had on a sparkly red dress and high red pumps. She was easily six feet tall. She was wearing too much makeup, no doubt what she termed tasteful. Her blood red lips matched the blood red nails on her hands.
“You must be new here,” she purred. “I’m Virginia.” Her eyes traveled to his hands. “You don’t have a drink. Would you like me to fix that for you?”
“No.” Sam suppressed a shudder as Virginia’s green eyes raked over him. “Thanks.”
“Are you here by yourself?”
“No,” he said again. He wished he could just turn around and leave, but he had the distinct impression that Virginia would follow him. She looked like a woman who was experienced, and rich, enough to get what she wanted. She looked at him like she wanted to devour him.
“Too bad,” she purred. “You have that sweet kind of baby face that I like. You ever heard of a sugar momma, little cub?” Her mouth twisted into a predatory sneer.
Sam shivered violently and instantly backpedaled. Literally. He took a faltering step back and glanced wildly around, looking for someone to save him, but everyone was engaged in conversation.
Virginia followed. She wasn’t going to be deterred easily. She was the kind of woman who obviously liked the thrill of the chase and he felt a little like a cornered animal. It was weird, having a female be the aggressive one.
“Maybe it’s not too bad,” she reconsidered. “Maybe you have a lady at home who doesn’t really know how to please a man. Maybe you need a real woman to teach you what true pleasure is.”
“No- really,” he stammered. “I’m fine.”
“Oh, you just don’t want to be rude. Come on, now. Admit it. I can see it written all over your face that you haven’t had a good, satisfying relationship in a very long time. You look like a man starved for pleasure.” Before he could stop her, she stepped forward and slammed a hand on his chest. Her long, red nails bit into his skin all the way through his shirt. He winced and tried to back away again, since he didn’t know what to do. He was afraid that he was going to cause a scene and embarrass Amy and that would be the end of everything. He’d disappoint his parents. He’d fail her parents. Fuck me, this is a fail fail situation.
“I… please- don’t take this-”
He never got to finish. Virginia’s hand slid down his chest, fast as lightning. She boldly palmed his cock and grabbed hard.
He jerked back in shock. He couldn’t even say a damn thing he was so surprised. He stumbled back further and ripped away. He turned, Virginia’s mocking, haunting laughter loud in his ears. He couldn’t think of anything, but escape. He had to get away.
He slammed through the house, heedless of who saw him, wild, eyes blurred, face on fire, body burning with shame. No one, not one person, had ever touched him like that. He didn’t fucking like it. His mind was a mess, the panic in his chest warring with a hundred other emotions.
As he burst through the front door, the only thought in his head was the fact that he’d failed Amy. He felt rage. Pure, unadulterated rage. Not at Virginia. Not even at the stupid plan. No, it was the fact that he actually cared.
Chapter 8
Leaving
Sam
“Sam, wait!”
Hurried footsteps, the little annoying click clack of spiked high heels, scurried down the sidewalk, the actual fucking sidewalk, that bordered the drive. Who the hell is rich enough to have their own sidewalk?
He didn’t want to turn, but he had no choice. A small, warm palm closed around his arm. He wanted to fling it off and keep going, but Amy was a weakness that he’d never been able to shake. He pivoted slowly, trying desperately to swallow back the rage scalding his insides. He wanted to spew it out, but it would be harsh and damaging and Amy didn’t deserve that. It was his fault for agreeing to the whole stupid plan in the first place. I could have just said no. It would have saved a hell of a lot of heartache in the long run.
“Where are you going?” Amy panted. She shifted from one foot to the other, as though those damn high shoes were pinching her toes and she couldn’t bear to be standing on them a second longer.
Part of him wanted her to suffer, while the other part wanted to sweep her off her feet, throw those stupid shoes aside, and carry her all the way to his car. He wanted to drop her in the driver seat and take them both back to his place and…
He gave his head a shake. Thinking about Amy naked wasn’t helping his cause. His body responded violently, his cock punching up, his blood boiling. It only served to annoy him.
“I’m leaving,” he ground out, stating the obvious.
“Why?” She stared up at him stupidly, innocently, like she couldn’t even begin to comprehend why he’d storm out.
Fake It: A Sizzling Hot Pretend Romance Page 4
