by Isabel Love
Cracking my eyes open just a bit, I see red hair and a smattering of freckles all over her pale creamy skin. Mmmm. I think back and remember my night with Quinn.
My cock likes these memories a lot. I thrust my hips experimentally, testing to see if Quinn will push back into my touch, but she lets out a small snore and rolls over, throwing her leg over my hip. She looks so young in her slumber, no mischievous grin, no sassy mouth, no smart comeback hurled in my direction. In sleep, her expression is peaceful and relaxed.
Though I’d like to wake Quinn up with my mouth between her legs, I don’t want to disturb her. My bladder and stomach both complain at once, one too full and the other too empty. So, I get up, do my thing in the bathroom, and then get started on breakfast. Maybe pancakes and bacon will help my case when I ask her to be my date tomorrow.
I’m flipping the last pancake and turning off the pan of sizzling bacon when she appears in the kitchen, wearing one of my white t-shirts. It’s so big on her that one shoulder peeks out of the neck. Her hair is disheveled and her face is scrubbed free from makeup, but she still looks delicious.
“Morning,” I greet cheerfully, plating her breakfast.
“What’s all this? I never knew you gave the royal treatment to your hookups in the morning.”
“I don’t have hookups over if I can help it, but I was hungry and thought you might be too. Besides, you’re not just a hookup, you’re my friend. Now, would you like two slices of bacon or three?”
“How about four?” She quirks an eyebrow.
“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” I tease, putting four slices on her plate.
She steals one off the plate before I can set it down on the table, moaning loudly when she takes a bite. “Wow, I’m impressed you know how to cook.”
“It comes in handy when I’m hungry. Getting takeout for every meal wreaks havoc on my stomach.” I dig into my own plate and decide there’s no time like the present to bring up my request. “I have a favor to ask you.”
“Aha! That’s why you’re feeding me,” she exclaims.
“Maybe…but seriously, my family has this dinner at Green Briars tomorrow to celebrate my sister’s new job, and my mother has insisted I bring a date, lest I screw up the headcount and ruin the seating arrangement. I thought about asking Max, but my mom might have a conniption.” I risk a glance at Quinn’s face to see her reaction. She’s staring at me warily.
I raise my hands up, placating. “I’m not trying to make this into anything, Red, I swear. A girlfriend is the last thing I want, and I know you aren’t looking for anything serious either. Meeting my family does not mean I want more with you, I’m just in need of a date and other girls tend to get clingy when I ask them. I figured I wouldn’t have that problem with you.”
“Phew, you scared me there for a second.” She grabs her chest.
“My parents are stuck-up lawyers, but my brother and sister are pretty cool. It would be two, three hours of your life, tops. Then I’ll pay you back any way you want, preferably in orgasms.” I look down at her chest to where her nipples are saluting me under my shirt.
“Hmmm.” She fingers her lip then takes another bite of bacon. “Maybe you’re onto something. My parents have this tendency to invite my ex to family get-togethers. I hate seeing him there, and it makes it worse if I’m alone. If I go with you to this thing, will you come with me to one of mine?”
“Done.” I smile at her.
“Okay hotshot, give me the lowdown. Where are we going? Who will I meet? How should I dress? What’s our story?”
We make a plan over breakfast and I find that the thought of going to this dinner has become a little less painful knowing Quinn will be there, too.
CHARLIE SAID TO DRESS conservatively, so I scan my closet to see if I even own anything conservative. It’s not that I dress provocatively, but my clothes tend to be…unique and artistic. I end up choosing a black silk top paired with a mint green pencil skirt and finish the ensemble with black ankle boots. I keep my makeup simple and wrangle my unruly hair into the only up-do I know how to style. Looking myself over in the full-length mirror, I think I could totally pass for conservative.
My doorbell rings at four PM on the dot, and Charlie whistles appreciatively when I open the door.
“Sweet baby Jesus, Red, you look edible. Please tell me you skipped underwear today.” He has yet to make eye contact with all of the ogling.
“How did you know?” Any kind of underwear, even thongs, only manage to create lines under this skirt.
“Wishful thinking.” He chuckles, finally meeting my eyes. I appreciate the heat I see in his gaze, but it makes me worry I’ve missed the conservative mark.
I clear my throat. “Am I dressed okay?” I ask. I’m mentally scanning the contents of my wardrobe again, but I don’t think I have anything better than this to wear today.
“You look perfect.” He winks. “Ready to go?”
“Yes, just let me get my purse.” As we walk to his car, I appreciate the back view of Charlie. He, too, looks edible, but in a polished way I’ve never seen him dress before. Charcoal grey slacks with a matching suit jacket and a white dress shirt make it look like we might be going to a wedding, but his tie is electric blue with a little design on it that I can’t quite make out.
The way he opens my car door and closes it after I sit makes this feel like a date, and strangely enough, that thought makes my palms sweat. I have let this man do all manner of naughty things to my body—not to mention the things I’ve done to his—but a simple opening of the door makes me queasy. This isn’t a date. It’s only a favor.
“Don’t look so scared. Our first stop will be the bar for some fortification. We’ll stay a couple hours, then I’ll give you orgasms as payment,” he promises, and it makes me relax. Despite the dapper clothes and gentlemanly manners, he’s still the same old Charlie.
“Sounds good.”
The drive isn’t long and before I’m ready, we stop in front of an ornate building. Valet takes the car and Charlie takes my hand as we walk inside. “Remember, you’re my date. We’re supposed to hold hands and act all coupley.”
“Is coupley a word?” I ask him.
“Probably not.” He shrugs with a smile, wrapping his arm around my shoulder.
After the employee manning the door checks Charlie’s name off of a list, we enter the dining room. This place is fancy. He warned me that everyone in his family is a lawyer and we’re dining at an actual country club, so I had clues that his family is wealthy, but I’m still taken aback by just how posh this place is.
“Holy fuck. Where are we, the royal palace?” I mutter to him as we enter the dining room.
“Hardly. I know it’s fancy, but it’s just stuff.”
Just stuff. Right. He must have grown up surrounded by nice things to have become accustomed to luxury like this.
Charlie leads me to the bar, as promised, and quirks an eyebrow at me. “What’s your pleasure?”
“A shot of tequila, please, and a rum and coke,” I tell the bartender.
The bartender looks to Charlie. “Make that two shots of tequila and a seven and seven.”
He leans one elbow on the bar and faces me, hooking his arm around my waist to pull me into his space. He smells so good, a heady combination of woods and spice.
“Take a breath, you look uncharacteristically scared right now. Want to sneak into the bathroom for a quickie?”
I snort. “Maybe later.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” His eyes twinkle with mischief and we both take in our surroundings for a minute. “You know what I hate most about this place?” he asks me.
“What’s that?”
“It’s full of fake people. Everyone is putting on a show for everyone else. I can’t stand it here.” He gestures to a man down the bar. “Take that guy, for instance. I know he’s gay, but he’s here with a fake fiancée because his family wants to keep him in the closet.”
“Seem
s like it isn’t a very good cover if you know about it.”
“Exactly.”
“But aren’t we doing the same thing? Pretending?” I gesture between us.
“Please.” He sighs. “It’s not the same at all. We’re fuck buddies on a date. This isn’t much of a stretch, Red. I can’t wait to get under that skirt today, and I’m not lying to anyone about us being engaged. My mom told me I need a date, I asked you, and you came, end of story.”
“So you don’t want me to be fake? Act conservative, proper, and polite?”
“Fuck no. I want you to be yourself, and I’m going to be myself. They’re just going to have to deal with us.”
I nod, feeling better about my role here today.
The bartender places our drinks in front of us and we get ready for the shots of tequila.
“Allow me.” Charlie takes my hand, licks it, and sprinkles salt on the wet patch of skin, and then his left hand gets the same treatment. Armed with a lemon wedge in one hand and the shot glass in the other, he toasts me. “To surviving this dinner.” We clink glasses, lick the salt, down the shot, and bite into the lemons. The alcohol burns its way down my throat and warms my belly, and I reach for the rum and coke to chase the taste out of my mouth. I’m hoping the shot takes the edge off of my nerves.
“Well, look who it is!” exclaims a deep voice behind me. “You weren’t lying when you said you’d be at the bar.”
I turn and find a man who can only be Charlie’s brother. He has Charlie’s blond hair, though his is slicked back while Charlie’s is unruly, the same blue eyes, though less mischievous, and even the same dimples pull at his cheeks when he smiles. I can tell he’s older and more serious than Charlie, but he’s still absolutely stunning.
“Dom!” Charlie greets his brother with a hug and takes my hand to introduce me. “This is Quinn Fitzpatrick. Quinn, this is my brother Domenic.”
Domenic smiles at me, his blue eyes warm and friendly, and shakes my hand. “Nice to meet you Quinn.” He looks back at his brother. “I’m glad you didn’t bring Max as your date.”
“Yeah, me too. Quinn’s much prettier than Max.”
“This is Samantha.” Domenic steps aside to reveal his date, and Charlie and I shake Samantha’s hand. She’s a tall brunette with harsh features and a serious demeanor.
“What are you guys drinking?” Charlie asks them.
“You are aware it’s only 4:30, right?” Domenic quirks an eyebrow at him.
Charlie blinks. “And?”
Domenic laughs. “Sam, you want anything?” he asks his date.
“No, thank you,” she says, eyeing my drink with displeasure.
Whatever. I pick it up and take a big sip. I don’t think Serious Sam and I are going to be friends, so I turn to look at the boys instead. What a view. Charlie is taller by a couple of inches and Domenic is slimmer, but they both fill out a suit very well.
“I have a feeling Ben is going to propose tonight,” Domenic tells Charlie.
Charlie looks shocked. “What? I thought we were celebrating Tabby’s job at the firm.” That’s what he told me on the way over. Tabby recently graduated from law school, passed the bar exam, and was just hired by a prestigious firm.
“I thought so, too, but then Ben showed up at work to talk to Dad, and Mom has been acting extra neurotic.”
“When is she not neurotic?” Charlie asks. “Tabby’s too young to get married.” He looks worried.
“Yeah maybe, but Ben’s parents are joining us for dinner, so just brace yourself, okay?” Domenic bumps shoulders with Charlie. “Let’s go find the table.”
“Okay, we’ll be right there.”
Domenic and Sam walk into the sea of tables. “Hey, you okay?” I ask Charlie, who has lost his usual spark.
“I just can’t believe my baby sister might get married. She’s only 23 years old.” Seeing Charlie look anxious is just wrong.
“Do you not like her boyfriend?”
“Ben?” He shrugs. “Honestly, I can’t imagine anyone being good enough for my baby sister. I just don’t want her to give up on her dreams for a guy, you know?” He runs his hand through his hair.
“Well, maybe she won’t. Maybe Ben makes her happy.” Look at me, defending the idea of marriage—who am I? He doesn’t look convinced.
Blowing out a breath, he picks up his drink and takes my hand. “Let’s do this.”
I pick up my drink as well and we walk over to the table right in the center of the room. Everyone we pass is dressed to the nines and they all peer at us intently, making me feel like I’m on display.
“Do I have something on my face?” I whisper to Charlie.
He gives me a onceover. “No, why?”
“Everyone is staring at us.”
“Just part of the experience when you dine at Green Briars,” he tells me.
We find that the seats have been assigned, so we set our drinks down at the places labeled Charles and Quinn. My eyebrows rise at the use of Charlie’s full name—it does not suit him at all. Despite being early, we are the last ones to take our seats. As I scan the people at the table, I see an older man who must be Charlie’s dad—the genes are strong in this family. Mr. Nelson is quite the silver fox, and when he greets me, I can see what Charlie and Domenic are going to look like in 30 years. The only feature he doesn’t share with his sons is a set of dimples.
When I meet Mrs. Nelson, I find the source of their dimples. “Thank you for joining us for dinner, Quinn.” The words are kind enough, but I don’t see warmth in her blue eyes. Instead, it feels like she’s studying me, cataloging all the ways I don’t fit in here. Don’t worry lady, I think, I’m well aware already.
“Thank you for having me, Mrs. Nelson, Mr. Nelson.” I can’t not be polite to Charlie’s parents.
“Come meet my sister.” Charlie steers me away from his parents before they can say anything else. Tabby is tiny compared to her brothers, and dressed in a powder blue shift dress and navy skyscraper heels, she looks elegant and young all at the same time. “Tabby Cat!” Charlie shouts as the girl launches herself into his arms. He spins her around like he usually does with Monica, and she laughs and hugs him right back. The sight makes my heart squeeze.
“I told you to stop calling me that like 10 years ago, Charlie,” she complains. Her twinkling eyes and wide smile betray her annoyance with her brother.
“Aw, you know you love it when I call you Tabby Cat.” He turns to find my hand and pulls me forward. “This is Quinn. Quinn, this is my sister, Tabby.”
She smiles and instead of shaking my hand, she leans in to give me a hug, squeezing me tight. “Nice to meet you, Quinn. This is my boyfriend, Ben,” she indicates the man beside her, “and Ben’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Collins.”
After the introductions are complete, we take our seats. Luckily, Charlie is next to his sister, and I’m in between Charlie and Domenic. This seating arrangement is definitely giving me ideas about being in a Charlie and Domenic sandwich—wow, that would be something, but I have a feeling Domenic is not quite as much fun in bed as Charlie is.
“How are things going at work, Domenic?” Mrs. Nelson asks him. He responds with some lawyer talk that goes straight over my head.
“And what about that high-profile case you took on? Any breakthroughs yet?” Mr. Nelson chimes in. Domenic answers again with the lawyer talk, although he’s pretty evasive. My guess is that he isn’t supposed to be talking about whatever high-profile case he has.
After they finish interrogating him, they move on to Ben, Tabby’s boyfriend. He is—you guessed it—also a lawyer. At least the wait staff has now started serving the food, and I dig into my salad and bread roll, absolutely starving. I must not be using the right fork because Mrs. Nelson frowns at me. Whatever. I smile up at her, hoping I don’t have lettuce stuck in my teeth.
Once Ben has updated the table about his latest wins in court, the topic changes to Tabby, and I can’t help but notice no one has asked Charlie about h
is job and his latest account. It isn’t easy to be a successful photographer, and Charlie is doing so well.
When Tabby is done talking about her new job, I decide I can’t take any more lawyer talk. “Did you guys hear about Charlie’s new account? They personally requested Charlie to handle all the photography,” I say to the table.
Charlie stiffens in his seat, the easy smile slipping into a cautious expression.
“That’s great, Charlie!” Tabby flashes him a warm smile.
“Congratulations,” Domenic adds.
A disinterested Mr. Nelson asks Mr. Collins about setting up a golf match with some of his clients next month and I look around, surprised no one is going to ask Charlie about his good news.
I peer at Charlie and see his resigned expression. Reaching my hand down to his thigh, I squeeze, letting him know I’m here.
“Tough crowd,” I mutter to him.
He nods, looking way too morose.
“Want to sneak to the bathroom for a quickie?” I suggest quietly, hoping to see his smile again.
“What about you, Quinn?” Mrs. Nelson interrupts my whispers. “What is it that you do for a living?”
“I’m an artist,” I tell her, and the table goes quiet. It’s like I confessed to being a prostitute.
“How interesting,” she says, clearly uninterested.
“Quinn is very talented,” Charlie defends. “Her work is for sale at Art Redefined, the gallery downtown.”
“I’ll have to come check out your work some time,” Tabby smiles at me. Bless her heart for trying, but Mrs. Nelson is on a mission.
“Do you make a living off of your art?” she asks.
It takes me a beat to grasp that she just said that out loud. “Uh, yes. While I may have started out as a starving artist, after a couple of years I found the right gallery and the right niche for my art. It pays the bills.” I smile stiffly.
Charlie goes for my thigh this time, squeezing me to let me know he’s here.
“Good for you,” Domenic chimes in this time. “I’m impressed that you and Charlie can tap into your creativity on demand. That would snuff my creativity right out, too much pressure.”
