Single Dad Next Door: A Fake Marriage Romance

by Penelope Bloom

  Even if I leave, I know he’ll find me. He may be arrogant and he may be an asshole, but I have no doubts about his competence. There’s no way I could slip away from him for long.

  No. I can’t leave. I’m stuck here, and my stupid stomach is rumbling with hunger. Just thinking about having to face Jesse after trying to seduce him and then chickening out at the last second has me terrified. He probably thinks I’m batshit crazy. I go to his refrigerator and open it, raising my eyebrows when I find a jar of my favorite kind of pickle. I twist the metal lid off and crunch into one, turning and nearly dropping the whole jar when I see Jesse standing there, blocking my exit from the kitchen.

  “You always did go to pickles when you were upset,” he says, smirking a little.

  “I’m sorry,” I blurt, forgetting there’s a half-chewed pickle in my mouth.

  Jesse covers his mouth with the back of his hand, trying not to smile. “It’s fine. I didn’t mean to scare you off, with my… tastes.”

  An image of his raised hand over my bare ass pops in my mind. His tastes… “No, it wasn’t you. I just got carried away. I don’t, well, do that. I’m not a prude or anything, but I don’t just sleep with guys like it’s no big deal. I made a mistake. I take full responsibility.” My cheeks burn red and I can’t make myself meet his eye.

  He quirks an eyebrow, stepping in to grab a pickle and snap off a bite. He was kind enough to put his shirt back on and re-button his pants, but my memory still burns with the image of how incredible he looked. “I shouldn’t have taken your bait,” he says. “I don’t want to compromise our professional relationship.” He lowers his voice. “And if I did, I don’t want to degrade you like that. You’re not like the others. You deserve better.”

  “Right,” I say, a little too quickly. “We should keep this simple.” For now, at least.

  31

  Jesse

  I wander the set while Makayla gets ready for her scene. It’s a fascinating place, even though I would rather there weren’t so many unknowns. My eyes trace the rafters overhead where someone could easily sneak up with a weapon, or the many nooks and crannies behind the flat set-pieces and large equipment. Even the caterers and delivery guys who seem to endlessly stream in and out of the set could be here to hurt her. I’m on edge the whole time, clenching my hands and regularly straightening my suit just to reassure myself with the weight of my Glock holstered at my side.

  Last night was… interesting. I woke up in the middle of the night, having the same nightmare about when I was captured back in Abu Siad and tortured for a week. I could have sworn I heard Makayla shushing me and felt her hands gliding down my body, easing me back into bed. It’s impossible though. I’m as light a sleeper as there is, and one glimpse of her would’ve had me completely awake.

  I hate how much vulnerability I’ve already shown her. All the years of hardening myself to emotion and shutting it out seem to have melted away as soon as I saw her. She has me feeling real fucking pussyish right about now, and I could use an outlet for my anger. I haven’t even had a chance to hit the gym, grab a few drinks, or get in a good fuck since I’ve been watching her. The job is nonstop.

  I watch Makayla reading her lines with Kennedy. They’re laughing about something, and her friend keeps glancing my way. Makayla eventually bulges her eyes at her slightly, pulling Kennedy’s chin away from me with two stiff fingers.

  “She’s something, isn’t she,” asks Jason, who slips up to my side.

  I don’t dignify him with a response, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he settles in beside me, crossing his arms.

  “We dated once, you know,” he adds. “Makayla and I. Well, I took a go at Kennedy too, come to think of it.” He punctuates this by trying to give me a back slap, like it’s a funny fucking joke.

  But I turn slightly, catching his wrist before he can touch me. I meet his eyes, making sure I have every last ounce of his attention. “Next time you try to touch me, I’ll break your fucking arm.”

  I let go, shoving him away a little as I do. He straightens his jacket and stalks off, glaring once at me over his shoulder as he goes. Fucking asshole.

  A kid who can’t be older than eighteen shuffles up beside me. “Don’t mind him,” he says. His voice is a little higher pitched than it should be for his age. I give him a curious look. His lanky arms are folded and he’s clearly trying to look casual, even though the way his hands are shaking and his throat is tight makes his nervousness painfully clear.

  I could tell the kid to fuck off, but something about him amuses me, so I only grin down at him. “You know him?”

  “Oh yeah. My name’s Ed, by the way,” he shoves an oversized hand toward me.

  I grab it and shake, trying not to smile when he squeezes my hand so hard it makes his face scrunch up.

  “Jason’s a douchebag. He never deserved Makayla,” he adds.

  My grin grows. “Is that right?”

  He laughs a little and blushes. “She’s the reason I took this job. I pretty much just go get coffee and things like that for the crew, but hey, it gives me a chance to watch her every day, so I’m not complaining.”

  I open my mouth to say something because he’s starting to give me the creeps, but he sees my expression and laughs. It’s a quick, halting sound--sharp intakes of breaths and a wheezing exhale.

  “It’s not like that,” he says. “I’ve always wanted to be an actor. I love watching her work. She could do so much better than this crummy show. She should be on broadway or on the big screen.”

  I size the kid up again, trying to imagine what sort of roles he could play, but come up short. I feel a little sorry for him. “What makes her so good?” I ask. To me, acting never seemed too impressive. You just read off lines from a script and go through the motions they tell you to. How hard could that be?

  A light enters Ed’s eyes. “Her presence, for starters. She knows just how to use silence to demand attention. She regulates the volume of her voice to force you to want to lean in closer, wanting to hear every word. I mean, just watch her,” he says, pointing toward the set and lowering his voice. “They’re about to shoot.”

  I look toward her. She stands on a set that looks like the outside of a bar. Blue light bathes her to simulate night time, and a single, yellow streetlight buzzes overhead. She moves to wait inside the door to the “bar” while Camillo, the director, counts down and then calls action.

  Jason bursts from the door of the bar, grabbing Makayla hard by the arm and dragging her behind him. My muscles tense and I itch to walk out there and rip him off her. It’s just a TV show, Jesse, don’t be stupid.

  Makayla pulls, trying to free herself from Jason. He pushes her down and she crumples to the ground, defeated. Her small hands rise to cover her face as her body shakes with sobs.

  “Get up!” he yells down at her.

  My hand slowly moves to my side. I feel the shape of the Glock and briefly entertain the idea of shoving the barrel as far down Jason’s throat as I can. Ed snaps me out of it when he nudges my arm.

  His voice is so low I have to lean down to hear him. “...absolute control. See how much she says with her body language?”

  I look back to her. Yeah, I notice. That’s why I’m having so much trouble remembering they are just pretending. Maybe it’s her skill at acting that has me ready to go end this fucking Jason guy.

  Jason stomps toward her, less convincing in his actions than Makayla. Seeing them side by side exaggerates the difference, now that I’m looking for it. He has an artificial air to his voice and movements, making it obvious he’s conscious of how he’ll look and sound on camera. Makayla on the other hand… she’s really feeling the emotions somehow. When she pulls her hands away from her face to scoot back away from him, the terror and pain in her face makes my heart twist. Where is she going to find that kind of pain? What memory is she calling up from the depths of her past? I wonder if she remembers what I did to her to feel that kind of sadness. The thought pisses me o
ff. Seeing the emotion on her face and knowing I could have caused that makes me hate myself. I’ve wondered all this time if I did the right thing, and looking at her now makes me sure I didn’t. I fucked up. What else is new?

  They died because of you. All my fucking men. Dead.

  “Stay back!” she shouts.

  Jason stops short. A few extras on set are gathered around them, watching the scene in shock.

  “You knew who I was from the start. Don’t play stupid now. You knew the whole time.”

  Her voice is low enough that I barely hear it. Every word is laced with pain and regret. “I thought you could change.”

  He laughs. “For you? Get up. Get up!” he repeats, yanking her to her feet as the gathered crowd gasps. “Stop blubbering,” he growls as he drags her off set.

  I feel a ball of emotion in my stomach, strongest of all is the desire to hurt Jason. Even if he is just following the script, I wanted to hurt him before I watched the scene. I’m also blown away by Makayla’s talent. I knew she was special, but seeing it first-hand is something else. She really could do better than this show.

  Ed nudges me and gives me a big, toothy smile. “See what I’m saying?”

  I surprise myself by laughing a little. I can’t help but like the kid. “Yeah. You’re spot on, kid.”

  He beams. “You want coffee or anything Mr… I never caught your name.”

  “Slade. Jesse Slade.”

  He quirks an eyebrow. “That’s good. You should audition to be the next James Bond.”

  “Nah,” I say. “Not for me. No thanks on the coffee, either.”

  “Suit yourself!” he says, jogging toward the back exit of the set.

  A few minutes later I catch up with Makayla once she’s changed out of her outfit for the scene she just did. She showered too, and her thick hair is still wet. As far as I can tell, she’s not even wearing makeup. I can’t think of a woman I’ve ever seen who looks as good. She’s wearing a black t-shirt and jeans, but seeing her so dressed down is sexy as hell. I love the way she doesn’t even have to try to look fuckable.

  I mentally steer myself away from that line of thought. She’s not fuckable, Jesse. She’s my client. I shouldn’t even be thinking about that. The moment I start getting distracted with thoughts like that, I put her in danger. I need to be on my game and thinking about the job, not that perfectly tight ass of hers.

  We head to her apartment so she can gather some spare clothes and toiletries to take back to my place. She lets me in and I’m surprised by how small and simple her place is. She could definitely afford a nicer apartment. Even the amount she’s paying me for the week would cover the rent of a nicer place for a full year. The apartment is meticulously clean, and she seems to be making quick work of getting her essentials packed.

  I wander the small apartment while she gathers her things and look at the pictures on display. There’s a picture of her and Hubert smiling in front of some rolling green gardens and a palatial white building. There’s also a picture of her and Jason. It’s mixed in with a collage of pictures she has with various members of the crew, but seeing them, faces pressed cheek to cheek and smiling makes me want to hit something. I don’t own her though. I have no right to be jealous of what she does or who she sees. I especially don’t have a right to get pissed over the past. I’m the one who threw her away. Of course she moved on.

  She wheels out one small black suitcase. “All set,” she says.

  Her hair shows some of the natural curls toward the ends as it dries and I have to fight the urge to spear my fingers through it. “Good,” I say a little stiffly. “Let’s go.” I keep thinking about how I nearly fucked her last night. I still remember how perfect her tight ass looked when I yanked her pants down and almost spanked her. The thought of punishing her for all the little games she has played with me makes my cock hard, but it’ll have to remain a thought. After seeing the way she basically ran away from me, I’m sure she wasn’t ready for me, let alone my particular tastes.

  Sex for me has become something I would have barely recognized ten years ago. It’s nothing like the sweet, slow, and thoughtful sex Makayla and I had all those years ago when she gave her virginity to me. Now I can only get off when I push the boundaries. Most women are reluctant at first, but I always give them the night of their lives and leave them wanting more. But me? It doesn’t feel like a release. It feels like every time only makes the anger worse. And now I realize I would’ve hated myself if I had fucked Makayla like that. She deserves better. No punishment, no pain. It’s a silent vow I make to myself, even though I don’t plan to let things get that far.

  Jesus. It’s only our second night together and I’m not even sure if I can keep my hands off her for another day, let alone the rest of the week.

  “Kennedy is coming over to work on lines with me,” says Makayla. “I told her she’ll have to come to your place.”

  I nod. “Yeah. That’s fine.”

  I help her load her suitcase in the back of my car and when I’m walking to get in, I notice a van parked at the other end of the parking garage. The engine is running and someone sits behind the wheel. Something about it makes my hairs stand on end. “Wait here,” I say to Makayla.

  She gives me a strange look, but stays put.

  I jog toward the van and increase my pace when I hear the engine rev and see it start to back out. I’m nearly to the vehicle when the driver guns the gas, making the tires squeal and rounds the corner. I stop short, watching after it helplessly.

  “What was that about?” she asks. Her voice is a little strained, even though I can tell she’s trying to sound disinterested. I guess her acting ability doesn’t completely translate to real life.

  “I had a feeling about that car,” I say, realizing how dumb it sounds as I get behind the wheel and start the engine.

  She grins. “So you decided to just run at it? What were you going to do? Touch it?”

  “I was going to make sure they weren’t following us.”

  “Why would someone follow us? I mean, I know there are the stalkers and all that, but what’s the point of just following us around?”

  “They could be gathering information, looking for patterns of behavior, trying to find the ideal time to make their move. Anything.”

  “Wouldn’t it have been smarter to watch and see if they followed us? You know… instead of running at them like a big barbarian and scaring them off?”

  I grip the steering wheel in annoyance. Yes, it would have been, but my feelings for you are clouding my judgment. My need to see my cock plunge in that perfectly tight pussy of yours has me completely and utterly distracted. “Why don’t you let me do my job?”

  She shakes her head and sits back in her seat, looking out the window as I drive us to my place.

  32

  Makayla

  Kennedy arrives at Jesse’s apartment shortly after we do. Jesse lets her in and I watch with annoyance when she eyes him up and down. She bites her lip and looks to me, raising her eyebrows suggestively, apparently not caring that Jesse can see what she’s doing.

  “Stop it,” I mouth at her while Jesse isn’t looking. “Jesse, do you think you could do your whole brooding thing somewhere else? Out of Kennedy’s field of view, maybe?”

  Kennedy reaches to touch his forearm. “Not necessary at all, Jesse. I’ll be good. I promise.”

  I hate the spike of jealousy I feel at seeing her touch him. He’s not mine. I don’t get to be jealous. He definitely was ready to sleep with me last night though, and that has to count for something. If I was keeping score, that is. It’s just an innocent touch on the arm, at least it would be if I didn’t know Kennedy better. She would never take a guy out from under my nose, but I’ve been doing my best to convince everyone that I’m not interested in Jesse. The only one who still doesn’t believe I don’t want him is me.

  “Stop crossing your fingers then,” I say, a little more testily than I intend. “I swear, you’re about as mat
ure as a four-year-old sometimes.”

  “Oh come on,” says Kennedy. “Kids don’t start doing the crossed fingers thing until at least like eight or nine, right?”

  Jesse looks at me with those gorgeous eyes, looking impeccably tall and strong beside Kennedy’s small frame. “I’ll be brooding on the loveseat. Where I can see you.”

  I can’t be entirely upset. I may not want Kennedy ogling him all night and botching her lines, but I also have to admit to liking the idea of keeping Jesse where I can see him, too. He sits in the loveseat, planting his feet wide and pulling out his phone. He looks so good that a dirty part of me wants to jump on his lap and wrap my arms around that strong neck of his. I want to feel his cock hardening under my ass and watch the desire blossom in his eyes. I got a taste of his need for me last night, and I thought leaving would quench my feelings for him, but all it has done is made me even hungrier.

  “Want something to drink?” I ask Kennedy.

  “You know me so well,” she says. Her eyes dart past me to Jesse and linger there too long.

  I snap my fingers. “Focus, Kennedy.”

  I hear Jesse cough from behind me and have to drag Kennedy by the arm into the kitchen.

  “Sorry,” she says when we’re out of Jesse’s earshot. “Are you two… you know? Because I’ll back off--reluctantly--if you two are a thing already.”

  “No,” I say slowly. “He’s just my bodyguard. That’s all.”

  “Well then,” purrs Kennedy.

  I force a smile, not liking the thoughts I can see churning behind her eyes at all. “Red wine?” I ask with somewhat forced cheerfulness.