Grumpy Fake Boyfriend

by Jackie Lau

  Does she enjoy role-playing? Leather? Handcuffs?

  Never mind. I really don’t want to think about that.

  Interestingly, the fact that they’re agreeing on everything kind of reminds me of my relationship with Jordan, too. We rarely argued and everything was just so agreeable. And dull.

  How did he and I end up in a relationship like that? I’m not entirely sure, but I think it was partly because Jordan always seemed so pleased when we agreed on something, and I took it as a sign that we were a good couple. I started going along with whatever he said, because he seemed to expect it.

  My God, that’s messed up.

  Thinking back on it, I lost some of my identity when we were together, and once I got over the initial heartbreak, being single was rather freeing. Before, I’d mostly existed as part of a couple.

  So, yeah. No surprise I didn’t want another relationship after being with an asshole who also swallowed up my individual identity. Apparently, I have terrible taste in men. Jordan did me a huge favor by breaking up with me.

  But now I know better, and I won’t put up with crap like that again.

  I deserve better.

  “Next question,” Ridhi says. “Who’s better looking?”

  Jordan and Krista both hold up each other’s shoe.

  “Finally! You disagree on something.”

  Of course, this is one of those questions you’re pretty much obligated to disagree on, so they just gave the expected answer.

  I lean against Will and smile. I’m not drunk, but I’m a bit buzzed, and you know what? I’m happy with where I am in life at the moment, even if some people would consider a fake relationship to be a rather dubious life choice. Sure, my fake boyfriend and I argue a lot, but with him, I never feel any pressure to be anything but who I am.

  * * *

  A few minutes later, it’s Ridhi and Ian’s turn. They get their shoes, then take Krista’s and Jordan’s places in the center of the room.

  “Who takes longer to get ready?” I ask.

  They both pick Ridhi.

  “I think I know the answer to this one,” Julia says. “Who’s done more wedding planning?”

  Again, they both pick Ridhi.

  But she’s not smiling anymore. Her mouth is pressed into a thin line.

  “Who wants kids first?” Jordan asks.

  They both hold up Ian’s shoe.

  “Who wants sex more often?” Krista asks.

  I wish she and Jordan would stop with the sex questions.

  Again, the happy couple both choose Ian.

  Ridhi scowls as she lowers his shoe. “How am I supposed to want sex when I’m running around planning the wedding all the time? How am I supposed to even think about children when I don’t know how we’ll get through our month-long honeymoon?”

  Oh. The room is suddenly quiet, aside from the soft sound of rain outside.

  Julia and I look at each other with raised eyebrows.

  “Who’s a bigger fan of jellybeans?” Will asks, wanting to break the tension, I presume. His question elicits some chuckles.

  They both choose Ridhi, and for a moment, everything seems normal.

  Just for a moment.

  Then Tom asks, “Who has the craziest family?”

  Ian immediately sticks up Ridhi’s shoe.

  Ridhi, however, doesn’t hold up a shoe. She turns around and glares at Ian. “Really? My family is crazier?”

  He shrugs. “A little.”

  “Your mother is driving me up the wall with all her complaints. Nothing is right for her, not since I decided we weren’t getting married in a church.”

  “You’re not Christian. I haven’t been to church in a decade. I told her it made no sense to get married in a church, and she understood.”

  “Maybe she understood, but she’s not happy about it. I have no idea how to deal with her, and you pretend it’s all okay, just a little disagreement, nothing to worry about.” She stands up and looks down at Ian. “You don’t understand what it’s like. My mother, at least I know how to handle her. But your mother...”

  “Why do you insist on pissing her off over small things that don’t matter? I’m not talking about the ceremony, but—”

  “Over things that don’t matter? Are you serious?”

  I stay on the couch, clutching my martini glass, not sure what to do.

  “Like the flowers,” Ian says. “I don’t understand why you have to fight over the flowers.”

  “You know what?” Ridhi’s eyes flash with anger. “Sometimes I just wish this whole wedding thing would go away.”

  Ian is very, very still. “Sweetie, are you—”

  “I don’t know what I’m saying. I don’t know anything anymore! I’m so, so tired of it all.” She presses her hands to her eyes.

  He reaches for her, but she jerks away.

  I don’t feel like we should be witnessing this. And I definitely didn’t see this coming. Ridhi was busy with wedding planning, but she seemed to have it under control. Apparently, despite her cheerful mood, she was barely keeping it contained, and it just took the shoe game to push her over the edge.

  “Let’s go upstairs and talk,” Ian says quietly.

  “So now you want to talk? Well, I’m not interested.” She grabs her shoe from his hand, shoves her feet into her shoes, and starts walking toward the back door. When he tries to follow, she spins around and screams, “Get away from me!” The door slams.

  Ian sits back down, his elbows on his knees, his hands—pressed together like he’s praying—to his mouth.

  Jordan, for once, isn’t making out with his girlfriend. He grabs a beer from the kitchen and hands it to Ian, who looks at the bottle as though he doesn’t know what to do with it.

  “I...I don’t understand,” he says. “What just happened? Are we still getting married?”

  “I’ll talk to her.” Julia heads outside.

  Tom looks at me and mouths, “I got this.”

  Yeah, Ian probably doesn’t need all of us around right now.

  Part of me wants to talk to Ridhi, but I think she might prefer just talking to Julia. In part because Julia is in the same place in her relationship, a couple months away from tying the knot. She probably has a better idea of what to say and what Ridhi’s going through.

  I take Will’s hand and lead him to our room. We sit down on the bed together. When he puts his arm around me, I rest my head on his shoulder and sigh.

  Life is complicated.

  Chapter 17

  Will

  “Well,” I say, and then I don’t say anything more.

  What does one say in this situation? I’m sitting in bed with my fake girlfriend—whom I’m sleeping with—and her engaged friends have just had a fight. I can’t say I’m terribly familiar with such situations, but I finally manage to find some words.

  “We were pretty good at the shoe game, weren’t we?”

  “If by ‘pretty good’ you mean we gave amusing answers,” Naomi says, “then yes. Unlike Jordan and Krista, we didn’t agree on everything.”

  “What would be the fun in that?”

  “Exactly. It’s better this way.”

  I lean closer to her and run my hand through her hair.

  “So you said ‘I love you’ first, eh?” she asks.

  “I did.” I settle back against the headboard. “We went back to Edwards Gardens for our one-month anniversary—corny, I know—and you know the rocks under the bridge by the little waterfall? That’s where I said it. And then we kept kissing and kissing, until someone asked us to get out of the way because they wanted to take a picture. So we set out a picnic blanket by the stream and had baguette and cheese and grapes. We opened a bottle of wine, but we got in trouble for having an open alcoholic beverage in the park and were fined a hundred and twenty-five dollars—”

  She interrupts me with a kiss. Her lips meld with mine, and it’s like a dance we’ve done many times before; we know exactly what to do to make it perfect. This
doesn’t mean it’s boring—far from it. It just feels like...we fit.

  “You didn’t enjoy my story?” I murmur.

  “I think your ample creativity could be put to better use.”

  “There’s something I’ve been wondering. It’s been bothering me quite a bit for the past half hour.” I pause for dramatic effect. “Do you really think you have a higher sex drive than me?”

  She laughs against my shoulder. “I don’t know, but I do have a high one. It’s impossible for me to stay celibate when I’m not in a relationship.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.” I pause. “Another question. Which of us do you think is funnier?”

  “You.”

  “Why, thank you.”

  “It’s funny that you think you’re smarter than me. And a better driver.”

  I roll her under me and hold her hands out to the side. I kiss her, starting with her mouth before I trail my lips down her neck to her collarbone. I keep going until I reach the edge of her shirt, and I plant tiny kisses at the tops of her breasts.

  She bucks her hips against my erection, and I unbutton her shorts and slide two fingers into the hot pink panties I’ve been fantasizing about all day. I run my fingers over her slit before dipping them inside, curling them upward.

  “Oh my God,” she gasps.

  I swallow her moan, kissing her as I touch her wetness. My cock hardens even further.

  She pulls off my shirt, and I pull off her shorts, and we’re rolling around on the bed, half dressed. When she’s lying on her stomach, I trap her underneath me. I slide my hands down and rub them over her ass.

  “I like these,” I say, snapping the elastic band of her panties.

  “You should. You’re the one who picked them out.”

  “The other choice wasn’t bad. But these...” I sit up on my knees and kiss her lace-clad ass. The left cheek then the right.

  “You’re quite fascinated by my ass.”

  “Of course I am. It’s a very fine ass.”

  Those are the last words I say for a long time. And they’re very fine words, I think.

  I remove her T-shirt. She’s naked now, aside from her panties. I kiss her everywhere: her shoulders, her arms, her cheek, the inside of her knee, and she squirms against me.

  She’s so responsive; she feels every little way I touch her.

  When I roll off her, she sits up and takes off my shorts and boxers in one smooth move. Then she kneels between my legs. Her hair forms a black curtain over her face as she lowers her mouth to my cock. I groan softly as she takes the tip, nothing more, into her mouth. Her hand curls around the base. She moves her mouth up and down, taking me a little deeper with each stroke, and I arch against her.

  I pull her up a minute later. Any longer and I would blow my load in her mouth, and I don’t want to do that.

  Well, I do. But not now.

  We kneel in front of each other, our hands reaching out, exploring. I pinch her brownish-pink nipple, then soothe it with a soft brush of my tongue; she runs her hand from my shoulder to my elbow, squeezing lightly. I spread my palm over her stomach. I am in awe of her, in awe that I get to touch her so intimately.

  She’s the better looking of the two of us, no doubt about it.

  I take off her panties and position her on all fours. Once I’ve sheathed myself, I rub the tip of my cock over her entrance. So slick.

  “Will,” she breathes.

  I don’t enter her yet. Not until she’s squirming helplessly before me, mindless with her need for me. Then I push inside.

  She feels amazing.

  I want to do this again and again, but the weekend is all we have. Any more than this, and it will become complicated with things she wants from me that I can’t give her because that’s how every woman feels about me.

  I try to forget about that.

  Besides, we both agreed we didn’t want anything serious, didn’t we?

  I fuck her roughly. Unlike last night, she’s not quiet. She’s not screaming, but she’s sure not quiet, and I don’t try to swallow her noises by kissing her. I just keep slamming into her, over and over, wringing pleasure from her body.

  I lick my finger and rub it over her clit, and she presses her face to the mattress, writhing as her orgasm overtakes her.

  As she comes down from the peak, I slow my pace, my hands gripping her hips.

  “You like my cock, baby?” I ask.

  She mumbles, “I do.” Barely able to form words.

  My nails dig into her skin as I speed up again, slamming into her with deep strokes. I pull out of her and roll her onto her back, legs spread wide, and I keep going. I watch my cock slide in and out of her passage, and God, it’s a beautiful sight. She touches herself as I pound her, one hand squeezing her breast, the other circling her clit, just above where I’m inside her.

  I like seeing her touch herself, like seeing her bring herself pleasure, so unselfconscious as we soar higher and higher. Her lips are parted—so pretty. It’s a visual feast, a sensory overload.

  I lower my chest to hers and bury my head against her shoulder as I finish inside her. She cries out again, trembling beneath me.

  We separate a moment later, and she gives me a lazy smile of satisfaction.

  I can’t imagine asking for anything more.

  * * *

  We’re still in bed together, wearing our underwear and nothing else. I’m holding Naomi from behind. I can’t stop touching her.

  I don’t know how long we’ve been up here. Three hours, maybe. We’ve had sex twice.

  “We should go downstairs,” she says. “I feel guilty that we’ve disappeared for so long. I want to know how Ridhi’s doing.”

  It’s cozy in bed. Life is simple here.

  “Just a little longer,” I say.

  She looks at the clock. “Okay. But in twenty minutes, we’re getting dressed, and you are not allowed to fuck me in the process, no matter how good my ass looks in pink lace.” She rubs back against me.

  “I promise,” I say solemnly, and she giggles.

  She’s in a lazy, giggly mood, and I’m the one who put her there.

  “Let’s play the shoe game,” she says. “Just us. We’ll use our socks.”

  “Sure.” Right now, I would agree to pretty much anything that involved me and her alone in this room. Perhaps I’d draw the line at prancing about and pretending we’re unicorns, but almost anything else is fair game.

  We take the appropriate socks in hand.

  “Okay,” she says. “Who’s had more sex partners?”

  Interesting that this is the question she wants to ask.

  I hold up my sock. She holds up hers.

  “This is a question with a right and wrong answer,” I say.

  “It is. So let’s find out who’s right. What’s your number?”

  “Ten.”

  “And you think that beats mine? How cute.”

  My eyes widen slightly. “What’s yours?”

  “Twenty-three.” She says it proudly, which makes me smile.

  I hold up my hand for a high-five. “Good job.”

  She laughs and slaps my hand. “Don’t you dare tell my brother.”

  “Of course not. I’m sure Jeremy would not like to be privy to such information.”

  But she wanted to tell me, and I like that.

  This weekend hasn’t been what I expected. I generally prefer to know exactly what’s coming and be in control of the situation.

  Actually, that’s what I love about writing: I get to play God. Sure, characters sometimes have a mind of their own, but ultimately, I’m in control. I decide what happens. And I can always change it in revisions if I don’t like it.

  But this weekend with Naomi is a different kind of adventure, and maybe it’s something I should do more of.

  “Next question,” she says. “Who was the youngest when they lost their virginity?”

  Since I was older than average, I assume it wasn’t me. I hold up her sock.


  She holds up her sock, too. “I was seventeen. What about you?”

  “Twenty.”

  “We were both right.” She gives me another high-five. “Now we can redo the question Jordan asked downstairs. Who’s the kinkiest?”

  “I have no idea,” I say, not holding up any socks. “I wouldn’t describe myself as kinky, but I’m up for lots of things.”

  “Same here.”

  “But not exhibitionism or voyeurism.”

  “I’m not surprised. It doesn’t sound like you.” She pauses. “I can’t believe he asked that.”

  “Is he kinky?”

  “Not that I know of, but who knows what he’s doing with Krista. Actually, from what Ridhi and Julia said, it sounds like he’s into spanking.”

  “Are you over him?”

  “Oh, yes. I’m very much over him.”

  I am glad to hear that.

  “He’s still the man I dated for two years, though. He affects me more than I would like.” She turns away from me and focuses her attention on the quilt, running her finger over the floral pattern.

  “What’s up?” I ask, tipping her chin toward me.

  “We were engaged to be engaged, too.”

  “That’s such a stupid thing to announce.”

  “We didn’t announce it, but we’d talked about it. I was blindsided when he dumped me and told me he’d never truly loved me.”

  My chest squeezes painfully at the thought of how Jordan made her feel. It’s a good thing he’s not here right now, or I would punch his stupid face. I wonder if he’s as loud when he gets punched as when he screws his new girlfriend.

  I don’t usually have such violent thoughts. Usually I only think about violence as it pertains to my stories.

  “Hey,” I say. “You’re too good for him. He didn’t deserve you.”

  Naomi nods. “I know that now. I deserve better. I was different when I was with him. Kind of docile, now that I think of it.”

  “You? Docile?”

  She laughs. “I know. You probably find it hard to believe.”

  I pick up the socks again and try to come up with another question.

  She beats me to it. “Who wanted to sleep with the other first?”

  I first thought of it after we met at Starbucks. I have no idea about her.

  “I’ll save you the trouble.” She holds up her sock. “It was definitely me. I wanted to sleep with you the first time I met you. Not that I knew a lot about sex back then, not that I’d so much as kissed a guy...but I wanted to do everything with you.”