The Pretend Boyfriend 3 (Inhumanly Handsome, Humanly Flawed Alpha Male) Page 3

  Sam says, “I had a boyfriend once . . . a long time ago . . . who was a real jerk. Even when he was dating me, he was seeing other girls behind my back. At first I thought it was just one girl, but then it turned out to be a whole cheerleading squad of them. He was the college whore, but I refused to see it, you know, because I was just so thrilled he was dating me.”

  She watches Delilah’s face surreptitiously when she says this.

  After a while, Delilah nods. “I knew of someone like that once.”

  “Did you date him?”

  Delilah ponders this for a while, and then she nods. “He was an amazing lover. Handsome like the devil himself.” Her eyes wear a faraway look. “He made me feel . . . like . . . he really cared about me.”

  Sam’s gut does an about turn. She can feel the undercurrents gathering, together with a sinister undertow that threatens to drag at her kicking feet. She has no idea if Delilah is talking about Brian, but she has to press on.

  “What happened?”

  “He had this way of capturing your eyes when he was making love to you. Like you were the only one for him, even when he wasn’t saying the words.”

  Sam thinks of Brian’s melting brown eyes. She has felt that way many times.

  “And the things he did to your body,” Delilah goes on, that misty look even more evident, “I have never come so much with a man before, you know? Never had and never will.”

  Sam says tentatively, “Was it just all sex?”

  She knows she wonders about that with Brian when it comes to herself. The fact he stuck around with her. Is it all just sex? Or something more? Even now, when he’s monogamous with her, she finds herself wondering. Brian would never come right out and say stuff. It is all a guess with him. Will he? Won’t he? Does he?

  Christ.

  Delilah’s expression changes, and suddenly, Sam experiences a pang for what the other woman must have gone through. She herself is the recipient of such a maddening and yet enthralling relationship. She knows well the heartaches and agonies and sublime happiness and rollercoaster emotions that go with it.

  “No,” Delilah declares. “It wasn’t just all sex. There was always more.”

  The impression of more. Sam understands this well.

  “When did you have this relationship? College?”

  Delilah nods.

  That figures. Brian might not remember someone he slept with in college, especially if it had been a brief encounter. And especially if Delilah no longer looks like what she once did. Then again, Delilah might not have been talking about Brian. But somehow, Sam senses that she is, and her intuition about these things is usually spot on.

  “Then it was over . . . before college ended?”

  Delilah affirms it. Knowing Brian, Sam thinks it could have been over in a week. Two weeks, tops. He had a way of making you feel as though there was something more – some unresolved issues – even though he had no intention of doing so. Brian affected people in conscious and subconscious ways. When he was with you, your world spun dizzily on its axis. When he dumped you . . . or when he told you that you never had a thing in the first place . . . it’s hell on earth.

  You became besotted with him. Convinced yourself you had more with him that you ever did, because he was a trophy in himself – remarkably handsome, rich, sophisticated, charming, everything you ever wanted in a butterfly sort of man . . . a man you just couldn’t pin down, but knew that if you could, he would be yours forever because such men gave their hearts but only once. And when he did, it would be forever.

  Except for the fact you didn’t have his heart and you never will.

  But it doesn’t stop you from wishing. And hoping. And trying. And giving more and more of yourself to him, until you were almost doing anything to keep him. And willing with all the passion in the world that it would happen.

  Sam finds herself trembling slightly. She hides her hands beneath the table to prevent Delilah from noticing them. She knows how Delilah feels now. Can even empathize with her.

  But knowing is one thing. There’s that little thing about what Delilah decided to do about it.

  Delilah gets up. There’s an abrupt shift in her mood now. Just moments ago, she has been pensive and almost reachable. Now she sort of closes up on herself – a clam that is teasing you with some new insight, and then snaps the lid of its shell before you can catch a glimpse.

  “I have to go to the restroom. You want to join me?”

  Still shaken, Sam manages a smile. “If I did, the waitress might think we were both trying to squiggle ourselves out of paying.”

  “She may be right.” Delilah indicates her large tote bag. “Just watch out for it, will you?”

  She heads in the direction of the restroom.

  Two weeks from now, Sam would be looking back at this moment and wondering if it all had been too easy. Too suspiciously fucking easy.

  Because she came here tonight armed with several plans. She hadn’t been sure Plan A – getting Delilah to invite her back to her apartment off the bat – would work. In fact, she was ninety-nine percent sure she wouldn’t get a peek in this early. And the clock was ticking on the trial deadline.

  As soon as Delilah is safely out of sight, Sam delves into Plan B. Which is the precursor to Plan C, which she hopes she might not ever have to use.

  She grabs Delilah’s bag and rifles in it. She finds what she’s looking for almost immediately – a two-piece set of apartment keys.

  Her hands feeling rubbery with what she’s about to do, she quickly takes out a piece of wax from her own purse. One she had purchased for just this purpose. She sinks in both of Delilah’s keys into the wax, making a lasting impression. Then she returns both the keys and the wax into their rightful compartments and arranges the bag as it was.

  Her heart gallops races within her chest.

  6

  “Just five recruitments? Five recruitments all day?” Sam is dismayed. With all the shit going on in Brian’s life, she really doesn’t need for this to happen.

  Jolie, the receptionist, winces apologetically. “I’m sorry. It’s the new Fitness Worx recruitment drive. They are huge, and they have plenty of advertising muscle. They were doing a blitzkrieg everywhere for ten blocks. They knew we were opening today, and they didn’t want us to get off the ground.”

  Sam swivels around to stare at the balloons, all prettied up in an arc around the double entrance doors. The ribbons, the streamers, the buffet spread. She had thrown a party and no one had come. The trainers stand around, feeling ill at ease. Only a solitary woman is inside the gym at the treadmill. She had been someone who was recruited much earlier, before they opened their doors.

  Cassie comes up to her and squeezes her hand. “Oh Sam. It’ll get better. These things take time. Word gets out slowly nowadays, you know. If it’s any help, I’ve asked everyone in the office to come over within the next couple of weeks to join.”

  “Thanks, Cassie.” Sam’s heart sinks. They were so much in the red. Correction: Brian was so much in the red, and she can’t afford to let this happen to him – to bring him down with her probably pointless dream.

  Who was she kidding? Did she really think she could take on Fitness Worx, the big guys? They must be laughing at her – rolling on the floor with her pathetic attempts to lure new gym users.

  “Where’s Brian?” Cassie says tartly.

  “Out.”

  Brian had wanted to stay away from the crowds because he was afraid his presence would be a deterrent. He had been especially quiet when he came in early this morning. He had kissed her absently on the cheek, and then told her that he would be staying away all day.

  “You don’t have to,” she told him. “You’re making too big a deal out of it. No one’s going to recognize you.”

  Stare at him maybe, because he is so striking to look at. But not put two and two together and figure out where they had seen him before. But he was adamant that he would not be her ruination.

  �
�Oh really? Getting his dick sucked?” Cassie can be so crude sometimes.

  Sam doesn’t want to tell her that Brian has been monogamous for some time now. There’s no point. Cassie is determined to hate on him anyway. Caleb is supportive, even though Brian is not here. He is talking to Thor, and the two men would occasionally dart their glances over to her, as though they are speaking about her.

  Thor gives her a slow smile. Before she had met Brian, Sam would have blushed at this. She’s flattered if Thor thinks she’s attractive, but she has Brian now and there’s too much at stake for both of them.

  Her gaze keeps being riveted to the door. So this is what it means to have your own business. So much of it depends on customer traffic. She can keep her eyes glued to the door all she wants to, but all the hoping in the world won’t make customers appear if they are determined to stay away.

  7

  Outside, Brian rests in his parked car. He’s watching the gym, observing how few people are going in. He has just come from spying on Fitness Worx, which is having a real bonanza day.

  He had overheard a customer in Fitness Worx saying, “There’s a new gym down the block called ‘Shape’ or something.”

  “Oh, them?” one of the trainers said. “They’re nothing but wannabe upstarts. They don’t have as much equipment as we do, and what they have is woefully lacking. The owners are inexperienced and know nothing about running gyms. That’s why you should sign up with us. We have twenty branches all over the state, and we’re giving a discount today. I predict that ‘Shape’ gym will be closed down before the month is up.”

  Brian bridled at this, but did not say anything as he pretended to leaf through some brochures.

  And now, the wheels in his head are churning furiously.

  He may know nothing about running gyms, but he sure as hell knows his way around advertising. The only thing is he’s going to need some money.

  Lots of it.

  He grips the steering wheel of the Ferrari. Where the hell is he going to find the extra injection of cash? Especially now that he’s going for therapy again?

  The diamond earrings he had bought for Sam lies snugly in its little velvet box, invading his thoughts. She doesn’t know about them, and he had been hoping to spring that surprise on her for her birthday.

  *

  Dr. Robertson sits across the desk from him. Brian has never felt comfortable on a couch, and he’d rather just stare at the renowned psychiatrist from across a desk, as though they are having a business discussion.

  “How do you feel today, Brian?”

  “Like a freight truck ran into me.”

  “You were really shattered yesterday.”

  “Yesterday, it was an eighteen-wheeler.” Brian pulls in a deep breath. “Seriously, I’m better now. Yesterday was . . . embarrassing. It won’t happen again.”

  “Why do you find it embarrassing?” Dr. Robertson is older than Brian remembered him, with silver hair at his wings, but his blue eyes are every bit as hawk-like and piercing as Brian recalled. But he has always felt at ease with the man. He doesn’t confuse you with a lot of psychobabble, and he’s honest to the bone. Brian appreciates brutal honesty.

  He says, “Because I haven’t had a panic attack since I had my wisdom teeth pulled out.”

  “Past tense. Doesn’t mean you can’t have one now.”

  “And here I was, thinking I was a well-adjusted human being.”

  “You are a well-adjusted human being. I’ve been following your case, Brian. Anyone who has been through what you have for the past few months has every chance of cracking under the strain.”

  “I’m not cracking. Mirrors crack. Badly maintained pavements crack.”

  “Spare the wisecracks, Brian.”

  “Jesus, I’m not cracking, all right?” Brian gets up, runs a hand through his hair, and paces around the office.

  Dr. Robertson observes him. “You don’t have to feel that you have to be in charge all the time. It has been the only way you could cope when you were a teenager, but the circumstances are different now.”

  Brian swings round suddenly. “Tell me, doc, is it hereditary?”

  “What?”

  “Violence. Is it hereditary?”

  Dr. Robertson sighs. “There is a strong association. The son of a drug- or alcohol-abusing father has around four to seven times greater than average of having the same problems. There are more than a hundred studies to show a genetic basis for abusive personalities. But you don’t have an abusive personality.”

  “How would you know? You haven’t seen me as a patient since college.”

  “No, but your mother still comes to me as a friend and she talks about you all the time. From all accounts, you’re as gentle as a lamb.”

  Brian smirks. “She’s not the one whose neck is in a noose.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “It’s a hanging jury.”

  Dr. Robertson’s silence indicates that he thinks there’s a chance of it too.

  He finally says, “The only thing you can do is tell them the truth. That’s all you can realistically do.”

  “I know.”

  A pause.

  “You still see your father?”

  “I try not to.”

  “You’ve forgiven him for what he did to you?”

  “You can’t forgive such a thing easily, doc. You certainly can’t forget it.”

  “Try to keep yourself busy until the court case. Are you depressed?”

  “No,” Brian lies.

  “If you are,” Dr. Robertson says knowingly, “I can prescribe you some antidepressants.”

  “I don’t want to take those. They screw up my mood.”

  “Which is precisely the point of antidepressants. Tell me about this friend you mentioned briefly in our last session together.” Dr. Robertson glances at his case notes. “Samantha.”

  At the mention of Sam’s name, Brian smiles a little.

  “Sammie,” he drawls, using Cassie’s nickname for her. “She’s a real kicker.”

  “You sleeping together?”

  “Do crabs live in oceans?”

  “I take that as a yes. And you haven’t been with anyone else?”

  “No. But that’s because I’m afraid . . . of what might happen.”

  “And yet you’re not afraid around Samantha?”

  Brian shakes his head. “Sam’s different. She knows me in and out. I’ll never harm a hair on her head.”

  “What makes you think you’ll harm a hair on anyone else’s head? You drinking?”

  “Not anymore. I’m not doing drugs either.”

  “Good. Keep it that way. Throw yourself into your work, Brian. And keep hanging around this Samantha.” Dr. Robertson’s eyes twinkle. “She’s good for you. You should see the look on your face when I mentioned her.”

  “Huh?” Brian is immediately wary.

  “You just lighted up like Christmas came early. If I didn’t know you better . . . and maybe I don’t, not yet anyway . . . I’d think you were in love.” Dr. Robertson leans back in his executive chair and folds his hands, smiling.

  “Me? In love?” Brian tosses off a nervous laugh. “I don’t believe in love, I believe in – ”

  “Fucking. Yes, I know. But there’s always a first for everything.” He holds up a hand before Brian can protest. “You don’t have to admit it to yourself right away, but just know that it may be your lifesaver.”

  “I don’t do love.” Brian pauses, and then goes on, “Loving someone sets you up to be hurt. And I can’t afford ‘hurt’. Not anymore.”

  “You weren’t in the gym business before either, but now you are. I can’t promise you that you won’t be hurt, Brian. Life doesn’t quite work out that way. But you don’t skip out on taking an airplane just because you’re afraid it might crash. So if you don’t open yourself to the possibility of love . . . or of being loved, for the matter . . . then you’ll never experience life’s greatest moments.”


  “I don’t believe I’m actually paying you for this shit,” Brian says.

  Dr. Robertson just sits back and smiles.

  8

  It has been a week of trickling customer sign-ups. Sam almost has to drag her feet in to work – so distraught is she at the prospect of another day with hardly anyone at the gym. But when she pulls into the car park of ‘Shape’, she’s amazed to find it full of cars. People are bustling everywhere and crowding the entrance.

  What’s happening?

  Her first thought is that of a disaster of the greatest magnitude. But no smoke is billowing from the roof. The building has not collapsed in any significant earthquake, not that this is an earthquake zone. There’s no ambulance wailing outside.

  Sam has a reserved spot. She parks her car there, her mind spinning with the sudden upheaval.

  What the hell is going on?

  To her surprise, there’s a queue at the reception desk that stretches all the way out. Jolie is up to her ears with recruitment papers. The trainers are all engaged with one customer or another. When Sam peeks into the gym, she’s shocked to find every single piece of equipment being used by attractive, athletic individuals.

  Brian himself is attached to a pillar, watching the proceedings with interest.

  Sam sidles up to him and hisses, “What’s going on?”

  He just grins. “You’ll see.”

  “We having a free for all or something you didn’t tell me about?”

  “No. In fact, we’re not having any discounts on recruitment fees at all. Why follow a tired path paved by aging chain gyms?”

  “You did something,” Sam accuses.

  Brian’s smile just widens.

  Sam busies herself for the rest of the morning with paperwork. And then she sees one of the new clients – who has just finished on the treadmill and is now toweling himself dry – pull Brian into the office beside hers. There’s an exchange of some sort and Brian pulls out a hundred dollars from his pocket and gives it to him.