The Pretend Boyfriend Page 5

  “Honey, I’m home,” he calls.

  And freezes in his tracks.

  Sam stands there, resplendent in a cerulean blue gown with shimmers on its skirt. A pretty lapis lazuli necklace encircles her throat, and she is radiant in her carefully mussed up hair with romantic tendrils floating around her face in wisps. Her blue eyes sparkle, and her eye shadow is dusty silver.

  “What do you think?” She beams.

  You’re gorgeous, he thinks. He’s used to gorgeous women, having bedded more than several hundred in his lifetime. But Sam is radiance incarnate, like a blushing bride unveiled for the first time. To him, at least.

  Outwardly, he shrugs. “You look OK.”

  She seems disappointed. Maybe she was fishing for compliments.

  “You’re late,” she accuses. “Where have you been?”

  “None of your fucking business.”

  “You promised not to fuck anybody.”

  “And I didn’t. So quit nagging, OK, Mom?”

  He strides into the room and flings open his travel bag. He takes out a Gucci suit and a black Prada shirt. He begins to shuck his clothes off.

  “Can’t you go into the bathroom to change?”

  “If you can’t handle me being your boyfriend, then why ask me to tag along this weekend?” He rips his shirt off and starts to unbuckle his belt.

  She hasn’t taken her eyes off his body. “We’re not really not boyfriend and girlfriend, so save the striptease routine for your fuck buddies, OK?”

  “Now that’s one term that’ll never apply to you.”

  As soon as he said it, he regrets it. But no apologies, he tells himself firmly as he pushes down his jeans.

  This time, she doesn’t turn away. She stares at his semi-erect cock.

  “You know, you haven’t changed one bit.”

  “I’d like to think I’ve grown longer and broader.”

  “You know what I mean. You were a bully in middle grade and you’re still a bully now.”

  “You’re the one who punched me in the face when you met me. How’s that for a middle school reunion?”

  “I’ll do it again in a second.”

  He grins as he walks closer to her – naked – his cock bobbing up and down. He towers above her, all six feet two inches of him.

  “So hit me again,” he says. “Get your own back at me. Go on, I won’t flinch.”

  She takes a step backward and peers at his cock.

  “I know you think you’re hot stuff. But frankly, I’ve seen better.”

  “Frankly, I don’t think you’ve seen many. Live, that is.”

  “Stay back,” she warns.

  “Or what? You’ll yell ‘My boyfriend exposed himself to me? In the same bedroom that we’re expected to be fucking in?’”

  Her eyes narrow. God, but she’s magnificent when her irises flash like that. He feels his cock stirring again – a most unwelcome prospect considering the situation they are in, where nothing on him can stay hidden.

  “Get dressed,” she says. “We’re going to be late.”

  “What? You’re not going to punch me?”

  “You really are an arrogant, contemptuous asshole.”

  “Ooooh, big words.”

  She brushes past him, and he catches her by the arm.

  “What?” she says irritably.

  “This is to put you in the mood.” He seizes her body to his and bends his head down for a savage kiss on her mouth.

  He doesn’t know what he’s thinking, only that he’s just reacting to how he feels – dangerously in the mood after his botched fellatio. He meant to tease her with the kiss. To get you into the rhythm of what we’ll be doing later in front of your darling overachieving sister. But the kiss seems to take a life of its own.

  He finds himself falling into it. Meshing lips against lips.

  He expects her to pull back, to slap him on the face as he deserves – but instead, she folds into him, kissing him back with fervor. His penis fills aggressively. He’s taken aback at her passion. She seizes his face and kisses him open-mouthed. His tongue instinctively probes hers even as his hands roam down her body.

  He’s aware that he is completely naked and his arousal is very obvious and stark. His cock presses against her clothed belly. He wonders what she thinks of this, when they have been fighting only seconds before. Her hands start to slide down his neck, and then his shoulders, his arms . . . his back . . . down, down to his bare buttocks.

  He breaks the kiss before he can get too consumed by it.

  I only meant to tease.

  Her eyes are misted and glazed with desire as they part. She looks up at him in both wonderment and surprise.

  Quick. Say something snarky. Anything to dissipate this mood. But his tongue is tied. For once, he is at loss for words.

  Not for long though.

  He says, “What? Taking advantage of me? You must be really sexually deprived.”

  And immediately regrets it. But snarkiness has so much been a component of his makeup – his built-in defense mechanism – that it has become commonplace now. Push them away before you can get hurt. Relationships suck. Always remember that.

  A glimmer of anger comes into her blue eyes.

  “Oooh,” she says, shoving him away with heat. “How dare you?”

  He’s not sure if she means how dare he say those things to her . . . or how dare he kiss her.

  She eyes his erection witheringly. “Get dressed. If you can.”

  “With pleasure.”

  “And you’re really not all that great at kissing.” Her face flinches slightly, which suggests that she doesn’t really believe in what she says.

  “Likewise, sweetheart.” His heart is still thudding from the encounter but he can slowly feel his erection waning.

  She waits, her face a black mask as he slowly puts his clothes on. Together, they leave the room without speaking.

  9

  Sam’s pulse is beating so hard at her bare neck that she is sure everyone in the ballroom can see it. The staccato trup-trup-trup must be unmistakable. Why else is everyone looking at her? Why is everyone averting their heads and stopping their conversations as soon as she and Brian Morton enter through the double doors?

  Worse yet, the memory and imprint of his kiss are still fresh upon her lips. The taste of his mouth, the scent of his body against hers. His warmth. His delicious erection pressing against her as he held her close.

  Oh, but he is remarkably beautiful. His torso is so lean that she can see . . . and feel, from whatever she could briefly grope . . . every muscle. His flesh is as hard as a rock. His eyes were swimming with desire when he gazed upon her earlier, and when he kissed her – French kissed her passionately – she never wanted it to end. She wanted to drown in him and hold him and do everything to him that a woman can possibly do to a man.

  And then he had to go and spoil it. Damn him!

  She had been ready to forgive him. Forgive and forget the entire middle grade. He was right anyway. Why penalize a kid who probably didn’t know what he was growing up to be? It wasn’t exactly as though he was an axe murderer, though he came close.

  But then the adult Brian Morton turned caustic and sarcastic and her feelings towards him soured again. Feelings? Maybe that’s too emotional a word. She doesn’t know what she feels for and towards Brian Morton, other than she thinks he’s a conceited, arrogant prick who delights in tormenting her.

  And yet she can’t deny her attraction towards him. Just look at him right now. In his dark suit and Hermes white silk scarf slung around his neck, he’s the epitome of gorgeous male virility. He’s striking enough to turn every head as he enters with aplomb.

  Ah yes, maybe that’s the reason why everyone’s attention is riveted to them. It’s him, not her.

  This was the exact reason why she wanted him on her arm. To make this splendid entrance. To show him off like a new Chanel tote. Look at me. I’m not totally hopeless. I have a glamorous and gorgeous and
fantastically rich boyfriend.

  Cassie and Caleb are already here. Their arms are linked as they happily stride towards Brian and her.

  “There you are,” Cassie says pointedly. She is wearing a fabulous sequined little black dress, cut in the twenties’ fashion. “I’ve given up all hope that you would make it down here.”

  “We’re just being fashionably late,” Brian says.

  Cassie takes Sam’s arm and whispers, “So . . . were you torturing him up there?”

  Sam flushes. “Not exactly.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  Sam does not reply, because the moment – the piece de resistance – that she has been planning for is about to occur. Lori flutters her way through the crowd – gaily, breezily, her shimmering gauzy pink tulle dress floating around her in a cloud. She’s a prettier, younger version of Sam, only that she has dyed her hair blonde.

  “Sammie!” she screeches. “Oh, Sammie, you made it!”

  Almost no thanks to your delayed afterthought of an invitation, Sam thinks as her sister bamboozles her way to fling herself into her arms. It is as though they are the most beloved of sisters. Siblings who share their every thought on What’s App every hour and who spend hours manicuring each other’s nails. Instead of the truth. Since Sam went away to college, she only saw Lori on family occasions and festivals. And during intervals, Lori never even texted her unless she wanted something.

  Say, Sam, since you are away at college and all, you won’t mind if I borrowed your purple V-neck sweater, would you?

  Lori is a powder puff of pinkness and screeches and perfume, and so Sam performs the dutiful but hasty display of sisterly affection by hugging her at arm’s length (body slightly averted, bosoms not touching).

  Then Lori takes a couple of steps back. She appraises Brian.

  “Wow, so you must be the new boyfriend.”

  “I must be,” Brian says easily. He grabs Sam’s waist and pulls her towards him. “Aren’t I, sweetheart?”

  Sam tries to beam. Brian’s body pressed against hers is very discomfiting. For all the wrong reasons. She can’t help flashing back to his naked body, pressed against hers at a different angle – his tumescent cock prodding her belly in a most alarming and yet enticing way.

  Before she can blush any further, she says, “Lori, this is Brian. Brian, Lori. You know Cassie. And this is Brian’s best friend, Caleb.”

  Lori blows a few kisses. Then she turns her attention to Brian again.

  “So how did you two meet?”

  Sam is ready for this.

  Brian says, “Well, we – ”

  They are interrupted by two more warm bodies.

  “Samantha?”

  “Mom.”

  The former Mrs. Fox sails into the midst of the gathered group, dazzling in a slinky blue number that could have been the pride at any Oscar night party. Sam cringes. It’s amazing how much Lori is starting to resemble their mother. Put thirty years on Lori, and she would be a spitting physical and psychological image.

  Adele Ratner (once Adele Fox, albeit briefly) air kisses her older daughter. “You’re looking marvelous for once, darling.”

  Brian’s mouth twitches at the subtle putdown. Sam boils inwardly. If he’s going to make fun of her after this, she’s going to emasculate his balls.

  “And who is this very, very handsome young man?” Adele gazes admiringly at Brian, who is grinning from ear to ear.

  Brian snakes out a hand. “I’m Brian Morton, Sam’s boyfriend. And I’m twenty-seven years old, which by all accounts from some present is positively geriatric.”

  “Oh, you are not old by my standards,” Adele gushes flirtatiously, clasping Brian’s hand and holding it a tad too long. Sam and Cassie exchange warning glances. “Boyfriend? Well, she never told us. Not a whimper, not a text, and certainly not a Facebook relationship status update.”

  “I know. Isn’t that the wildest? Sammie is usually the first to announce she’s in a relationship because of . . . you know . . . the fact that she almost never is in one,” Lori says.

  Gosh, you are a bitch! Cassie mouths silently while making a funny cross-eyed face.

  Sam glares at her. Shut up.

  Still, she’s grateful that at least one person is on her side.

  “Mom, you remember Cassie. And this is Caleb, Brian’s best friend.”

  “Oh, are you two a couple? You look very cozy together.”

  “Mom! They’ve just met, OK? And you shouldn’t be matchmaking anyone or making assumptions about them.”

  “Oh, go on with you.” Adele turns her attention back to Brian. “So Brian, what do you do?”

  Everyone around them is listening as well. You can cut the anticipation in the room with a knife.

  “I run my own advertising agency.”

  “Morton?” Lori’s bejeweled ears prick up. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to be related to the Mortons of Chicago, would you? The ones who run seemingly everything?”

  “Sadly, we have the misfortune to share the same bloodlines. My uncle is the Chairman of Morton Enterprise Ltd. My father is his asshole brother.”

  Shocked gasps and titters all around. Sam hides her hands behind her back to stop them from wringing in despair.

  Adele says, “You shouldn’t say that about your own father, Brian.”

  “The truth hurts, but it’s necessary most of the time. In fact, I should say . . . all the time.” Brian flashes another brilliant smile.

  “So how did you two meet?”

  Sam bunches her fists. “We met at the . . . ”

  Brian cuts in, “We met at a dance club. Sam is an incredible dancer and you should see her moving on the dance floor.”

  Sam’s eyes bulge.

  “I noticed her immediately. Cal, do you remember? We were at the bar ordering our drinks, and you said to me, ‘Wow, you should look at her’.”

  With his face straight, Caleb says, “Uh, yes. I said that. I think.”

  Cassie jabs his ribs.

  Brian goes on, “She was incredible. Out of the entire dance floor, she stood out like an angel. She was sexy, magnificent, perfect in every way. She was wearing this really hot number. Bandeau top that reveals almost everything – ”

  “I was not!”

  “ – and this flirty skirt that twirled when she spun. And she was spinning all right, many times.”

  Cassie says, the warning clear in her tone, “I thought you met her at the gym, Brian.”

  “Nah, it was at the club. I have a memory for these things. So I elbowed my way through the crowd and danced with her. She was with this dude with greasy hair and a T-shirt that says ‘FUCK ME GENTLY’.”

  Another round of gasps. Sam feels like vanishing into a hole in the ground.

  She puts her hand on Brian’s back. “Now, darling, that’s not how it happened . . . ”

  That’s not what we rehearsed, you evil manipulative twat, and you know it.

  “So we danced all night. She was wearing this pair of red shoes, and her feet seemed to have their own manic energy, you know, like they were being possessed – ”

  “Like in the fairytale,” Lori puts in. She claps her hands in glee. “Oh wow, I never knew Sam could dance. She was always such a klutz.”

  Sam winces.

  Brian says, “She can dance, take it from me, her boyfriend. So I asked her out. And we found out . . . during our ridiculously romantic date – ”

  Sam holds her breath, closes her eyes and prays.

  “ – that we went to the same school together. Would you believe?”

  “No!” Adele and Lori chorus. It’s amazing how alike they sound.

  OK, OK. He’s holding on to the script. Please let him follow the script.

  “She has never mentioned you once, has she, Lori? When she was growing up?” Adele says, amazed.

  “Nope, not once.”

  “We didn’t really know each other in school,” Sam interjects hastily.

  “But you’re both
twenty-seven. Surely you must have taken the same classes,” Lori points out.

  “Er, we sat at different ends of the class. And he was always cutting class, so we rarely saw him.”

  Brian looks amused. “It’s true. I was an awful kid – never doing my homework, always in detention. I even got expelled twice.”

  “Oh my goodness.” Adele’s hand flutters at her neck. “You must have been quite a bad boy.”

  “The worst. Anyway, I fell for Sam immediately. We became inseparable. But don’t worry, Mrs. Fox, we’re practicing safe sex. Sam insists upon it. ‘Can’t be too careful about getting pregnant before time,’ she always says.”

  “I didn’t know you even had sex,” Lori says to Sam, deadpan.

  Sam is blushing too hard to make a face at her sister.

  “And here we are, happily together,” Brian finishes with a flourish. “Never a quarrel or harsh word between us. It’s the perfect relationship. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

  He grabs her suddenly before she can protest and kisses her full on the lips, right in front of everybody. It’s a head tilted backwards, swooning kind of kiss. The type she always dreamed of having. Once again, he takes her breath away. She almost forgets everyone around them. Almost loses herself in him again.

  “Oh my,” she hears her mother say.

  When they part for air, her eyes are locked on Brian’s face. He has such an interesting face. One she can study forever. Why has she never noticed the little dimple in his chin?

  “Oh well,” Lori cuts in, her voice shrill, “it’s time for you to meet Lance.”

  Sam finally notices the nervous young man standing beside Lori. He must have been watching them kissing . . . and is that a look of mild envy on his features?

  They shake hands and exchange pleasantries all round. Then Lori claps her hands.

  “It’s time for the reception. Come on, everyone.”

  *

  Dinner is one long protracted affair. Brian finds himself seated in between Mr. and Mrs. Buchner, who quiz him on everything from business to the planet Saturn. (“Are the rings around it really made of ice?”) Lori keeps giving him glances from lowered eyelids and Lance Buchner turns out to have a stutter.