“I call bullshit. Something is either frustrating you or causing you major anxiety. I just want to help you chill the fuck out. Have you tried hooking up? Releasing endorphins is a healthy way to relax.”
“So now you want to dictate how I feel?”
“No, I want you out of my head and heart. It’s so fucking hard to deal with your feelings, Gatsby’s feelings, and my life.”
I snort. “Because you don’t have feelings.”
“Ha, don’t start playing ‘let’s annoy the fuck out of Lysander because’…I hate being a triplet.”
Is it wrong to enjoy his frustration? Probably, but I swear it’s so fucking funny when he’s annoyed.
“Can you just tell me what’s wrong with you?” he growls.
I know when to push, but I also know when I have to back off. Since the game is over, I confess what’s fucking with my head. “Hawaii, our mother, the merger…why can’t things be simple?”
“Tell Mom, ‘Fuck off. I don’t need a wife. The only girlfriend I have is the inflatable doll Caspian gave me for Christmas.’ See, it’s pretty easy.”
Fucking Caspian and his gag gifts. He’s such an idiot.
“I don’t understand why she’s always on my case and not yours. She has seven children other than me to nag, and I only hear her say, ‘Aslan, dear, when are you going to get married?’ Why?”
“Margie,” he answers.
I close my eyes, exhaling harshly. “It’s been over for fourteen years. Again, she has seven other children to harass.”
“None of us have ever been close to having a family. You were engaged.”
“You—”
“I don’t count,” he interrupts before I say something else. “Listen, your only options are to confront her or keep going with your fabricated girlfriend.”
He doesn’t understand that I’m at a crossroads. This is it. The fable has to come to an end. Unless he has a solution. “How can I continue with the lie?”
“Take that girlfriend to Hawaii, you can break up with her during or after the trip.”
“She’s not real,” I reminded him, annoyed.
“It’s not a matter of having her but finding someone to play the part. Hire someone for the week.”
“Sure, let’s bring a whore to the family event. Classy.”
“I meant—”
“You’re an idiot,” I interrupt him before he says something more stupid.
“Hire an actress.”
I’m about to pull out my hair. Is he serious? I snap my fingers. “Why didn’t I think of that? I could just post it on Craigslist. Actress needed to play the part of my girlfriend. Must be available to travel. No passport needed. Non-smoker, not clingy, nothing serious. I’ll have my assistant run it before noon.”
“The hot VP of Operations could do it.”
“Keep Keaton out of this conversation,” I growl.
“Aww, you don’t want us to mention your favorite, shiny, unwrapped toy?”
I’ve no idea what he means by that, but I’m about to go downstairs and rearrange his face.
“You’ve always had a soft spot for her. On the plus side, she knows how to deal with your…lovely personality.”
He’s not wrong. I consider his idea for one hot second. Can I fake being with Keaton? She’s smart, fun, and beautiful. Not that I’m gawking at her every time we’re in the same room. Okay, I might glance at her from time to time because, well, she’s gorgeous.
“Do you think that’s going to keep Mom away?”
“At least for a few months. It’s perfect.” He snaps his fingers, almost as if he just had a brilliant idea. “She’s leaving San Francisco in a couple of months, isn’t she? You can claim that she didn’t want to have a long-distance relationship.”
The thought of her leaving makes my stomach drop. Soon, she’ll move to Arizona—if the merger with Monti Media goes as planned. Another good reason why I have to skip the reunion. This is her dream, I have to make it happen—for her. I can’t go on vacation.
But what if I bring her along? We could work in the hotel room, pretend we’re together, and enjoy a week in Hawaii. She needs a vacation. I hate to admit that this plan might work, but am I that desperate?
No. I don’t mix business with pleasure or family.
Including Keaton in this insane plan isn’t the solution. “There has to be another way?”
“Yes, but you don’t like to confront Mom. Hence the big lie, Pinocchio.”
“I’ll tell her I’m too busy to go to Hawaii.”
He chuckles. “The last time you tried to wiggle your way out of a family event using work as an excuse, she threatened to fire you. She might not hold any shares for the company, but she’s my mother, and if she asks, I’ll vote in her favor. Everyone would agree with me.”
The board is a joke. My brothers and sisters only make decisions that are convenient for Mom, and I have to deal with the rest. “I love our mother, but she makes our life too fucking complicated.”
“I couldn’t agree more. Now can you settle down? I have to be at the vineyard in less than two hours.”
“You need to move back to Paradise Bay.”
“I will, as soon as you tell Mom to fuck off.”
That’s probably going to be never.
>>>> Continue Reading Faking the Game
Can’t Help Love
Maia
Fourteen years ago…
“Your plane ticket for May is ready,” Dad says.
I stare at the screen, trying to concentrate on the conversation. It’s impossible.
I’ve always been a rational person.
At least I think I am. My parents raised me to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground. I follow all their social rules. All of them.
Well, at least I did up until I started my junior year of college and finally moved out of the house—and the state.
Dad is a very conservative man who believes women shouldn’t leave home until they get married. According to him, I’m not allowed to have a boyfriend before the age of twenty-five.
Ha, good luck with that, Papi.
“Maia, are you listening?” Dad growls.
Oh, I’m listening. I just can’t build a coherent sentence.
My secret boyfriend is hiding under the table—as I requested. However, he’s doing very naughty things while waiting for this call to end.
I swallow a whimper as Gatsby licks my left thigh as he skates his hands down the center of my body. He’s so close to my core I can’t breathe. I’m desperate and needy for him.
My story is simple. I’m a naïve good girl who went off to college and discovered she liked sex—a lot. It doesn’t help that my boyfriend can’t keep his hands to himself. He’s always touching me, and I’m always wanting it.
I blame him.
Damn it, Gatsby Spearman and his delicious mouth and wicked fingers.
I told him to hide and stay quiet while I’m speaking to my parents. What is he doing?
He’s quiet, but also being his usual wicked-horny self.