“Can we please just go?” I ask, instead. “You want me to have fun? Fine. I’m game. Let’s go play pool or darts or something.”
“Pool or darts?” Sebastien studies me incredulously.
We look completely different even though we share the same mom. We both took Ted’s last name, but as far as similarities, that’s where it ends. Our personalities are different for sure, but physically, we look nothing alike, either. Unfortunately, I know I got my bronzed skin and olive undertone from my dad. He had dark black hair and dark eyes like me. But I’m taller than he ever was, at least from what I remember. I’m a few inches over six feet and built like I could be a football star, although I never played since I was always busy ‘fooling around with computers and doing boring shit’, as Sebastien used to say. Sebastien has paler skin, blue eyes, and sandy blonde hair. He looks like Ted more than he looks like my mom. He’s tall like me but slimmer—not built like an athlete at all. Despite that, he’s very good looking, and he can rock a pair of jeans and a button-up shirt far better than I can.
For the record, we’re pretty much matching tonight, outfit wise, except Sebastien paired his with a pair of red and white canvas shoes while I went for the classic, office-y, square-toed, black leather deal.
I look out of place, I feel out of place, and I want to leave.
“What’s wrong with darts?”
“Are you eighty? That’s what’s wrong with darts.”
“Lots of people like darts.”
“Maybe we should go play shuffleboard.”
“You’re an asshole.”
Sebastien grins at me. He’s nursing some kind of mixed soda and hard alcohol drink that probably tastes like piss and costs a fortune, but he doesn’t seem to mind. On the other hand, I’m nursing nothing but my own desperation to get the hell out of here and back to my basement, where I’m comfortable and have the space to do something I’m actually good at.
“Oh, look.” Sebastien whips his head to the side, but then whirls back and leans in. “No. Don’t look. That’s bad. Too obvious. There’s a good looking lady over there who’s been checking you out for a few minutes. At least five.”
“Why?” I ask flatly. I didn’t actually think Sebastien was serious about people who aren’t gay coming here to pick people up. Shows how much I know. I know it probably makes me sound like an asshole, but I’m not. I just never go out. So I seriously had no idea.
“Why?” Sebastien bumps me with his elbow. “Because you’re a good looking, single guy, that’s why.”
“You dragged me out,” I protest. “I’m not here to meet someone.”
“You don’t have to meet, meet her. You could just flirt a little. Or let her flirt. Have a drink. Be nice. Be friendly. Maybe take her home after.”
“Definitely not doing that.”
Sebastien nods. “You only dated dried up old prunes when you actually dated. Those women weren’t nice from the start. But this girl looks nice. She seems sweet.”
“You can tell all that from across the room?”
“Of course. She’s with her friend, and he’s gay. She probably came with him because everyone hates going out alone. She’s not the kind who hooks up. I was kidding about that. And I can tell because I’ve done enough people watching here to know the difference. She’d probably like to go out for coffee sometime. Or a nice dinner. She’s that kind of girl. A nice girl. The kind who, you know, wouldn’t use you for your money, break up with you, and then try and take you for a fuck ton of cash.”
“Stop,” I warn.
“You can’t let a few bad experiences ruin everything for you.”
“It was just one.”
“Well, there you go. She doesn’t look like the type. She seems nice.”
“No.”
“She does…”
“Just no. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I don’t want to date. I don’t want to go out for coffee. And I can have a nice dinner alone. I’m happy where I’m at. I came out tonight because you pestered the shit out of me and begged until I nearly lost my sanity. I’m here to make you happy, not because I want to be, and definitely not to talk to anyone, nice or not.”
“Oooh, she’s coming over. And her friend too. I wonder if he’s single. He’s good looking.”
“Fuck.” When I frantically look over Sebastien’s shoulder, I can see that he’s right. Both about the said woman being quite beautiful and about the fact that she’s currently coming this way.
I debate the merits of escaping to the bathroom, wherever it is, but then I decide a club’s bathroom isn’t a place I’d want to go no matter what. I don’t smoke, so I can’t escape outside, either. Sebastien would also never forgive me if I just bailed on him, so that leaves me with no option other than to just stand here.
And wait.
And marvel privately, because wow. The nameless goddess closing in on us has long, cinnamon hued hair, green eyes, and a bone structure that would put most models to shame. She’s tall too. The emerald green dress she has on isn’t that tight, but it does a good job of silhouetting some killer curves and fuller breasts.
Yeah, so I noticed. My cock kind of noticed too. But whatever. Neither of us has seen a lot of action lately, and we prefer it that way. Well, at least I do. My dick might not be in agreement, but I’ve never given him any say in the matter. I have way too much at stake when it comes to businesses and assets to protect—oh and myself too because who actually likes to be used by someone else—to let anything but my brain be the decision-maker.
Right now, my said brain is finding it hard to think clearly. And that’s before the pair steps into my personal space, and I get a full inhale of a decidedly feminine scent. Jasmine, I think. I’ve never liked the smell of perfume before, but this scent is so delicate and gentle that I find my head spinning.
“Hey,” the guy—my brother is right, he is pretty good looking and athletic with the classic style handsome looks—says. He winks at Sebastien. Sebastien actually blushes. I’ve never known my brother to play hard to get, but he clears his throat almost immediately.
“I’m going to get a drink. I’ll be back.”
He leaves me stranded there, just like that. What. The. Fuck?
“H-hey…” I manage to croak, but only because the goddess is currently studying her black flats.
“I know this might sound kind of crazy,” the guy starts. “But trust me, we’re not drunk. I was wondering if you’d hear us out.”
“Uh, alright.” It’s not like I have another option. Sebastien is at the bar across from where I’m standing near the wall. He’s busy watching me while pretending not to be busy doing anything at all but waiting for a drink.
“So, my friend here, long story short, needs a fake date for a few days. She’s willing to pay two thousand dollars for four days, but two of them are travel days. Road trip to a small town. Go to her sister’s wedding as her date. Satisfy her parents that she’s not single. End of story. Do you want to make two thousand dollars?”
I’m sorry, what? I stand there staring for a few seconds because I’m sure I didn’t just hear that right. Who just approaches someone at a bar and asks them to do something like this? Travel with her on a road trip? Meet her parents? Fake date? This isn’t just crazy. It’s dangerous for her. I want to say something indignant or at least attempt to educate the pair on how terrible their idea is when the guy starts up again.