“I can tell you think we are actually drunk even though I said we’re not. Or that we might be crazy, but we’re not, either. Desperate, yes. We’re aware you might actually be a creep, but I don’t think so. You look like the club isn’t your scene, which probably means you’re kind of shy and either can’t meet people any other way, or you got dragged here by your friend over there. If that’s the case then you’re definitely a good guy, and you’re going to be his wingman for the night. Plus, you don’t give off any creepy vibes. My friend absolutely wants to stay single and doesn’t want anyone hitting on her, so it works out well that you’re not attracted to women. It will ensure there isn’t any room for anything messy. No strings. Two grand. What do you say?”
I’d say this sounds even crazier than I first thought it did.
I’d say you’re a terrible judge of character. What does it even mean that I don’t give off creepy vibes? I could still be a horrible person, hell-bent on seduction and murder.
I’d say that for some terrible reason, this idea is actually growing on me. Sebastien’s right. It’s been too long since I had any fun. This idea has the potential for some serious fun written all over it. I mean, this is a once in a lifetime kind of proposition.
There are probably a good number of things I could actually say, but all I can do is stand there with a stupefied look of disbelief carved onto my face. I can practically feel my eyes bugging out.
Jesus. That’s probably kind of scary. I should really blink. Blink, you idiot. You still haven’t blinked. Try. Harder. There. Was that so bad?
“I…uh…” Great. That’s a great start.
When would be the appropriate time to tell them I’m not actually gay?
Oh right. Never. Because I’m not seriously considering this. Am I?
CHAPTER 3
Pearl
“Great. Now this guy thinks we’re super creepy.” I have to cut in. Finally. I should have broken the ice. Offered the guy a drink. Done something other than letting Dean just blurt out the plan of action. I turn away from Dean and face the poor stranger we ambushed. A very good looking stranger, I might add. “Uh, yeah. Sorry. I’m really sorry. About all of this. We’ll just be going now, and you can get on with your night and pretend like this never happened. Any of it.”
I grab Dean’s arm and tug him around. My face feels like I just tripped and fell straight into a fire. You know. Face first. The last thing I expect is for a deep voice with a wonderfully sexy rasp to cut in right behind me.
“No, wait. Please.”
I turn slowly, incredulous. I think the guy probably gets it, given that I think my jaw literally just separated from my face. I actually lift a shaking hand and feel for it. It’s still there. Thank god.
“I was just surprised. Sorry.” The stranger swallows nervously. I swallow thickly too. Dean tenses beside me, but not the bad kind of tense. Rather, it’s the kind of tense that says he’s ready for something awesome to happen. As in, for this guy to agree to our terrible plan. “Gabriel. Sorry, I’m Gabriel.”
“Gabs,” Dean blurts.
“No. Just—just Gabriel, thanks. I think it would be appropriate to be on a first-name basis before we discuss going to your sister’s wedding and declaring our undying love to your parents.”
“Oh, I—so you’ll actually help me?” I think my level of shock just skyrocketed up a few notches.
“Of course, he will!” Dean exclaims excitedly. “That’s great. Yeah. Well, I’m going to get a drink as well. I’ll let you two sit down and talk. Or stand here and talk.” He points to the bar like I’m five and as if he can’t let me out of his sight for more than two seconds. “I’ll just be over there.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“You want anything?”
Yeah. To get the heck out of here and forget this whole idea. I had noticed the look of surprise and something I’d term as close to revulsion on Gabriel’s face when Dean dropped the fake boyfriend bomb on him with absolutely no preamble or warning. Nothing like walking up to someone with a set of brutally cray-cray demands. The poor guy. Now, though, he’s studying me with unfettered interest.
“Uh, no.” I realize Dean is waiting for a response. “Thanks.”
He flashes me a thumbs up, unwilling to consider that this wouldn’t work for any reason, and saunters off to the bar. Not the bar where Gabriel’s friend went to. The other bar at the back. Great. He’s probably getting a fuck ton of shots for both of us to celebrate this grand new adventure I’m about to embark on. An adventure of deceit and lies. How great.
“Did you come up with this plan all by yourself or did your friend help?” Gabriel is eyeing me strangely. It takes me all of one second to figure out he’s now having fun with this. I wonder if he’s just jerking my chain and making fun of me, or if he’s actually serious. I want to bail on this plan more than ever, but I know I can’t leave without Dean.
Not only did I come in his car, but I was also so distracted that I left my clutch with my phone, my ID, and my money in the car.
I’m trapped here, at least until Dean gets back.
I seriously hope he’s not getting shots. I’m so nervous that I could puke already. I don’t need some gross, sugary, nasty alcohol added into the mix.
“I—sorry. You know what? This was a bad idea. Just—I’m going to go now.” I point behind me. “Have a great night.”
“No. Really. I’m sorry.” Gabriel apologizes again, though I have no idea what for. It was Dean and me who crashed his night, not the other way around. “I’m not trying to make fun of you. I just find it interesting how you came up with something like that—the story behind it. I’ll do it. Just to be clear, I will. But I am curious. I’m sure we should go over the details.”
“Yeah—uh—yeah. How’s coffee tomorrow? I can barely hear a thing in here. It’s not a great place to talk.”
It’s true. The music, like most clubs, is thumping loudly while people writhe to it on and off the dance floor to the left. It’s actually fairly busy inside here, I think. But maybe it gets even more packed regularly. I’ve only been here a few times, and I didn’t really pay much attention. I just knew I had room to walk around, and there weren’t very many people, so it wasn’t sweltering or stifling or claustrophobic the way some clubs get.
“Coffee?” Gabriel’s brows shoot up.
“Or something else if you prefer. If you don’t like coffee.”
“No. Coffee is great.” Gabriel studies me openly, and I study him back.
The fact that he’s as delicious looking as a perfectly toasted s'more oozing chocolatey goodness and marshmallow wonderfulness doesn’t help my nervousness. I like s'mores, okay? I know he’s not into women, but still. He’s so beautiful—with his rich, bronzed skin, dark hair, eyes so big and velvety soft, and a body made to match the perfectly proportioned, symmetric face—that it’s frying wires in my brain. I can practically smell the burning.
Okay, so I’m attracted to him. Physically. I know he’s gay, but my lady bits—namely, the old V-box and my nipples—aren’t listening to that argument. They just see a guy who is built like a tank with broad shoulders, probably abs for days hidden under his white button-down shirt, and cheekbones that could be used to cut a glass display case in a robbery, and they are lighting up with interest.