It’s been two years since I last saw any action, okay? I don’t believe in toys. And I don’t believe in guys, because most of them—all of the ones I’ve ever been with—are complete douche bags who bang mysterious women in your bed. Oh, and steal your credit card. And download porn and a bunch of viruses onto your brand new, expensive work laptop, and forget to water your plants, and complain about your cat, and fuck with your heart, and yadda, yadda. You get the picture.
“Okay. Should I give you my number? Or should I get yours? Or both?”
I sigh after I blurt that out because now I sound as desperate as I felt when I spilled all my doubts and insecurities to Dean a few days ago. But Dean did come up with said plan shortly after. I might have been complaining about my parents. About how exhausted I feel with them asking me if I’m still single. About how I’m so scared I’m going to ruin my sister’s wedding because they’ll be so focused on that. I might have been having a bit of a pity party.
“Both.” Gabriel smiles softly.
Not a grin. No, he’s not mocking me. He’s smiling at me like he’s actually interested in doing this. Like he’s not just going to get my number and give it to some trashy guy on the street as a joke. Like he’s not going to ditch me when I call because yeah, that’s funny too. Like he’s not going to play games of any kind. Like he’s actually serious about going through with this. Like he doesn’t think I’m crazy.
“You’re…you’re actually serious?” I have to ask it, just to be sure. I really can’t believe anyone would get on board with this. “I mean, two thousand dollars isn’t a lot.”
“Let’s just say I have a keen sense of adventure. I was recently told I should get out there, have some fun, and try new things. I haven’t done a lot of that lately, and I’d like to get out of the city. You also seem nice. In a bind, yes. A little bit desperate, probably. But I’m intrigued.”
I can feel my eyes narrowing as my heart starts beating harder. Now I feel like he is making fun of me with a straight face. “I don’t want to be a story. This is my life here, and I’m serious about this. I feel like if I don’t bring a date, my sister’s whole wedding could be ruined. I don’t want to explain all of that now. But if you’re using me for a good time, or if you think there’s some crazy, wild story to get out of this, then I need to find someone else. You’re not a reporter, are you?”
“No. I’m not a reporter.” That earns me another smile. Not a patronizing or mocking one, but a real one.
“I—I…”
“You need someone, and I could use a weekend away. I haven’t had a vacation in a very long time. Also, you seem nice, your friend seems nice, and this is the most original idea I’ve heard in a long time.”
“You don’t read romances? They’re always full of stories like this—fake dates and whatnot. Dean, my best friend—the guy who was just with me—reads tons of them. It’s probably where he got the idea. It’s really not that strange. I guess. People pay for companionship all the time.” As soon as I tack that bit on, my face goes scarlet. I can literally feel the blood surging to my cheeks.
“Right,” Gabriel snorts. “That’s not the kind of companionship you have in mind, though, I believe.” He can’t contain his mirth, and he actually laughs, a low deep sound that gives me shivers in some very inappropriate places.
He’s gay. He doesn’t like women. Stop that. Stop reacting to him like that.
Unfortunately, my body isn’t listening. I guess I can’t help my biology. I can’t help that this guy looks like he’d have Grade A genetics or something. Isn’t that what all women are secretly looking for in a mate, at least according to science? If I’m hardwired this way, then can I excuse my hormones? I don’t know. I still feel annoyed with myself. And a little bit ashamed. And slightly hypocritical. I’m tired of guys, and I don’t want them to hit on me. Except for this guy. So what does that make me? Gross? Horrible? I don’t know. I don’t know what all of this makes me, but it’s probably better not to think about it.
“Coffee? Tomorrow? One?” I rattle those questions off faster than the end of a fireworks display.
“Sure. Sounds good.” Gabriel produces his phone from his back pocket.
I rattle off my digits before he changes his mind. Too late, I realize my phone is in the car. I blush again, because how stupid could I be? “I…could you text me your number? I left my phone in the car. I don’t have it.”
“You’ll trust me not to ghost you? This whole night could be fruitless for you if I ditch on you and bail tomorrow. You don’t have much time if the wedding’s in a week. This whole night could really be wasted for you. I’m assuming that’s why you’re here?”
I try very hard not to glance over my shoulder at the bar where Dean is probably still standing. I think he has other plans for a good time after this, but of course, I don’t say that. It is the reason I’m here—Gabriel’s right.
“Uh, yeah. Kind of. I mean, yes. I guess. Are you going to ghost me?”
Gabriel’s smile is back, and it’s a nice smile—a smile that reaches his eyes, which are also nice. Just like the rest of him. Fuck. If he doesn’t ditch me, I’m going to be in for a really hard weekend.
“No. I’m not going to ghost you. You don’t know me, but when I give my word, I keep it.”
“And you don’t know me, but I promise I’m not always this weird.”
“It’s okay. Sometimes a little weird is good.”
“Okay.” I don’t have anything else to add to that. What could I possibly add? Adding something would be like adding icing on a cake already heaped with like eight hundred layers of the stuff. Ugh. I actually hate icing. And I hate cake too.
“Okay.”
“Alright.”
“See you tomorrow, then. I trust you’ll send me the address of wherever you want to meet?”
“Yes. I will. As soon as I get my phone.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” Before I can make any bigger of a fool of myself, and I’m already feeling like an over iced cake myself now, I turn and flee. I basically walk-run blindly, straight over to where Dean is probably getting his fourth shots.
He turns around, a little surprised to see me, and there’s a big shit-eating grin lighting up his face. “Great timing! Here are your shots. Tequila. Your favorite. Here’s to celebrating our success.”
I choke back a groan. I really don’t like tequila. And this hardly feels like a success of any kind. I feel like I just opened the door to a really big disaster, one where I’m not going to make it through.
As I tip back the first glass, I close my eyes and think about how much Mom and Dad are going to love Gabriel. They’d pretty much love everyone, but I have a feeling they’ll really love him. Of course, that makes me feel worse because he’s a fake boyfriend. I’m paying him. I’m technically kind of his boss. And he will never in a million years be into me. I’m going to break my parents’ hearts when I tell them we’ve ‘broken up’ in a few months.