I need the touch of a real man—one who doesn’t fall off a motorcycle, wears fake hair, tries to get me to take naked pictures, or smells like cow crap. Is it really so damn hard?
The Fake Relationship seems like a slam dunk. At least it shouldn’t be awkward or weird. I know exactly what I’m getting into as I park in the hotel parking lot for the wedding I’m attending as a fake girlfriend.
And if I’m lucky, the night might end like the turning point in every fake relationship book I’ve read—with me finally getting my rocks off with a human being. One who will call the next day, telling me he doesn’t want this to be fake anymore.
“Holly?”
“Roy?”
He nods and opens the door for me. Damn, he’s hot. Tall, muscular, and with hair that belongs to him.
“Thanks for doing this,” he says.
“My pleasure. Really.”
We decided last night to skip the ceremony and just show up for the dance. I have no idea who the married couple is in relation to him, but right now I don’t care.
We walk into the elaborately decorated banquet hall, and I can’t help but wonder who the hell got married here. A Trump? Bezos? It looks expensive.
“Should we dance?” Roy asks, taking my hand in his.
He looks a perfect mix of causal and dressy in his suit—still a few inches taller than me in my heels—and my flowy floral dress has just enough movement to be hiked up to my hips if he wants to take me to the coat closet later after one too many slow dances.
“As long as they’re slow songs. My shoes aren’t broken in enough to get jiggy with it without enough liquor to numb the pain. And by then, they’ll just come off.”
He flashes a megawatt smile that melts me right there. Unless he does something more off-putting than the men before him, I’m more than willing to consider a one-night stand with him.
A fake relationship doesn’t give me high hopes of finding a lasting relationship, but I think getting sex out of my system will help me focus better. No fantasizing about Decker. Or Tyler. Or even the hot barista.
“You look amazing, by the way,” Roy says, pulling me against his hard body as we dance to a ninety’s ballad. Bon Jovi, I think. “I was a little worried you wouldn’t look like your picture.”
“You’ve had the same problem? You don’t really look like your profile picture, though.”
“No?”
I smile up at him. “No, you look better in person.”
His lips touch mine, surprising me, but I don’t pull back. I part my lips, letting his tongue sweep into my mouth, and all I can think about is how I want every inch of it on my skin.
At this point, I’m desperate enough to start dipping my toe into the erotica category just for a moment of satisfaction, but as I feel his erection pressing against my waist, I don’t think it’s necessary anymore.
“Would it be too forward of me to suggest we find a quiet place to… talk?” Roy asks, his mouth brushing my ear and shooting another wave of fire to my core.
“Not at all,” I whisper.
We leave the dance floor as soon as a fast song begins, searching for an empty room to slip into. The only unoccupied one without windows is the coat check.
Score.
We slip inside unnoticed, and I feel giddy. Like a teenager making out with my boyfriend at church camp. Yeah, I totally did that.
I can’t stop thinking that maybe Roy is the one I’ve been meant to find. Maybe I wouldn’t have appreciated the instant attraction without the bad dates first.
Our chemistry is off the charts.
“I’ve never wanted anyone like this before,” he whispers, his lips on my neck.
His hands skim along my chest, freeing one breast from the top of my dress before dipping his head to suck my nipple. It’s far too fast considering we just officially met one song ago, but I ache so badly that a single finger might make me come in record speed.
