The waves, the lights, the music…
Thatkiss.
I know we’re supposed to be pretending, but that didn’t feel like pretend.
In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever felt a kiss so real and raw before in my life, and I am a professional date, for God’s sakes!
Aaron was a perfect date. From the opening of my car door to his hand in mine as we walked the beach, to dancing to Taylor Swift, to kissing me while the sun set…
It was absolutely perfect. He is absolutely perfect.
I look at him in the light of the car as we head back to the beach house. It’s late and I know we’re both tired as fuck and we’re going to crash when we get back.
And with every second, we get closer to that crash. To the one bed trope.
I know realistically if I asked him to, he’d crash somewhere else. This house is certainly big enough, but I also know that would look weird, considering we’re supposed to be dating seriously.
But I’d also be lying if I said I didn’t want to sleep with him. Literally. As in, fall asleep next to him.
But I would also be lying if I said I didn’t want to sleep with him in the obvious sense, too.
That’s the problem, though. Idowant Aaron. In ways I shouldn’t because he’s a client and is paying me an exorbitant amount to play house with him. But the more I get to know him, the deeper I fall. Because that’s how it always goes, right? In the books, I mean.
It’s a classic trope—the fake relationship that turns into a real relationship when no one’s looking.
But my life’s not some romance novel, and no matter how much I enjoy this fantasy of being the main character for once, nothing will change the truth.
Aaron isnotmy boyfriend.
But for the moment, I’ll pretend that he is.
That hecouldbe.
That in a perfectly written tale, the millionaire hotel heir ends up with the ex-stripper turned rent-a-date he hired and falls in love with him and they live happily ever after.
A guy can dream, right?
When we pull up to the house, I realize the inevitable moment has arrived. For a second, we sit there, the car off. Aaron gets up first to open my door.
When we get inside, the house is dark and I know everyone is asleep. You can feel it in the eerie stillness.
Yet even though there’s no one to see us, Aaron grabs my hand and pulls me into him. He kisses me, and I don’t fight it.
I kiss him back, just as I have several times tonight, because I can’t help but feel like it’s the most natural, easiest thing in the world.
What is the intent here?
Lola’s questions reverberate in my brain.
What does Jackson want?
“I had a great time tonight,” I say as I break away. Aaron grins. “Me too, baby.”
I glance up at him. I know he’s only doing this—calling me baby, taking me out, kissing me—becauseit’s part of the act, building comfort so we can be authentic or appear authentic. But the way he’s looking at me right now, I want to believe it’s more. His fingers brush mine softly as he tugs my hand. I let him lead me down the hall, the shadows falling on us both like some sort of blessing. When we get to his room, he carefully shuts the door and turns the light on.
I stand there for a moment, thinking about my answer, about my character’s intent. Well,myintent, seeing as my book isn’t real.
But my story definitely is.
