‘It’ll be fun. You could do with some fun in your life, you know.’ Amazing how Ava has the measure of me after one date.
Phoebe’s going to Sarah Snowden’s house for a sleepover. If I stay at home, I risk Teagan turning up in her lingerie again.
‘Count me in. What time?’
Majella finally stands and stalks away. This fake-dating deal is turning out to be even more helpful than I thought.
‘Eight pm. I’ll meet you there.’
Friday 1stDecember
The following night, I find myself in the basement of one of Dublin’s most prestigious hotels. An open fire crackles and roars in the wrought iron fireplace nestled into an exposed stone wall. The room is set with small tables adorned with pristine white tablecloths and a variety of wine glasses.
There are about fifteen people tasting wine, but only one I can’t take my eyes off. Ava looks stunning tonight in a black lace dress and those damn stilettos again. Maybe I do have a foot fetish after all. Her dark glossy hair’s blow-dried into curls that fall down her back and she’s wearing that rich wine-coloured lipstick again. The one I stared at on my neck long after Teagan left the other night.
At the front of the room, an experienced sommelier is explaining the characteristics of the third wine of the evening, describing its origin, grape variety and tasting notes. I’m only half listening, my mind occupied with the woman sitting a foot away from me.
The more I sip, the more I wonder what it would be like to taste Ava. This is technically our second date and if it was a real date, I would have kissed her the second I laid eyes on her. She might be infuriatingly cheerful, but she’s also the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. Those full, luscious lips. The way her tongue keeps darting over her perfect Cupid’s bow. I know what else I’d like it to dart over.
Get a grip, Cillian. The woman is doing you a favour. And you’re supposed to be doing her one. Not imagining her on her knees for you.
‘What are you thinking?’ She tilts towards me, offering a stellar view of her killer cleavage.
It’s been way too long since I’ve been with a woman, because all I can think about is bending you over the table, lifting that dress up, and leaving those shoes on.
I swirl the wine in the glass, watching as it trickles back down to the base. ‘I think I prefer the first one. What are you thinking?’
She holds her glass under her nose, takes a small sniff, then downs the contents in one mouthful. ‘I’m thinking you’ll be able to tell Frank and Penny on Sunday that their daughter swallows.’ Neat dark eyebrows wiggle suggestively.
I almost spit my drink out all over my shirt. What a visual. Sliding further under the table, I will my delinquent dick to stay the fuck down.
Ava is beautiful on the outside, but her playful personality is every bit as alluring too. Even if it’s the polar opposite of mine. ‘Yeah, because I’m sure that’s exactly what your parents are going to ask over Sunday lunch.’
‘Oh, Cillian. You have no idea what you’re letting yourself in for.’ Her bright eyes glitter. ‘My mother is a retired midwife. She’ll tell you herself, she’s seen it all. And both my parents believe in talking about everything over Sunday lunch. And I meaneverything. Don’t say I didn't warn you.’ The glasses are cleared away and we’re handed the next wine to sample.
They can’t be that bad. They raised her.
I scoot my chair closer to Ava. The desire to talk to her is way stronger than the desire to discover the origin of the grape.
I keep my voice low, grateful we’re at the table furthest away from the sommelier. ‘Speaking of Sunday lunch, we should probably prepare for it.’ I’ve come up against some mean motherfuckers in court, but the prospect of facing the parents of any woman I’m ‘dating’ sets an apprehensive shudder over my spine.
‘Honey, there is no preparing for Sunday lunch with my family.’ Ava presses her palm to her chest; a buoyant bout of laughter escapes her expressive mouth. Several eyes glare from the table in front of us. ‘But if it makes you feel better, we can ask each other more questions to get to know each other better.’
I want to know more about her. But not because we’re fake-dating. Because she’s intriguing. Funny. And sexy as hell.
It’s a good job I don’t really date. Because if I did, I’d date her properly. Spending time with her is effortless. Her warm honeyed laugh is infectious. Her ease in her own skin is ridiculously attractive. I don’t doubt the sex would be amazing.
But then it would end in disaster. A woman like Ava would never settle for something casual. She’d want the whole bells and whistles. A big white dress. A church overflowing with family and friends. A promise of forever. And that’s something I’ll never be able to give anyone.
Which is precisely why I need a fake girlfriend and not a real one.
‘I’ll start.’ I offer. ‘What’s your favourite food?’
‘Pizza. Couldn't you tell by the way I demolished my lunch on Wednesday?’ She crosses her legs, and my eyes are drawn to her shapely thighs and those sexy heels again.
‘I noticed you didn't offer me a slice.’
‘We’re only fake-dating,’ she whispers in my ear. ‘If you were my real boyfriend, I’d have given you a slice.’
