Carter
I had many calls that came in from numbers I didn’t know. Some were women, some were damn telemarketers, and a lot were clients. I always answered the phone the same way.
“Hello, Carter Anderson speaking.”
“I figured you were the kind to forget a woman’s name, but I didn’t picture you being the type to need to remind them. Don’t worry; your secret is safe with me.”
I laughed—like the head-thrown-back, full-body laugh. I had only spoken to her for about ten minutes tops the previous night, but I knew immediately it was Emerson on the other end of the line. Aside from the fact that it wasn’t too hard to recognize her voice, no other girl would bust my chops the way she did, especially in such a short time.
“It’s so their husbands know who they’re dealing with.”
“Ugh.” I heard her on the other end. “One of those guys. Of all the guys who could have been sent my way for this ridiculous wedding thing, I had to get that guy.” She had mumbled that last sentence, and I wasn’t one-hundred percent sure if she had wanted me to hear it or not, but I did. I shouldn’t have been offended. After all, I really was that guy, but something about the way she judged me didn’t sit right with me.
“Speaking of weddings,” I interrupted her. “What’s the deal?”
“So you’re not backing out? Good,” she said before I had a chance to respond. “Because I already did my part, so you still owe me your part.”
“Wait, wait, you did your part?” I questioned. “What does that mean? I thought we had a deal.”
“Yeah, you were supposed to bag me.” I snorted at her phrasing. “You need me to send some raunchy text or something so you can show your friends? I figured seeing me leave with you was enough.”
“Yeah, see,” I started as if I had something to hide. And truth be told, I was actually a tiny bit afraid of her reaction. I didn’t give a damn about what anyone said or thought; I was commander-in-chief of my life. So why the hell was I nervous about the little freaky, Gothic bag lady? “The bet that you agreed to help me win involves me dating you, fucking you, whatever else we want to do for two months.”
“Ew,” she responded, and I actually got pissed.
“Why the fuck is sleeping with me so disgusting? You should be so lucky,” I spat at her.
“You fucking wish, pretty boy,” she snapped back. Then her voice softened a bit even though her own annoyance clearly hadn’t lessened. “Geez, Carter, don’t get your panties in a twist. I meant, what would happen if you had to have sex with a chick you didn’t like? Especially for two months. That’s a long time of having sex with someone you weren’t attracted to. I mean, what if I had said yes.”
“Doggy style,” I answered without hesitation.
“Ugh. That guy,” she mumbled again, but I was pretty damn impressed that she hadn’t been upset with my honesty. “Okay, fine, you date me, have sex with me, whatever, it doesn’t matter, for two months. And then what?”
“That’s the whole reason for the bet, actually. I told my buddies that I could sleep with any girl for any amount of time, and when things were done, the girl wouldn’t have hard feelings.”
“Why? Because she’d be so grateful you gave her even any scraps of your time?” She snorted. I stayed silent. “Oh, God, you actually believe that.”
“It’s true,” I responded. “And what the hell do you know about dating?”
“Touché.” Again, her answer was without sarcasm or annoyance. What a shame she didn’t have the looks to go with her personality. “But I do live in the real world, Carter. Something you clearly don’t do. Lucky for you, I was the one who was chosen, or you’d never win that bet. But …” She paused.
“But what?”
“But only if you help me with my dilemma.”
“I said I would, didn’t I?”
“But my cousin’s wedding isn’t for three months. How the hell do I know you won’t use me to win your bet then leave me high and dry right after? There’s a month difference in between. For all I know, you could disappear on me.”
“I won’t.”
“So you say.”
“I promise. It’s just one day, right?”
“Yeah, I guess. But my family is going to grill you, and they’re not going to believe I didn’t just buy you off some website just to shut them up. So we need to make it believable. They need to think you’re my boyfriend or something, and you actually like me for me. Crap, this is going to suck donkey balls,” she muttered, and I chuckled. She was kind of cute over the phone. In person, not so much.
“Oookay?” I asked.
“So that means we’re actually going to have to hang out at least a few times so you really do get to know me and vice versa, so we can sell this shit.”
“We have to hang out at least a few times anyway for my bet.”
“Oh, fudge biscuit,” she replied, and I chuckled again.
“What’s with the weirdo first-grade cussing?” I asked.
“I don’t like to actually curse, not that I don’t. There will be plenty of times you hear me say fuck and shit, but if I can catch myself, I do.”
“Keep it up, it’s funny as hell. Anyway, what’s the big deal with hanging out a few times? My friends are going to need proof that we’re seeing each other, or they’ll think I’m just making this up.”
“I don’t do social situations.”
“Everyone does.”
“Do I really strike you as the type?”
“Okay, point taken. So just pretend you’re hanging out with some friends.” When I was met with silence, I frowned. “No friends?” I asked, and still, there was silence. “You have absolutely no friends?” I asked astonished.
“Uh … let me think about that … yeah, the answer is no.”
“What?” I yelled loud enough that two of my colleagues turned toward my office.
“I’m not exactly a people-person in case you didn’t notice last night.”
“What do you call this exchange?”
“A business arrangement,” she stated.
“And the guy at the bar.”
“A client.”
“Okay, fine, think of all the times we hang out as business dealings,” I responded with a frustrated breath. This girl was driving me nuts.
“Then how the hell are you going to get to know me?”
“We’ll figure it out.”
She huffed. “Fine. Whatever. We can hang out,” she answered begrudgingly. I almost opened my mouth to say, “Don’t do me any favors,” but she essentially was doing me a favor, so I closed it immediately.
But it all felt so odd to me. Normally, women were clamoring to spend time with me—short, tall, fat, ugly, and gorgeous alike. I might not have been attracted to Emerson, but I had expected her to fall at my feet and be thankful for this rare opportunity. And here she was, practically hating every minute, and we’d known each other for less than twenty-four hours. And I hadn’t slept with her. If my friends were right, she’d at least have a reason to despise me then. But now? What the fudge? Oh, dear Lord, I said fudge instead of fuck.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts. “Good. My friends are getting together this Saturday for drinks, and you’re coming with me. We can meet up sooner to get our stories straight for my buddies, and we can talk about what’s so interesting about you, if you want.”
“Saturday?” she squeaked. “But that’s two days from now.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that,” I responded dryly.
“I thought I’d at least have more time to prepare before I had to go through this.”
“Seriously?” I asked out loud. I hadn’t meant to, but this chick was starting to be bad for my ego. “Well, man up, sweetheart,” I said in a snarky tone. “A deal’s a deal, and this one already started. I’ll be in touch,” I tacked on and hung up before she could say anything else.
Just two months, I told myself. Just two months, I repeated. You can do this. And as I ran a hand through my hair, I really hoped I could.