It was well after midnight before Darlene and Zach were able to load out their gear. Ordinarily, Darlene wouldn’t need to wait for the end of a wedding before leaving, but she made a lame excuse, and Zach didn’t protest.
Having a fake boyfriend was suiting Darlene Mitchell very, very nicely. When she needed help installing some new blinds: Fake Boyfriend. When she wanted someone to go with her to the Cindy Sherman retrospective at the Met, Fake Boyfriend was on hand. When Fake Boyfriend invited her to go see the Yankees—his version of an art gallery—she accepted. Seeing a professional sports game in New York had been on her bucket list for years, and she was surprised by how much she liked it. Or maybe, how much fun seeing it with a fake boyfriend made it. Zach was getting better at being on time for gigs, and he never skipped out on loading out at the end. And it did not go unnoticed that the usual string of frothy blondes he kept in his orbit had either disappeared or were being kept discreetly out of sight. She hoped the former. Of course they hadn’t had the exclusivity conversation, because they weren’t really dating, but deep down Darlene hoped she was the only person Zach was kissing.
For social media, she reminded herself. For the money.
Photographing themselves for Zach’s Instagram—and the rather disturbing likes Zach’s mother gave their couple photos—had actually helped maintain a boundary between them. Kissing Zach made her think about Zach—a lot—so Darlene had decided no more spontaneous smooches; only staged ones. She made their affection feel like acting in an advertisement, and that was good. That made it manageable, even as she could tell Zach wanted to throw her against a wall and, well…
She’d confessed the scheme to her book club, framing it as a clever plan to make a ton of cash but underlining that obviously, Zach wasn’t a serious contender for a boyfriend. They weren’t as judgmental as she’d expected. “Do you” was the general mantra; “And if that means doing him, more power to you, girl.”
Darlene’s boundaries were getting squiggly. The Harvard Club guests had loved her set and Zach had looked so cute and confident behind the decks and, hey, weddings really did put you in the mood for love…
They piled the equipment into the rental car and came back up for one last sweep of the Great Hall. Incredible how a space could be transformed by a flash mob of love and fun and dancing. Darlene drifted onto the empty dance floor, tipping her head to take in the chandeliers. Zach took her hand, twirling her in a circle. She giggled, tired and punch-drunk. “What are you doing?”
He hooked his arm around her waist, taking her right hand in a waltz position. “Dancing.”
She laughed as he spun her around the floor, awkwardly, out of step, two silly rag dolls. Then he tugged her into a dark corner. His hand lingered close to her ass.
“Zach!” She glanced around. “We’re still at work.” But it was only a half-hearted protest.
He pressed her against the wooden wall. “Damn, Dee. You looked sexy tonight.”
The smell of his skin made her mouth water. His arms felt strong beneath the fabric of his shirt. “This isn’t professional.”
“Dee, everyone already thinks we’re together.”
She could feel the urgency in his every cell: to take her, to kiss her. “What, for another photo?”
His voice was low and delicious in her ear. “No. Because I want you, Darlene.”
The words ran over her like a harpist caressing her strings. It was too much: his blue eyes, and beautiful mouth, and the way he was looking at her like she was the most gorgeous creature he’d ever seen. She wanted this boy. More than anything. Her words came in a breathy pant. “Kiss me.”
Zach Livingstone kissed her like the world had exploded and they were the last two people left on earth. Urgent and desperate but also sweet, also tender. His hands cupped her jaw, warm thumb pads brushing her cheekbones. His kiss was like hearing her favorite song: the hot whoosh of affection; the calm, deep connection; the way it soothed the anxious part of her soul. They were both smiling, and Zach laughed, maybe out of sheer joy or surprise. Darlene pulled him back to her, her hands grabbing his collar, his shirt, unable to get close enough. Everything inside her was flooding, breaking, and she was deliciously, deliriously gone.
“Has anyone seen the band?”
Savannah Shipley’s voice stopped them cold. They sprung apart.
“There you are!” Savannah waved and bounded toward them. “I have your tips!”
“You are a goddess.” Zach grinned and plucked his envelope. He’d transformed so quickly from passionate lover to easy-breezy Zach. Dating-round-the-clock Zach. Very-into-white-girls Zach.
“Stellar effort tonight,” he said to Savannah. “I think you had something to do with the father-daughter dance lovefest?”
Savannah laughed, launching into the story. Zach’s eyes stayed glued on her.
Something scalding and sickening twisted around Darlene’s organs and squeezed like a python.
Jealousy.
So feverish it took her breath away.
Maybe he was charming the nice wedding planner who hired them. Or maybe Zach was just a manslut. He might act like he had real feelings for her. He might even really think it. But if she gave herself to him, would the air go out of the fantasy? She was almost thirty. He wasn’t even the age his parents believed the human brain finished developing at. He wasn’t trustworthy. He was a trust fund baby.
Zach watched Savannah leave, her ass round as a peach in her tight black skirt. He turned back to Darlene with a roguish grin. “Where were we?”
Darlene fortified herself and brushed past him. “Leaving.”