CHAPTER THREE

Maggie

 

“I realize that,” I said. “And I’m really grateful. I guess that’s all I’m trying to say.”

I reached into my lap and fiddled with my napkin. The man sitting across the table was easily over six feet tall. He was broader than anyone I’d ever seen up close, and he was covered in tattoos—sleeves down both arms. His hair was dark and cropped close, almost like a buzz-cut.

I had been apprehensive about this whole arrangement to begin with, but my worry solidified when I saw Liam. As I sat across from him, eating my breakfast and trying to answer his questions at the same time, I tried to figure out how I could get my parents to believe that I had ended up with him.

I mean, he wasn’t bad-looking. In fact, when you got down to it, he was pretty hot. But he was definitely not my type. My type would probably wear a sweater vest. Not that I even knew for sure. I guess that’s why I got so defensive when he acted so surprised that I write romance. How many romance writers don’t even know who their ideal partner is?

I spent the entire meal in a sweat, trying to figure out how to bring up the whole ‘living together’ thing. It was a crazy plan, but it was the only way to get my parents off my back. I longed for the days when they were warning me not to spend the night with a guy. The past few years had been all about, ‘when are you going to settle down with someone?’ Talk about mixed messages.

The relief I felt when he agreed so easily set me at ease. The more I thought about it, the more Liam looked like a great choice after all. He had a solid, respectable career and no divorces. Maybe his appearance would be so off-putting to my parents they’d either flee or be so disappointed in me they gave up altogether.

“Your brother tells me you’re working at The Elway,” he said, reaching for the bill.

“Yeah. Housekeeping. I can get that. I ate more than you did,” I said.

“Nah, don’t sweat it.” He pulled out his wallet and left a twenty on the table.

“So, when are you, um, free to maybe talk, or meet, you know? So we can, uh, get to know each other?” I asked.

A slow, lazy smile spread across his face. It made me uneasy as he studied me.

“Why don’t you send me your book, and when I finish reading, I’ll text you and we’ll set something up.”

I laughed and stood up, grabbing my bag.

“Sure. That sounds great.”

He stood and looked me up and down. I was a good six inches shorter than he was, my frame much tinier. We looked ridiculous standing there together, him in black and tattoos, me looking like a college student. I shifted from one foot to another, unsure what to do. I reached out my hand again, awkwardly. He laughed and pulled me in for a hug.

“Better get used to a little PDA,” he whispered before slapping me lightly on the back and walking out the front door.

 

*

A couple of days later, I was getting room 325 ready for check-in when I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw a text message from Tammy at reception.

Your boyfriend’s looking for you. I sent him up to the third floor. He’s HOT!!!

My boyfriend? I panicked for a moment, checking my reflection in the mirror. I was neat, but I looked like a maid. What the hell was Liam doing here? And why was he calling himself my boyfriend?

I heard him long before I saw him down the hall, calling out my name. I rushed to the door and stuck my head out, putting up my finger in the universal sign for shut the fuck up. He broke into a jog when he saw me, grabbing my elbow and steering me back into the room.

“What are you doing here? And why did you tell Tammy you’re my boyfriend?”

“Getting into character. But that’s beside the point.”

I stared at him.

“What’s the point?”

He grabbed me by both shoulders and looked straight into my eyes.

“Where’s the sex?”

I just stood there, blinking.

He let go of me and started to pace, throwing his hands up in air every so often as he spoke, emphasizing his frustration.

“I mean, we’ve got a guy and a girl, they’re clearly hot for each other, and every time something’s about to go down, the goddamn door closes. What the fuck is up with that?”

I cleared my throat.

“Well, I write clean romance.”

“Who the fuck reads clean romance?” he hissed. “Women read this shit to get off, don’t they? It’s lady porn.”

I bristled at his description and was about to argue with him when I decided there was no point. He obviously wouldn’t get it.

“Some people prefer clean romance. Sex isn’t for everyone.”

“Sex is for everyone,” he roared, incredulous.

“It’s not for me.”

He stopped pacing and his jaw dropped to the floor. Gobsmacked was the only expression that described him at that moment.

“You’ve never had sex?” he whispered.

“Of course I have!” I replied, indignant. “I just don’t particularly enjoy it.”

He sat down heavily on the bed. I silently cursed the fact I’d have to redo the bedspread but figured that was small potatoes in the relative scheme of things. He patted the space beside him.

“Sit. I need you to explain this to me.”

I walked over to the door and glanced out the hall, closing the door partway as I walked back to join him on the bed.

“What’s there to explain?” I said. “Some people like sex, some people don’t. I fall into the latter camp.”

He shook his head.

“I don’t get it. Are you, like, asexual or something?”

I thought about it.

“No. Sex just doesn’t do it for me. In fact, I really don’t see what all the fuss is about. I’m pretty convinced that most women lie about their sexual experiences. This is why I write clean romance. I know there are women out there who don’t enjoy reading about sex because I’m one of them.”

Liam looked at me, then looked out across the room, staring at our reflections in the mirror over the dresser.

“So you’re telling me I’m about to fake date a woman who hates men.”

“I do not hate men.”

“I’ll have to take your word on that.” He paused. “Your parents are going to buy this?”

“I hope so.”

He reached out to take my hand and I pulled back, shocked.

“Yeah, I don’t think they’re going to buy this.”

He turned towards me, tucking one long leg up underneath him as he stared into my eyes.

“Here’s the thing. I made a vow to your brother not to touch you—”

Mortified, I started to interrupt him, but he put his hand out to stop me.

“I’m telling you this so you know you don’t have to worry. I am not going to make a move on you. I promise. Especially after that confession. But I am going to have to do things when your parents are around.”

“Like what kind of things?”

He reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear. Again, I jumped back.

“Things like that,” he said. “I’m going to hold your hand. I’m going to kiss you. You want your parents to believe we’re living together? We’re going to have to look like we’re intimate.”

I took a deep breath. This was something I hadn’t considered.

“If this is going to work, you’re going to have to get comfortable with me. So screw these phone conversations you had in mind. We’ve got a few weeks? Let’s take some walks in public. Go out to eat together. You’ll learn I’m not a monster, and when I go to take your hand, you’ll let me.”