MARTY couldn’t believe it. He’d asked his father’s lucky coin to send him a Tim Drake, and that was exactly what had happened. Of course, the guy happened to be a car thief, but hey. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and was there a bigger beggar than him?
Well, he’d convinced a criminal to pretend to be his boyfriend. He was bringing said criminal to his parents’ house, where he could potentially be putting all his parents’ possessions in jeopardy, and he was paying this criminal for his services.
Nope. There was no one lower than Marty Valdez right now.
What was even sadder was that he didn’t care. He’d found the perfect solution to his problem, and he got the added bonus of sticking it to Christian in the process. He’d hit the damn lottery as far as he was concerned.
Marty made a right on the street he lived on and parked the car.
“Are we here?” his perfect “Tim” asked.
“No, but I want to make sure you remember everything I told you.”
Tim glared at him. He was clearly reaching the edge of his patience. “We’ve been over this like ten times in the past twenty minutes.”
Marty pulled out his phone and waved it at him. “I’d hate to have to call 9-1-1 to report a carjacking.” Of course, he’d never actually do that. Tim had been great so far, and even if he got out of the car and walked away, Marty would never go back on his word. He’d already told Tim back in the garage he wouldn’t call the police. Though he had many faults, Marty Valdez was a man of his word.
“If you’re going to threaten someone with something, you have to be prepared to follow through with it,” Tim said, fixing his steady blue gaze on Marty.
Well, crap. Tim saw right through him. “Fine,” he said with a loud exhale. “How’d you know I wouldn’t do it?”
“You told me you wouldn’t,” Tim replied.
For some reason the answer made his cheeks warm. “Can we go through it one more time? Please?”
Tim rubbed his temples and took a deep breath. “My name is Tim Drake. I’m an underwear model who works in California.”
“Los Angeles, to be exact,” Marty added with a grin.
“Who works in Los Angeles, California. You and I met at your friend Brian’s place—” Tim stopped rubbing his forehead, which seemed to really be hurting him for some reason, and stared at Marty. “Is this the same Brian you told me you were meeting at Pegasus?”
“Yup.”
“Is Brian real?”
“Nope.”
Tim studied him carefully. “Should you be on medication?”
“Quite possibly, but can we deal with one disaster at a time?” he asked.
“I suppose you’re right,” Tim said. “Okay. So you and I met at Brian’s house. He was throwing a party for some friends of his, which just so happens to include underwear models from California.” He rolled his eyes. “Who believes this shit?”
“Don’t judge,” Marty said with a frown. “I get nervous and say the first thing that pops out of my mouth.”
“Well, you really need to think these things through,” he said. “Getting people to believe what you’re selling comes with all the little details.”
“That sounds like the voice of experience talking.”
Tim flashed a grin that made Marty forget to breathe. “I’ve woven a tall tale or two,” Tim said with a proud jut of his chin.
Marty had to fight the urge to run his fingernails through the blond stubble that shadowed Tim’s jawline. “Well, you can teach me how to be a better liar later. Right now, we have to deal with the tale currently in play.”
“You’re right,” he agreed. “Now where was I?”
“Brian’s party.”
“Right. We met at Brian’s party. Over at the punch bowl.” Tim eyed Marty.
“I know. Lame. Will you just continue?”
“So while we were at the punch bowl, I asked if I could pour you a drink. You said yes and we hung out, talked, and for some reason we played Halo on your friend Brian’s PS4 until two in the morning.”
“Christian hates video games,” Marty said.
“Ah, now that makes sense,” Tim replied with a nod. “You would want the new boyfriend to like all the things the old boyfriend hated.”
“Exactly,” Marty said, starting the car’s engine. “Quiz time.”
“Oh, for crying out loud!”
“What’s my sister’s name?”
“Sophia,” Tim answered through gritted teeth.
“And my parents?”
“Emiliano and Alma, but I’m to address them as Mr. and Mrs. Valdez.”
Marty was just about to ask another question when Tim continued on.
“Your father was born in Kingsville, but his family moved here when he was nine. Your mother’s family emigrated from Mexico when she was a teenager. She has an older brother who still lives in Mexico and two younger sisters. Your sister’s fiancé is Daniel Nelson, but everyone calls him Danny. Christian Wilder is your ex and a jerk, and you are currently a freelance artist.” He stopped, resting the full weight of his baby blues upon Marty. Marty’s pulse quickened. “Did I forget anything?”
Marty swallowed hard. “Nope. Not a thing.”
“Then I think we’re ready,” Tim said.
“I hope so,” he replied as he pulled into the driveway of his parents’ house. “Because we’re here, and if you thought my constant questions were annoying, just wait till you meet my mom.”
Tim reached over and placed his hand reassuringly over Marty’s. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you covered.”
And for some reason, Marty believed it.
Damn, this guy was good.
“YOU ready?” Marty asked as they stood before the front door to his parents’ house.
“Let’s do this,” Tim replied.
Tim didn’t appear nervous at all. There was no tension in his shoulders, and his headache seemed to have gone away. Too bad Marty couldn’t say the same thing. Sweat beaded his brow, and he felt like he was going to throw up.
If this went badly, which was a distinct possibility, he was never going to live this down. His mother would add it to her arsenal and use it against him for the rest of his life. He could hear it now: Remember, mijo, when you hired that car thief to pretend to be your boyfriend? How stupid do you think I am? I saw right through that lie the second I laid eyes on the two of you. Who would ever believe such nonsense? He just stood there, answering questions that were clearly rehearsed, and it was obvious he didn’t feel anything for you.
Tim grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Stop worrying. It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
Marty stared up into his deep blue eyes and drew strength from the confidence that reflected within them. Apparently being a criminal gave Tim nerves of steel. That was yet another reason to consider a career change to a life of crime.
“Go ahead,” Tim said. “Open the door.”
He would, but he was too engrossed in the warmth of Tim’s hand and how perfectly his smaller hand fit within Tim’s comforting grasp. As far as Marty was concerned, they could stay out here on the porch like this all day long.
The front door suddenly swung inward, and his mother’s stern face stood behind the glass exterior door. His mother had a knack for ruining the finer moments in life. She regarded them with dark eyes before she looked down at their joined hands. She arched one pencil-thin eyebrow, which she judiciously tweezed every morning, and studied them as if they were specimens on a glass slide.
Marty glanced over at Tim and noticed a bead of sweat form at his temple and slide down his face. He definitely realized he was in for it now.
“Who is this?” his mother asked. Her tone was as friendly as a snarling pit bull. She opened the door and placed her hands on her ample hips, awaiting her answer.
“This is Tim, Mom,” Marty answered. “You said you wanted to meet him.”
“No,” she said, waving her finger at him as she did whenever she corrected him. “I said I wanted to see a picture.”
He sighed. “Well, I thought this would be better.”
From the grimace on her face, he could tell she wasn’t quite sure. “Well, he is handsome,” she admitted. “But I doubt he’s better than a lawyer.”
“Mom! He’s standing right here.”
“I know,” she said gesturing to Tim. “I have eyes. What I don’t understand is why you didn’t tell me he was coming when we spoke on the phone earlier?”
“Surprise!” Marty said with a hand flourish.
His mother’s only reply was a blank stare.
“Hola, Señora Valdez,” Tim said. He held out his palm in a show of respect, and she eyed it with a surprised smile. She was impressed yet remained guarded. “Muchísimo gusto.”
When he told her that he was thrilled to meet her, her stony façade faltered and a tiny smile crept across her red lips. She briefly placed her hand in Tim’s before she stepped back to let them in.
“You didn’t tell me he could speak Spanish,” his mother said after she closed the door.
Marty hadn’t expected that either. Based on Tim’s fair skin, blue eyes, and blond hair, he figured Tim was your average white boy who only spoke English. He’d clearly been wrong.
“I guess it just never came up,” he finally answered.
She eyed him before turning her gaze back to Tim. “¿Por qué tú hablas tan buen español?”
“Mom!” Marty exclaimed. Although he wasn’t entirely surprised, he was mortified that his mother was questioning why Tim spoke such good Spanish.
“Para el trabajo,” Tim replied.
“For work?” she asked. “I wasn’t aware that bilingualism was a requirement to have pictures taken in your underwear.”
Marty buried his face in his hands. If he died right now, he’d be okay with that. His mother was doing her best to be difficult. He wouldn’t blame Tim if he bolted for the front door and ran away screaming. Hell, if he did, Marty might go with him.
Instead of stumbling or acting offended, Tim laughed. “It’s not. But we have photo shoots all over the world and clients in many other countries. I find it’s a good idea to be able to converse with customers in their native language. It helps them remember who you are.”
His mother clearly wasn’t expecting that answer. She’d been trying to make Tim stumble, but she was the one caught off guard. She’d always been a proponent of bilingual education, and she often spoke in Spanish to the fifth-graders she taught. It aggravated her that most Americans could only speak English, and it was best not to get her started on Latinos who couldn’t speak Spanish.
“Come,” she said as she started for the kitchen. “You must be hungry. I’ll make you something to eat.”
Marty stood in shock as his mother disappeared into the kitchen. She only cooked for family or people she liked. How the hell had Tim managed to slay the dragon after a two-minute conversation?
Tim leaned in and whispered in Marty’s ear. “I told you I had it covered.”
Marty glanced up and nodded into Tim’s smiling face. He’d already forgotten what Tim had said. All he’d been able to focus on was the intoxicating aroma of sweat and Old Spice that hovered around Tim and the feel of Tim’s warm breath fanning across his neck.
Tim grabbed his hand and pulled him forward. “Come on,” he said. “I smell homemade tortillas.”
MARTY hadn’t been able to eat. He was too nervous and was waiting for his mother to call him a liar in Spanish. Tim had no such difficulty. He wolfed down two carne guisada tacos and was working on his third.
“These are delicious, Mrs. Valdez,” he said after swallowing a big bite. “I can’t tell you how much I enjoy traditional Mexican food.”
“Well, you can most certainly eat,” she said. A strange expression played across her face as she watched Tim. The thin smile on her lips revealed she was pleased that he enjoyed her cooking, but her pinched eyebrows also told Marty that her suspicious nature had returned. “I wouldn’t expect someone in your line of work to eat so much. Don’t models only eat Tic Tacs and avoid carbs?”
Tim stopped midchew.
Damn, Marty hadn’t even thought of that. Was his mother an elementary school teacher or an FBI agent?
“He works out a lot,” Marty answered while Tim forced down his food.
“I do,” Tim said after he wiped his mouth with his napkin. “But I’m also blessed with a high metabolism.”
“Must be super human,” she replied.
Tim gave her a nervous laugh. He clearly realized he’d made a slight error, and it was one Marty expected his mother to take full advantage of.
“So how does one decide to be an underwear model?” she asked. “Or did you always have a desire to go to work in nothing but your briefs?”
“Mom,” Marty warned. “Please be nice.”
“What?” she asked, pretending she had no clue what he was talking about. “Can’t a mother be curious about her son’s boyfriend? This is the first time I’ve met him, even though you claim to have been dating for almost a year.”
“That’s my fault,” Tim announced. He flashed a timid smile before placing his hand over where Marty’s nervously fidgeted on the table. “I don’t get a lot of free time. I’m always traveling and sometimes only come to town on my way to my next shoot. Marty’s been real understanding about my crazy schedule.”
“But you’re here now,” she said, gesturing at the two of them.
“Yes, I am,” Tim replied while lovingly gazing into Marty’s eyes.
Marty had been wrong earlier. Tim wasn’t good. He was such a fucking pro that Marty had almost bought the gesture hook, line, and sinker.
“I don’t recall the Weather Channel mentioning an unseasonable cold snap in California.”
What the hell was his mother going on about now?
She pointed to the motorcycle jacket Tim had draped over the back of his chair.
He chuckled. “Oh, no. The weather was sunny and warm there when I left,” he said. “That’s my favorite jacket. I never travel without it. Plus, I get cold on the plane.”
Marty was impressed. Tim had to be more than a car thief. He had to be a con artist too. “Mama, why do I get the feeling you’re looking for trouble?”
She eyed him. “I don’t have to look for trouble. You usually find it all by yourself.”
Marty winced. She always went straight for the jugular.
“Well, he’s got me now.” Tim draped his arm around Marty’s shoulders and pulled him closer. “I’m pretty good at keeping others out of trouble.”
“I’ve heard that about models,” she replied.
“You might be surprised to learn that models aren’t what you think they are, Mrs. Valdez,” Tim said. “Like a few lawyers I know.”
If Marty had been a character in one of the comics he drew, his eyes would have been saucer-wide and his jaw would have broken through the table. Not many people had the balls to stand up to his mother the way Tim was. Hell, his almost brother-in-law had been dating his sister for four years, and he still shivered like a Chihuahua whenever she was in a mood like the one she was in now.
Marty glanced over at his mother’s arched eyebrows. They slowly lowered and the smile from before returned. Why couldn’t his mother wear that expression more often? It lit up her beautiful face and almost completely erased the worry lines that tracked across her forehead and along the creases of her eyes.
“I like this one,” she said to her son while pointing at Tim. “He just might be exactly the kind of man you need.”
What the hell did that mean?
She rose from the table to gather the dirty dishes. “You probably want to get your luggage so you can get settled.”
“Luggage?” Marty asked. “What luggage?”
She stopped and placed her hand on her hip as she cocked one eyebrow at Tim. “You don’t have luggage.”
It wasn’t a question but a statement. Fuck. How had Marty missed that one? If Tim had flown in from LA, he would have some type of baggage. At the very least a backpack. They’d been so close, and Marty just screwed it all up.
“I do, but the airline lost my bag,” Tim replied without missing a beat.
His mother snorted. “I’m not a fan of flying. I think the airport is filled with thieves who go through hardworking people’s belongings and steal whatever they can get their grubby hands on.”
“I think so too.” Tim scooted his chair back from the table and joined her at the sink, where she’d begun washing dishes. “A couple of weeks ago I had to go to New York, and when I got there, my sunglasses and earphones were missing from my suitcase, and I’d packed them in my socks that I had stuffed in my shoes.”
“This is what I’m saying,” Marty’s mother replied. She handed Tim a plate she’d finished washing, and he dried it before placing it back in the cabinet.
Their conversation moved to places Tim had visited and where his mother had always wanted to travel.
Marty couldn’t move. He could only sit there and gape as his mother and his “boyfriend” chatted without the slightest bit of animosity on her part or abject fear on his. He’d never seen his mother like this. Who was this woman, and who was this man his father’s lucky coin had brought to him?
“I assume you’ll be staying for Sophia’s wedding?” his mother asked.
Wait. What?
“Of course,” Tim replied. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Wait. What?
“Good,” his mother replied. “Because I wasn’t going to take no for an answer.”
Marty’s heart thundered. This wasn’t what he and Tim had agreed on. They’d struck a bargain to pretend to be boyfriends for two hours. One afternoon at the most.
How was he going to pull off this charade for the next few days? But more importantly, why the hell would Tim so easily agree to an extension of their agreement?