EVERYONE HAS those moments where their makeup doesn’t go on quite right, and they spend an hour longer than they planned trying to fix it. Or they cycle through ten different hairstyles, none of them feeling quite right, till their hair is stiff like a board from all the gel and they smell like a can of hairspray. The same can be said of outfits. Sometimes getting ready takes longer than expected, and the time to leave ticks around before they know it. And what’s left is a guy in his teal briefs with his dirty-blond hair sticking straight up and a pimple the size of Texas on his right cheek, standing in front of a mirror questioning his life.
Jackson has to leave to meet up with Georgina, Tristan (who he’s still yet to meet), and the much-praised Aaron. He’s got five minutes to get his act together. Georgina has proposed a dinner, thinking it would be a good way for them to meet up and get their stories straight before they’re subjected to a hoard of questions from intrusive distant family—and his beloved mom, of course.
He’s nervous. It’s not an actual date, and he and Aaron have been texting back and forth for a few weeks now, but he still doesn’t feel like he knows him. It’s not like they talk a lot when they text, either. Aaron asks him random questions, clearly trying to feel him out, and Jackson started returning the questions once he figured out what Aaron was doing. All in all, it amounts to a five-minute conversation that takes place every few days.
He knows Aaron likes dogs, has never been to Hawaii, never been to a family reunion (isn’t he in for a surprise), he’s a friend of Tristan’s from school, he watches a lot of sitcoms, and he pretends to date people for a living.
That’s it. He knows nothing else about the guy who he’s supposed to convince his mom he’s been dating for at least a month.
He’s going to pretend he’s been seeing this guy when this is the first time he’s actually meeting him. And he’s going into the situation as the guy who needs a fake boyfriend. One whom he’s paying for. He can’t say that’s not mortifying. This is definitely the lowest he’s ever sunk.
Now he’s wasted one of his remaining minutes staring blankly into the mirror and worrying. He starts to scrub his hands through his hair, but the gelled strands feel tacky and stiff. He grimaces. He’s a makeup artist. He does people’s makeup and even futzes with their hair for a living. He should have this down. He knows what looks good.
He texts Georgina to let her know he’s probably going to run late and hops in the shower. He’s already taken one, but something needs to be done about his hair. When he gets out, he towel dries it, finger combs it, and leaves it to do what it pleases. If anything it’ll just look a little fluffy.
He slaps on a quick bit of foundation, just a thin layer to conceal the pimple as much as possible. What can he say? He’s a vain type of guy. And then he’s right back at the clothes conundrum. His phone buzzes. He answers it absently while staring into his closet. He has so many options.
“Wear the black-and-white flannel, sleeves rolled up, and the dark skinny jeans I got you from Topshop,” says Georgina, forgoing hello. “Chop-chop.” She hangs up before he can reply.
If she were there—and he wasn’t running late—he might be inclined to argue on principle. But she’s not, and he is, so he does as she says. It’s not really anything new. He’s the youngest of the lot of them, and even though the twins are only a year older, they all love to boss him around.
The outfit is flattering. It shows off his tan forearms and how broad his shoulders are. The jeans show off his legs, nicely muscled but still on the lean side, and make his ankles look dainty. When he turns to get a look at his back, yep, his butt looks pretty decent in them. He works out hard for that peachy shape.
They’re going to dinner at Bastien’s restaurant, L’Amour Dans La Ville, and he’s been there before. It’s more upscale than casual, but he guesses since his brother’s dating the chef, dress code exceptions can be made for family. He thinks Georgina chose it because it’s familiar ground, and he’ll be more comfortable there.
He’s not sure anything will make this less awkward, though.
Now that he’s living in a suburb-type area, he’s given in to the need for a car. It’s more convenient than calling for a cab whenever he needs to go into the city itself. At the same time, he loathes driving. New York drivers are scary, okay? He feels like he’s in Mario Kart or Grand Theft Auto, and he’s just holding on for dear life and hoping no one hits him.
He folds into his silver Mini Cooper, and if he speeds a little to make himself less late, well, he’s just becoming one of the many. With the drive to focus on, he thinks less about how nervous he is and how ridiculous the entire situation is. He needs to man up and just tell his mom there’s no guy.
Except he really doesn’t want to.
He doesn’t know what that says about him, being twenty-seven and terrified of his mom’s disappointment. Then again, his brother avoided his mom for ages when he screwed up his relationship with Bastien. Maybe it’s a family thing for the Carlisles.
His nerves hit him full force when he parks two down from Georgina’s blue Audi. There’s nothing left to do but go inside and try to get a handle on everything. What if he doesn’t like Aaron? What if Aaron doesn’t like him? He grips the steering wheel with both hands and takes a deep breath. He’s working himself up over nothing.
The walk in feels simultaneously too long and too short. The host, Henry, smiles at him when he comes back from seating a couple. “Georgina’s at the Carlisle table,” he says. His smile is now more of a smirk. “Go on back, and I’ll let your server know you’ve arrived.”
It probably says something about his family that they have their own table here.
He spots his sister first—after all, she’s the only one he’s seen before. He doesn’t know which of the two men on either side of her is Aaron. One of them looks kind of like Brad Pitt when he was younger, with blond hair and bright blue eyes. There’s a tattoo on his right inner forearm, and when Jackson gets closer, he can see it’s an extremely detailed elephant head. The man on the other side of his sister is darker skinned, with thick black hair and wide dark brown eyes. He’s wearing a sea-green dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and he too has a tattoo. It’s on his left forearm: a medium-sized mechanical heart done in black and gray. Jackson thinks he might be Spanish, but it’s hard to tell. Possibly Italian? He has a hard time imagining the thick Southern drawl he’s heard over the phone coming from this man.
Oh fuck, he thinks. Is Aaron going to have a Southern drawl? He hopes not. He won’t be able to take him seriously. How did he not think of that before? He’s really not the Southern accent type. Oh God.
He realizes he’s just standing there awkwardly while they look at him. He feels his cheeks heat and shoves his hands in his pockets so he doesn’t wring them. “Hi.”
Georgina rolls her baby blues. “Sit down, loser.” She wraps her fingers around the arm of the Brad Pitt lookalike. “This is Tristan, my beau.” It’s Jackson’s turn to roll his gray-blue eyes. She’s been picking up the oddest vocabulary since she started seeing this guy. “And this is Aaron.” She tilts her head toward the man on her other side.
Aaron holds out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says. His voice is deep and smooth, not a trace of a Southern accent. Though there is the faintest trace of something there. He can’t pin it down. He takes his hand, shivers at the contact. Aaron’s hands are huge, larger than his, and they’re cool from the air-conditioning.
“Nice to meet you too,” he says, trying not to squirm under Aaron’s assessing look. He sits down, his hand still clasped in Aaron’s. He thinks maybe he should let go, and he forces his grip to loosen, his hand to slip away.
He ignores Georgina’s wide smirk.
Tristan’s hand is the next one held out, and when he says, “Nice to meet you,” it’s said in his slow Southern drawl. Jackson feels like he’s watching an episode of True Blood. He shakes his hand, and it’s much quicker, there’s no shivering or urge to hold on.
“Heard a lot about you,” Jackson says. “She’s kept you quite the mystery, though.”
Tristan’s smile is slow like his voice. Jackson can see where his sister’s finding him appealing. It’s a pretty devastating smile. “She said y’all are nosy.”
He blinks. Y’all. All right, then…. “She’s the nosiest of us,” he says. He wonders if Tristan has any clue what he’s in for, being brought around to a family reunion. It makes him wonder what Georgina’s thinking, introducing him to everyone in such a way. She’s been dating Tristan for over a year. He doesn’t get the big mystery.
“Don’t know about nosy, but she sure is bossy.” Tristan laughs, and there’s an undercurrent there that makes Jackson think ew, no. But Georgina’s beaming, and Aaron’s laughing, so he forces himself to remember Georgina’s an adult. She’s in her thirties. She should have brought more guys around to prep him for this. He’s not prepared.
His brothers are going to flip.
It’s not the server who comes to the table then, it’s Bastien. His chef whites have a red smudge on the front, and his hair is wildly curling around his face. “Bonjour,” he says, rocking up on his toes and back to his heels. His bright gaze keeps flicking to Tristan. “Henry said you were all here.” He bites his bottom lip, eyelashes fluttering. “I thought I’d take your order.”
Georgina snorts. “Where’s James?”
Bastien tries to look innocent. “Working.”
“Let me guess, he’s out to dinner with the rest of the squad.”
Bastien shrugs. “I’m not his minder.”
“But you are going to call him.”
He looks to Jackson, blatantly ignoring the question. “You don’t have anything to drink. What would you like?”
He snorts. “House wine.” He does not want to get in the middle of his sister and Bastien. Especially not when she’s doing him a favor.
Bastien looks betrayed. His bright eyes narrow, and he turns back to Georgina. “What would you like to order?” He’s being very careful not to look at Tristan.
It’s Georgina’s turn to snort. “Bastien,” she says, “I’d like you to meet Tristan—we’re dating. Tristan, this is Bastien. James’s boyfriend.”
Tristan holds out his hand. “How do you do?” His accent is overexaggerated to the max, and Jackson watches in puzzlement as Bastien’s entire face flushes red.
He shakes his hand, but instead of answering he just opens and closes his mouth. Jackson wonders if his refined French brain can’t translate the Southern into recognizable English.
His suspicions are confirmed when Bastien says, haltingly, “I… do good?” He blinks. “I’m good. That’s a, uh, heavy accent you have. James didn’t mention it.”
Tristan and Georgina have matching smirks on their faces. “I could say the same about you,” says Tristan in his regular accent.
Jackson watches Bastien take it in, realization dawning on his face. He laughs quietly to himself, mutters, “Ah.” He clears his throat, smiles a little. “Sorry. I really do need to take your orders, though. I’ve got to get back to the kitchen.”
Jackson asks for the same thing he always gets—a lemony-flavored fish dish he can’t pronounce. Aaron orders something involving steak, and he does it in French. He speaks the language perfectly, and Bastien looks pleasantly surprised, attention zeroing in on him in a way it didn’t before.
He’s heard Bastien speak French many a time, and Jean—one of Bastien’s friends—as well, and he’s never found it particularly sexy. Mostly he feels confused. When Aaron speaks it, it feels like the words are rolling down his spine and making him melt. He doesn’t care that he can’t understand any of it.
“You speak French?” he asks when Bastien finally walks away, turning to give Aaron his full attention.
Aaron smiles, and his teeth are straight and white, his lips beautifully plump. He’s got a deep dimple in his left cheek only. “I speak a couple different languages,” he says. “Just enough to get by.”
Jackson took five years of Spanish, two of German, and one of Italian throughout his many years of schooling. None of them stuck. He can say “hi” in all of those languages, and that’s about it. Needless to say, he’s impressed. He fiddles with his napkin to give his hands something to do. He never used to be this nervous around guys. His head is completely empty of things to say in return.
Is this an Aaron thing, or did Angel manage to permanently damage him somehow?
Why is a guy who looks like him and who is obviously intelligent going to pose as his fake boyfriend for two weeks? Why does he pose as anyone’s boyfriend? Jackson’s betting he definitely has better things he could do with his time. Like date people for real.
Aaron blinks at him, lips turning down in a frown. “Well,” he says, “you’re not exactly shabby yourself.”
“PLEASE TELL me I didn’t say that aloud,” says Jackson, cheeks flushing a dark red. He looks like he’s about to sink under the table from embarrassment. His blue eyes are dark, his face thinner than in the pictures Aaron’s seen in Georgina’s house. He’s lost weight he didn’t need to lose. Aaron wonders if it has something to do with the ex no one will explain. His hair is cut differently. It’s short and dirty-blond, but it’s starting to grow out, to fall into his face. It’s tousled and looks like he spends a lot of time raking his fingers through it.
He’s a good-looking guy. And really, that’s an understatement. The body beneath his clothes appears to be firm and muscled, wonderfully lean. He’s a lanky type of man. All legs and butt. Aaron is definitely an ass man—not that it matters here. Even with the thinness to his face, the sheer awkwardness he’s exuding, Aaron knows when he smiles for real, it’s going to be like daybreak.
Aaron would like to spare him, though he definitely did say those flattering things for all to hear. “You didn’t say anything aloud.” He smiles softly, tries to make it seem like he’s not making fun of him. And he’s not. If there’s one thing he knows, it’s people. And Jackson is highly uncomfortable. He’s nervous with the situation, his fingers constantly twitching. Aaron can feel the vibration in the booth from the jumping of Jackson’s leg. He doesn’t think Jackson’s even aware of it.
He needs to distract him. They’re not going to get anywhere if he keeps acting like this. Aaron’s a good worker—not a miracle one. He puts his hand on Jackson’s knee under the table, noticing the way he stills abruptly. His entire body goes motionless. The blush spreads to the tips of his ears and over what’s visible of his chest through the vee of his flannel. He leaves his hand there. Jackson’s staring at him with his wide, endearing eyes. His lashes are long and a lighter color, making them hard to see when he turns his head a certain way.
“Georgina says you’re a makeup artist?” It’s something he’s already asked Jackson over their brief text conversations, but he wants to make him feel comfortable. Wants him to warm up. He needs to get him focused. “Did you ever practice on her?”
Jackson’s gaze moves briefly to his sister and then back to him before settling somewhere around Aaron’s chin. He licks his lips. They’re a little glossy, and Aaron wonders if he’s wearing ChapStick or lip gloss. He tracks the movement. Since Jackson isn’t watching his eyes, he won’t notice.
“I actually practiced on Denver,” he says. “My, uh, brother.” He rubs his neck, and he finally makes eye contact with Aaron. He’s going to take it, even if it is a shy look from beneath his lashes. “Georgina’s got this thing with her eyes. She won’t let you near them.”
Tristan starts to laugh, and he can see the look of relief on Jackson’s face from the corner of his eye when he turns to look at him, brow raised. He removes his hand when he does so, resting it on his own leg. He’ll put it back on Jackson’s if he starts to bounce again.
“You should have seen her when they tried to put the drops in at the eye doctor.” His words are broken up by his giggling.
Georgina whacks his arm. “It wasn’t funny!”
She’s definitely wearing eyeliner now, though. “Does it not bother you if you’re the one touching them?”
She turns to him. “I’m confident I’m not going to damage my own eye.”
Jackson snorts. “She had me teach her how to do eyeliner wings by modeling them on Denver.”
Georgina reaches over Aaron to pinch one of Jackson’s still red cheeks—it turns white as a result. “My own personal YouTube tutorial.”
When Aaron asked, he was wondering if he practiced on her now. They make it sound like Jackson’s been doing this for years. This is the kind of thing he needs to know. It’s relevant to Jackson, and it’s what a boyfriend would be aware of. “So you started doing makeup when you were a kid?”
Jackson nods, going back to looking shy under Aaron’s attention. His teeth are worrying at his bottom lip. If it’s a consistent nervous habit, Aaron can see why he’d need to moisturize his lips.
“We’d do family movie nights, and I always thought the makeup was cool. I’d have my mom make me up like my favorite characters, and we’d do these little, uh… photo-shoot things? But I’m not big on having my picture taken. Denver and Dorian like that kind of thing. So she taught me how to do it, when I figured out I liked it more, and I started making them into characters, and she’d take pictures of them.”
The longer he talks, the more eye contact he makes. Aaron doesn’t want him to retreat, so he tries to keep him going. He’s grateful that Georgina isn’t interrupting with her own anecdotes. He’s sure she has plenty, and he’ll gather them from her later. He’s going to need as much background as possible to make this believable for nearly two weeks of what’s sure to be constant scrutiny.
“What characters?”
That finally earns a smile. Albeit a tiny, miniscule one. “Star Wars was a big one. The Joker. There was a Disney phase somewhere in there. Denver made a really nice Cinderella. Phantom of the Opera—I didn’t watch the film, though. My mom had a poster from it hanging on the wall. Pretty much anything and everything.”
“What was your favorite to do?”
Jackson looks like he’s really thinking about it. He’s back to chewing on his bottom lip, but Aaron thinks this time isn’t from nerves at least. “The Cheshire Cat. That’s more face painting in a lot of ways, but it was fun. I got really good at doing the grin.”
“Is that more like what you do now, or no?”
Jackson shakes his head. “I mostly do your everyday kind of makeup, and I do special effects a lot.” He waves at his face. “Like blood and scratches. That kind of thing. The only time face painting really becomes a thing is if I’m working on a photo shoot and they’re going for a certain kind of look. Sugar skulls are pretty big right now, so I’ve done a few of those.”
Georgina’s tiny, high-heeled foot collides with Aaron’s leg. He turns to look at her. “Oops,” she says, not looking particularly embarrassed or apologetic. “I was aiming for Jackson. Sorry.” She leans forward to view Jackson more clearly. “Why don’t you tell him about Comic-Con? You do a lot of fun stuff at conventions.”
He’s never been to any kind of comic convention, but he knows what they are and how big of a deal they are. “You go to conventions?” he asks.
“Mhm.” Jackson shifts in his seat, and Aaron braces for jittering, but it doesn’t come. “I do demonstrations for costume makeup, promoting my favored brands mostly. Depending on the convention, I’ll run a stall too and paint people up when they ask. I don’t get to go as much as I would like, my schedule’s kinda hectic, but when I’ve got the time, I try to make it happen.”
Their waiter—someone who’s not the redheaded Bastien from earlier—comes over with a bread basket, a bottle of wine, and a water for Jackson. The rest of them already have drinks, but they had opted to forgo the wine till Jackson arrived.
“Bonjour,” says the waiter, smiling at Jackson. “Always a treat to see you here.”
“Merci,” says Jackson, accepting the offered water. He says it slowly, putting more effort than necessary into it.
The waiter, a Frenchman named Marc, grins. “Your accent is improving,” he tells him, sliding the bread basket onto the table. He tilts the wine in offering, and everyone pushes their glasses forward.
“You think so?” Jackson sounds pleased.
“Oui,” says Marc.
Marc is flirting with Jackson, and Jackson is either completely oblivious or ignoring it. Studying his face, Aaron’s going to have to go with oblivious. He looks at Marc as he fills his glass. He’s college-aged by the looks of it, with short brown hair and hooded brown eyes. He’s attractive, though not really Aaron’s type and possibly not Jackson’s either?
The food comes as he finishes pouring the wine, and he moves aside so the waitress can prop the tray on a stand. He dishes the plates out quickly and leaves with one last cheery smile. “Bon appétit.”
Jackson uses the food as an excuse to not talk. Aaron figures he’ll let it go until he’s done with his meal. At some point before they leave, they’re going to have to discuss the plan. He has a feeling Jackson is going to be very nervous about it. He hates to ruin the relative calm the man seems to have adopted for now, but it isn’t something that can really wait. One of the first things people are going to ask is “how did you two meet?” and they need to have a good answer ready.
He should have known it would be Georgina who would bring it up. He gives her points for doing it as casually as possible.
He’s in the middle of cutting a slice of what’s left of his steak, when she says, “So we should probably get our stories straight for tomorrow. Did either of you have anything in mind?”
Aaron looks at Jackson to see if he has anything to weigh in, but he’s tearing a bread roll to pieces, and his cheeks are flushed once more. “I was thinking we keep it simple,” he says, when it’s clear that Jackson isn’t going to speak. “We met in a coffee shop. It was crowded. We had to split a table. That kind of thing.” He turns to Jackson. “Does that sound good to you?” He’s frustrated that they’re back to no eye contact.
Jackson’s staring at his empty plate. “That’s fine,” he says. He rubs his face. “Can we just… that is to say….” He heaves a loud breath. “Can you guys just decide what the story is and tell me, and I’ll go along with it? I don’t want… I don’t want to have to come up with it.”
He looks beyond embarrassed, and Aaron gets it. This is a man who’s used to getting his own dates. He’s ashamed that it’s come to this. Frustrated that he’s going to lie. Knowing Aaron does this for a living no doubt adds a whole different level of mortification on top of everything else.
This, thinks Aaron, is why he waits for the clients to come to him. There’s always a level of discomfort. No one likes saying, “I need to pay you to be my date.” But at least they’ve wanted his services so much that they put the time and effort into finding him.
Jackson not so much.
“That’s fine,” says Aaron. “We’ll stick with the café story. I’m going to need details from you, though. What’s something that everyone close to you would know? What side of the bed do you prefer to sleep on? Foods you like and don’t like?” These aren’t questions that will necessarily be asked, but Aaron’s learned to cover his bases over the years. Some people like to pry.
Jackson’s eyes are wide.
“I’ll start,” says Aaron. “I prefer the left side of the bed. Anything with cheese is fantastic. Anything with cooked vegetables is a no. I like tea with two spoonfuls of honey. I have a sweet tooth, but I won’t touch anything with nuts. My favorite color is yellow. I have three dogs, all of them mixed breeds. Tanner, Jeffree, and Simon. I’ll send you pictures. I was born in Michigan. My mother’s from Jamaica, my father’s from California. They live in Tennessee currently. She’s a lawyer, and he’s a schoolteacher. I have a bachelor’s in business and a minor in history. I’m thirty.” Jackson is looking overwhelmed. He stops there. He can slowly introduce him to new information over the following days. That little bit should be enough to get him through the first day well enough.
He waits a minute, wondering if he’s going to have to prompt Jackson to return the favor, but after releasing a low sigh, the man starts talking. “I sleep all over. I’m a mover. I don’t like tea, but I like coffee if it’s flavored. Needs to be sweet. My favorite color is blue—any shade, and I don’t have any pets. I don’t eat red meat, and I didn’t go to college.” He licks his lips. “Oh, and I love anything lemon flavored.” He twists his fingers together on the table. “Do you need the family stuff, or did Georgina tell you or what?”
“You’re good,” he says. He’ll get anything else he needs from Georgina. “That’s more than enough to get started with. Would you like to say we met in California while you were working?”
Jackson nods.
Aaron can’t help but wonder if Jackson’s realized they’ll have to share a bed for this trip to make things believable. He doubts they’re going to book them separate rooms.
He reaches out, tangling his fingers with Jackson’s, stopping him from wringing them any more. He needs to get used to the physical contact anyway if they’re going to pull this off.
“This is going to be fine. Think of it as we’re really dating if that helps.” He taps Jackson’s chin with his free hand, nudging his head up till he has eye contact. “And you’re doing me a favor too.” He ignores the look of disbelief on Jackson’s face, grabs his chin so he can’t look away. “I’d be an awkward third wheel if it wasn’t for you. You’re making my time easier as well.” He nods his head at Georgina and Tristan. “Those two are going to be suffering some serious scrutiny. They won’t have a lot of time for me.”
Jackson cracks a weak smile. Aaron sweeps his thumb over his jawline, feels his low exhale rush over his hand. “This is a vacation, and we’re going to make it as awesome as we possibly can.”
He’s going to try his hardest to bring Jackson out of the shell he’s tucked himself in.