I never said I wouldn’t enjoy being her fake boyfriend. Seems like the best way to have a relationship, honestly. Excuses to kiss her, tease her, touch her, without the commitment of actually being together. Based on the gaze I can feel trying to burn a hole in the back of my head, I know her ex-boyfriend is pissed too.
That means I’m winning all around.
“Danya,” Abby says breathlessly. “Um, we ... if it’s fake, then..”
“We’re selling it. That hickey on you will do plenty. Now, I’m going to take you home because I don’t trust that little almost motorcycle you have.”
“She’s dependable!” Abby argues.
I chuckle. “I think I just proved I am, too. Do I need to put you over my shoulder and carry you to my car?”
“Don’t you dare. My feet belong on the ground,” she insists.
I almost tease her about her sex life, but I notice the way she touches her little belly. And compared to her tits and hips, her belly is little. She just doesn’t see it the right way. Maybe I can fix that.
“Hold my hand and pretend you like me,” I order her.
She obeys, taking my hand as she looks up at me again. “I’m jealous of your eyelashes. They’re pretty.”
I scoff. “That’s what you’re going to compliment?”
“Am I supposed to compliment your butt? I didn’t get to see it today,” she muses, thinking out loud.
Rolling my eyes, I lead her to the main road. “You need more lights back here.”
“Danya,” she says.
“I’m serious. Bad people see dark places and treat it like an opportunity,” I say. When we get to the road, I notice the ex standing there. I motion to him. “See?”
“What are you doing with my girlfriend?” The asshole demands.
I look at him. “Do I know you? Your annoying voice rings a bell.”
“Aaron, you should go,” Abby says, her voice all demure and quiet.
“You’re more prickly with me than him and you like me,” I point out to her.
She blushes and squeezes my hand. He either scares her, or something else is going on. I’m offended. I’m not as scary as he is in her eyes. She should consider glasses.
“Yeah ... well ...” she trails off, then shrugs.
I sigh. “Whatever your name is, get out of here. I’m not interested in being late for our reservations.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “I know this isn’t real. There’s no way you’d date her.”
“You mean Cupcake here?” I ask, motioning to Abby.
“Dude, it’s obvious. You’re in some kind of slump or something. Abby, he’s just going to dump you or cheat on you,” the guy insists. “One leggy blonde and he’s gone.”
Well, he wouldn’t be wrong, but I did my research on Abigail. “Abigail is a successful business owner, graduated culinary school a year early, manages all her shit herself, can handle stress like a pro, and is sexy as hell on top of it. Where am I going to find better?”
Both of them stare at me. I cup Abby’s cheek and lean down, licking across her bottom lip and making sure her ex sees it. I grin. “Plus, you taste like frosting.”
I’m pretty sure her red cheeks are lighting the entire walkway by the time I pull away. I glower at the asshole kid standing in our way. “You lost her. Give it up and don’t get in my fucking way.”
He swallows hard and backs up. Weasels always recognize when there’s a bigger predator playing. He scuttles back and mumbles something, but I guide Abby to my car. I open the door for her and lean in to buckle her.
She swats at my hands. “I can buckle myself!”
“So independent. You’re cute,” I pinch her cheek.
Abby begrudgingly guides me to her apartment and keeps telling me I don’t have to come up. I don’t bother to answer. I just keep following. She struggles with the lock twice, then opens it. She doesn’t let me in.
“Give me a minute to tidy up,” she says.
“I don’t care about a mess.” I jiggle her door knob. “This is a problem, though. It’s loose.”
She gives me tools and I’m so focused on the doorknob that when I finish up after testing it; I realize she’s a little flushed and her place looks overall clean. She’s sentimental, though. She has pictures everywhere, little paintings that must have been done by a friend, and other things around her apartment.
“I don’t get a lot of time to do housekeeping or ... cooking ... or anything,” she sighs before collapsing on her couch.
“Pizza it is,” I decide.
I hand her my phone so she can order, then shrug, order the pizza, and look over at her. “What should I know about you since we’re dating?”
She blinks at me. “Um ... I work a lot. Probably too much. I’m a perfectionist. I don’t trust work done by anyone but me. I studied medicine for a bit, but I can’t do needles, so washed out. I don’t go out to party or anything. I don’t have many friends. Mona’s probably the closest thing I have to a friend, but she just sees me as a boss. My parents live in Boca. Dad’s a successful lawyer. Mom’s a hairstylist. I’ve never been out of the country, but I have seen the Grand Canyon.”
I nod once.
“Anything else?”
“I’m not a fan of PDA,” she says, shooting a glare at me. “Especially not when it’s making someone else jealous.”
“Our whole relationship is to make him jealous then leave, Cupcake,” I say.
She touches her bottom lip. “I think some rules are more important.”
“Wow, you don’t want to know me, want to put in a bunch of rules. You’re a demanding little thing,” I snort.
“I’m serious, Danya,” she insists. “I know this is fake. You know this is fake. Aaron shouldn’t know it’s fake because I’ll look twice as pathetic for buying you off with cupcakes. I want to have some things straight.”
I consider that, but she rubs her shoulder for a moment. “What should I know about you?”
“I’m lethal and scary. I hate sweets, but like your cupcakes, which is why I asked about them when we met. My brother is more terrible than I am but hides it better. I’m not interested in relationships or anything long-term. I’m a workaholic and you shouldn’t ever ask about what I do. Other than that, I like tattoos–I consider that self-care–and I know how to piss exes off. Also, I hate rules ... and authority ... and laws since they never take into account what’s necessary.”
She blinks at me for a long moment. “So that’s why you don’t want rules.”
“That’s what you’re taking from my very nice speech?”
“How can you handle tattoos? It’s hours of being stabbed,” she says, still not reacting the way I plan for her to.
“Abigail, you’re ignoring the giant elephant in what I just told you,” I point out.
“I know you’re in the mafia, Danya. It’s shockingly obvious. I mean, come on, I cater a family event and they attacked you guys. You and your twin take people out like its nothing. Sienna wasn’t surprised. A single hitman wouldn’t include his family. I saw you covered in blood. And I know you like my cupcakes,” she says, holding herself a little taller.
I shake my head ever so slightly, despite my smile. “You’re something, Abe.”
“But tattoos are relaxing to you?”
“It’s a controlled pain. Trust me, I’ve had worse. Plus, I like having artwork on my body. I’m a gallery–and I don’t just mean my good looks,” I say with a wink.
She rolls her eyes. “So, the rules–with the reasons so they work for you.”
I groan.
“No kissing unless it’s necessary. Otherwise, it’s not pretend–pretty simple,” she says, then narrows her eyes at me. “Definitely no sex. There’s no reason for us to go there, and I believe it’s a loving thing.”
“Prude.”
“I am not!” she says, but her cheeks turn bright red. “I just ... I’ve only been with two people and I was dating both of them and waited until I knew I meant something to them and they meant something to me ... or that’s what I thought, anyway.”
“Okay, limited kissing, no sex. What else?”
“If you go out with someone else, I don’t care. Just don’t let Aaron see you. And this doesn’t have to last longer than like two weeks. He’ll forget all about me by then,” she says.
“Are you allergic to anything?” I ask.
“Um ... yeah. I’m allergic to lobster and penicillin,” she mumbles. “Lobster is a death-level allergy, so don’t even come close to kissing me if you’ve eaten it. Penicillin will just make me gross.”
“Got it.”
“You?”
“Bullets,” I mumble.
She rolls her eyes. “Everyone’s allergic to bullets.”
We go back and forth about more of the basics until the pizza arrives. As we eat, I find out she has some very intense opinions. She hates bowling because she refuses to trust that the employees are paid enough to clean the shoes every single day. And she has a thing against hot fruit–on pie, no pineapple on pizza, and no pineapple upside-down cake. She also hates leggings with a passion that borders on insanity.
When I choke on my pizza, laughing at her, she shoves me. “You’re so mean!”
“And you’re mean right back. Like an angry little squirrel. It’s cute,” I tease.
She slugs my shoulder.
I remember then that she took down a member of the cartel without even looking. She hadn’t been shy then. Of course, she’d looked like she was ready to apologize, but Abby’s more than her ex thinks she is. I’m pretty sure she’s more than she thinks she is, too.
After we finish the pizza, she stands and stretches. I groan as more of her body shows under the dress. When the hem rises to show her ass, I can feel myself getting hard.
Damn, this is going to be a very hard two weeks. I can already feel the blue balls setting in.
Abby leads me to the door and sighs. “I need to get to sleep.”
“It’s not even eight p.m.,” I point out.
“And I get up at four a.m.,” she says with a shrug. “Be a good fake boyfriend and support my sleep schedule.”
“I’d rather ruin it,” I flirt, resting my arm on the door frame as I lean toward her. “I’m also not convinced you can sell a kiss you enjoy, Cupcake.”
“I just purse my lips and-”
As she starts to demonstrate, I roll my eyes and cover her mouth. “I’m starting to believe you’re a virgin and you’ve never been kissed properly.”
She narrows her eyes at me. I notice the hickey I left on her and free her mouth just to stroke it. “At least you’ve now had a hickey. We’ll work on the rest.”
“Danya, this is fake,” she says for the tenth time.
“I’m well aware of my title. Fake boyfriend, here for you to toss around as you need. I’ll see if ex-boyfriend is going out anytime soon. If he sees us together being natural, he’ll buy this a lot more.”
“Fine. But that only works on Saturdays,” she says. “It’s the only night I can be out until around ten or eleven.”
“Sure thing, Cupcake. I’ll see you Saturday, unless you miss me tomorrow afternoon,” I hint.
“Saturday it is,” she says, before pushing me away and shutting the door.
Sweet, yet sharp. I like Abby already.