Not Safe For Work: A Steamy Fake Dating Romance

Chapter 8

When Friday morning comes,I am most definitely not ready. I’m not ready to see Ian and even less ready to spend the day pretending to date Gavin. I’m barely even ready to leave the house on time because I can’t seem to decide how to wear my hair.

I refuse to wear it in a bun anymore. I’m done caring how anyone else wants me to look, and I hate pulling it tight anyway. But then I wonder if I keep it down how much it’ll whip me in the face on the back of Gavin’s bike.

A braid. Yep, I’m officially a genius. Or an idiot for taking thirty minutes to come up with that idea.

“Liv!” That would be Gavin banging on my door. I answer it even though I’m still in sweats.

“Hey, sor—hello! I’ll be ready in a minute.” He’s been calling me out on every “sorry” I’ve said since the other night. I had no idea how much I said it and I’m actually thankful for his persistence in helping me stop. What the hell am I so sorry about, anyway?

“I like the braid,” he comments, giving it a little tug. I’ve gotten slightly more used to him touching me in the last two days and I may or may not have had a very explicit dream about his hands last night.

“Well, you said the bun made me look uptight,” I quip.

“Nah. All the blazers make you look uptight.” He grins back and I wonder if he’s right. My work uniform has always been based on the saying “dress for the job you want, not the one you have.” Though considering I want Gavin’s job and I’ve never seen him in so much as a collar, I may have been doing it wrong. Just a little more of Ian’s influence I need to shake off.

“You know I’m kidding, right?” he continues. “You should wear whatever you want. You just look a lot more comfortable like this.” He touches me again. A little pull on the hem of my sweatshirt.

“Well, I’m not wearing this to the off-site. This is what I sleep in, Scottie.”

“You look good to me.” He gives me a full once over and another smile tugs at his lips. It makes one tug at mine too.

“Just give me a minute so I can figure out what to wear, okay?”

I walk into my room where several outfits are already laid out on the bed. Only one includes a blazer. Since my apartment is basically a studio, my bedroom only has three walls and Gavin follows me in.

“I like these,” he says, his hands combing through the dresses on my hanging wardrobe. My closet is tiny, so I built a rack on one side of the room for my dresses. I have a lot of dresses. When I was younger, one of the reasons I was so set on moving to the city was so I could dress up, be fashionable, stand out. I grew up with a mom who wore overalls seven days a week and I refused to follow in her footsteps. Fashion has always been my favorite way to express myself.

Little did I know that leggings and a vest were suitable for a night out here in San Francisco. But I still love my dresses, especially the sequined ones and anything with a bow. I may have limited occasions to wear them, but I still collect them like rare artifacts.

Gavin moves to the bed and peruses the outfits laying there like he’s a judge at an art show. He picks up the black silk slip dress and runs the fabric through his hands. “I really like this. Might be a bit fancy for playing bocce ball though.”

I grab the dress from him and lay it back down. “This is for tomorrow. I have to go to a charity event.”

“Need a date?” he asks. He’s obviously joking. The truth is I would love to have a date, but there is no reason I can come up with to make him join me. It’s probably for the best, since my whole family will be attending.

“No one from work will be there. You’re off the hook.”

He almost looks disappointed as he grabs a pair of jeans and a sweater off the bed. “Wear these,” he says. “I’ll wait outside so you can have some privacy. And bring your camera.”

“You scared?”Gavin asks, clipping my helmet on. He’s already secured my purse and camera bag under the seat.

“No,” I say, grinning ear to ear. “I’m excited.” I’ve always been a bit of an adrenaline junkie, and I grew up riding dirt bikes and four-wheelers with my brothers. But I’ve never had a chance to ride on a motorcycle. Gavin’s sex appeal also rises ten notches every time I see him on the bike. The man can really rock a helmet.

“Thatta girl.” He gently squeezes my chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Just follow my lead and you’ll be golden.”

He circles my block twice at ten miles an hour so I can get used to the feel of his bike before we get on Bay Street and head toward the bridge. He still hasn’t told me why we’re leaving so early. It’s only ten-thirty and the off-site starts at one o’clock.

“Tighter,” Gavin says when he turns back to me at the first stoplight. He grabs my hand and pulls it further around his torso. “Don’t be shy, Sparkles.”

I squeeze my arms around him as we speed forward again. To my disappointment, we’re not going very fast, and I don’t anticipate we will at all. It’s a beautiful Friday with clear skies all over the bay. I’m sure all the tourists will keep the roads slow the entire way to Sausalito. But even though my safety isn’t a concern, I keep squeezing.

Luckily, the view outside is a good distraction from our current closeness. I keep my head swiveled to the right to stare toward the water. Marina Green is one of my favorite places to bring my camera on a nice day. It’s a huge field right next to the water and there’s always something happening. Festivals, food trucks, volleyball games, people picnicking with their dogs. It’s one of the many places in this city that’s always teaming with life, with energy. I can’t get enough.

But just when I think that’s where we’re headed, he keeps going. Maybe we’re stopping at the Palace of Fine Arts? It’s another favorite spot, great for photos. Honestly, my favorite part is usually feeding the ducks. Andie and I walk over sometimes after brunch when we have leftovers.

And still he keeps going, following the 101 toward the bridge. Then he makes a last minute turn into the Presidio, keeping us on this side of the bay.

“Where are we going?” I yell through the loud breeze. The wind started whipping hard as we got closer to the water and I’m thankful I didn’t attempt to leave my hair down. Even the tail end of my braid has smacked my chin a few times.

He doesn’t respond until we come to a stop. I have no idea where we are other than in the woods. Leaves crunch beneath my feet as Gavin helps me slide off the bike. He carefully pulls off my helmet next, tucking wayward hairs behind my ear.

“You have photos of all the best spots around the city. Except this one.” He lifts up the seat to hand me my camera. “Hopefully it’s not too artsy for you.” He winks and I shove a hand against his chest hard enough that he takes a step back.

“It smells so good over here.” I take the deepest breath I can, all but inhaling the trees around me. I do a little spin to try and get my bearings and see a sign pointing to the walking path. “Lover’s Lane?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “It’s a short loop. There’s this winding tree sculpture on the way back. I always see people taking pictures.”

“How often do you come here?” I ask, as we start the hike.

“Not so much anymore. Daanesh and I used to come over here all the time to smoke. His old apartment was in the Marina, like a five-minute walk.”

“You two would get high and go on walks together at Lover’s Lane?” He nods. “That’s adorable.”

“Shut up, it’s just a name.” The wind whistles around us as he takes in the scene. “I like nature.”

He moves behind me and squeezes my shoulders just enough to steer me in a new direction. We walk over a short bridge that empties onto the main path. There’s no impressive view from here, the water completely hidden. But I can see why he likes it so much. It showcases how special San Francisco is. That we’re in the woods surrounded by the scent of pine and eucalyptus, yet we’re minutes from the Pacific and we could get to the heart of the city on foot in under an hour.

There’s nothing more exciting than discovering some new part of San Francisco. But I’m never going to be able to enjoy it with all the confusion rattling around in my head. It’s one of my least favorite forms of anxiety, when something I do not want to think about refuses to leave my mind. No matter how hard I try to whisk it away, it’s all I can focus on.

“Scottie?” I ask, stopping for a moment. I’ve had this specific question on my mind for two days and if I don’t ask it now, it might actually burst out of me.

“What’s up?”

“Why are you doing this? Helping me?”

“Why not?” he replies, like that’s all there is to it.

“Come on, I’m serious,” I continue. “First you offered to help with Mitch, and then Ian, and now you’re just going out of your way to be nice to me. Why did you bring me here?”

His brow furrows. “I thought you’d like it.”

“I do like it. It’s beautiful,” I respond, because he looks defeated. The last thing I want him to think is that I’m ungrateful. “But we’re not friends. You don’t even like me. And suddenly you’re willing to be my pretend boyfriend?”

He looks thoughtful for a moment, and he bites his lip, but then the playful grin reappears. “Of course, I like you. And I figured if we hung out now, you wouldn’t be as anxious being together at the off-site. Can’t I just enjoy being helpful?”

“No,” I argue. “No one’s that nice. And I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“You are not taking advantage of me. It was my idea, remember? Just look at it this way. I might not be the one putting you in a shit situation at work, but I’m still part of the problem. If I can’t fix it, I’m going to do whatever I can to make things better for you. Really, you’re doing me the favor, helping me rid my guilty conscience.”

“But—”

“Don’t overthink it.”

His words are so soft, too soft to be mocking me. And the smile that follows warms my bones. He’s right. Why am I so worried about the reasons behind everything when I could just enjoy the day instead?

I take a deep breath and look around me, willing my mind to focus on the sounds, the smells, the sight of this gorgeous man who’s slowly becoming a friend.

The next hour goes by in a blink. I find beautiful light filtering through the massive trees and want to snap pictures from every angle. I’m not sure if Gavin has worked out my issues with decision paralysis just yet, but he’s being really patient with me. I’m used to getting eye rolls or having people snap their fingers at me, letting me know it’s time to move on. It’s almost disconcerting that it isn’t happening today.

“Sorry, I’ll be done soon,” I promise, not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“There’s no rush, Sparkles. Hey, come over here, there’s almost a rainbow if you squint really hard.”

Gavin might not realize how difficult it is to follow his lead, to not overthink everything happening around me, but it feels a bit easier when I’m in his presence. Breathing feels easier in his presence.

When we get to the winding trees, I put the camera down and we compete to see who can balance for longer on the zig-zag walkway.

“This is so much easier sober,” he says when we both make it to the end. He looks at his phone then. “Shit. I was hoping we could hike up to the Spire, but I don’t think we have time anymore. It’s after noon.”

I’ve never seen the Spire he keeps mentioning, another art installation at the highest point of the Presidio. He looks disappointed, so I offer, “Another time? I’d still like to go.”

“Definitely.”

By the timewe reach the Golden Gate Bridge I’m obsessed with the bike and want to start saving for my own. My brothers and I have an annual dirt bike race each year and I’m wondering how hard it would be to convince them to up the ante on the prize.

We still haven’t gone more than forty miles an hour with the traffic, so whenever the road opens up, I squeeze Gavin a little tighter hoping he’ll hit the gas. I’m tempted to ask if he’ll let me drive, but considering how nice he’s been today, I don’t want to push my luck.

For the first time since I’ve known him, it feels like Gavin and I are friends. And yes, I might still fantasize about his hands every time I close my eyes, but I’m enjoying this new friendly side of him too.

Our company off-site is at one of my favorite spots outside the city, Bar Bocce. It’s a restaurant that sits right on the beach with a huge outdoor patio and several bocce ball courts. The water in this area is exceptionally calm, so you can also take kayaks out right from the beach, which Andie and I have done on multiple occasions.

But my excitement about being here dies when Ian is the first person I see at the entrance.

“You okay?” Gavin whispers in my ear as he slides an arm around me.

“Yep,” I lie, forcing my eyes up from the ground.

People always warn you not to “dip your pen in the company ink.” They say how awkward it will be to see your ex everyday if things don’t work out, how even a minor fight can be extremely uncomfortable when they’re also your co-worker.

But no one ever warns you about dating the investors. They don’t work in the office so interaction is minimal. But when they are around, everyone is expected to treat them like gods. Ian has never been my boss and we’ve never had to work together. No, it’s just his money that furnishes my paychecks.

I didn’t realize how much I was fidgeting until Gavin squeezes my hand and threads our fingers together. The gesture isn’t for show. He’s just trying to calm my nerves. Just like he did a few days ago in the office. His hands are turning into my own personal wonder drug. Move over Xanax, I’ve found something stronger.

“Olivia,” Ian croons as we walk in. We have no choice but to confront him to get inside the venue.

“Hey, Ian.” I tilt my chin up as high as I can. I want to keep this interaction as short as possible, but I also refuse to cower in front of him. Not after everything he said to me.

“You doing okay?” Ian asks me in a hushed tone. Is he trying to imply that I’m still not okay from our breakup? “You look,” he continues, giving me a once over. “Winded.”

“Yeah, we rode my bike here,” Gavin offers, combing a few fingers through my hair and smoothing it back. “You’re a little speed demon, aren’t you?” I can’t tell if this is for Ian to hear or just me, because his voice is lower when he says it. And then he winks again. Hot.

Ian clears his throat, louder than anyone actually needs to. He’s never appreciated being pushed out of a conversation.

Gavin ignores him and steps toward the bar, tugging gently on my hand. “What do you want to drink, babe?”

I track Ian’s eyes as they shoot down to our hands. I brace myself for him to ask what’s going on, but instead he just smirks. He pats Gavin on the shoulder and says, “Nice to see that initiative, Gav.” And before I can figure out what the hell that meant, he’s heading toward the patio.

Gavin squeezes my hand again, seemingly ignoring Ian’s remark. “You like Aperol Spritz, right?”

“I do. How’d you know that?”

“Just remember you getting it the last time we were here.” Gavin must have a photographic memory or something because the last time we were here together was for another off-site at least a year and a half ago.

After we collect our drinks and head outside, I have to ask, “What was Ian talking about?”

“Oh, just Ian being an asshole as usual.” He takes a long sip of his beer and looks back at me. “I can say that now, right?”

“Of course. Wait, do you guys know each other? Like outside of work?” I remember now mentioning Gavin to Ian, recounting work stories and what not. Ian didn’t have the kindest things to say about most people—he clearly felt like he was above them—but he always referred to Gavin as “the kid.” Maybe there was more to it than his usual elitism.

“Umm, we’ve bumped into each other a decent amount through work. Honestly, I never liked the guy, Liv. He just thinks he’s better than everyone else. For a while, I was hoping to—you know what?” He pauses and tugs on the end of my braid again. “We’re here together to avoid Ian, right? To let people know you’re with me now. A much better option if you want my opinion.”

I laugh, and silently agree, even as I remind myself this is one hundred percent fake.

He throws an arm around me again. “So screw Ian. Let’s not waste our time on him. Wanna play a round of bocce?”

We find Gabby, who won’t stop glaring at me for some reason, and then Daanesh so we have a foursome. And then we wait in line with everyone else who’s looking to play.

“So, I heard Churro has a new bestie,” Gabby says, nudging my arm. The guys went to get another round of drinks, and I’m not feeling great about being alone with Gabby. Her tone feels accusatory, like I’ve wronged her in some way.

“He’s adorable. And I love all his little accessories. Gavin said your girlfriend made them all?”

“Yeah. She’s incredible. I know.” Gabby’s reply is about as friendly as a wasp.

“Did I, umm, do something to offend you?” We’ve never interacted much at work, but I hang out by the marketing pod a lot and we’ve never had an issue.

“Just be nice to my brother, okay?”

“Okay…you know we’re just?—”

I’m cut off when the guys return, Gavin handing me another Aperol Spritz.

“Olivia, Gavin just told me the news,” Daanesh says, leaning into the middle of our little foursome. “You can’t tell anyone I said this, but he’s a nice upgrade. I mean, we all love Ian,” he clarifies, his eyes bobbing over my head searching for eavesdroppers. Then he drops his voice to a whisper. “But I wouldn’t want to date him.”

We all start to laugh, though I’m pretty sure Gabby’s is fake—still no idea what’s going on there—when we’re interrupted again, by another founder.

“Hey, Vaughn,” Gavin says.

“Just heard the news. What could this beautiful girl be doing with your sorry ass?”

Vaughn, who I’ve never actually had a conversation with, decides it’s okay to wrap an arm around my shoulders, while simultaneously talking about me as if I’m not here. Not wanting to engage, I turn to Gabby, who actually looks sympathetic.

But Gavin takes it in stride. “I know. I’m a lucky man, what can I say?” He expertly removes me from Vaughn’s arm and starts fiddling with my braid again. I wonder if all these little touches give him the same kind of comfort they do for me. I lean into him a bit, partially to play the part and partially because I just want to.

“I’m the lucky one.” I don’t know where the line comes from. Maybe I’m a better actress than I thought. Gavin’s smile seals it. We’re crushing the fake-dating trope right now.

“So, how did you get together anyway?” Vaughn asks Gavin, still not acknowledging me.

And then I panic, because of all the things we have discussed to get to know each other better, not once did we come up with a story to tell. Pros, we are not.

I try to catch Gavin’s gaze and momentarily get lost in his eyes. They’re the same color as the bay right now, the sun making them glow. He’s still smiling, those perfect dimples making an appearance. Damn, my fake boyfriend is hot.

Gavin doesn’t seem to be having the internal crises that I am though. He coolly replies, “We’ve been sitting across from each other for two and a half years. Have you seen her? She’s like…a different kind of beautiful. The second I found out she was single I made my move.”

A different kind of beautiful. What does that mean? I try to catch Gavin’s eyes but he’s still looking at Vaughn.

“So you’ve just been pining away all this time?” Vaughn mocks.

“Pretty much.” This time, Gavin’s eyes meet mine. I can’t tell if he’s trying to sell the story or just urging me to go along with it, but there’s definitely some hidden meaning, some silent language he wants me to understand with this look. “I would’ve asked her out during her interview, but I think that’s frowned upon.”