Booked Boyfriends, Bad Decisions

Chapter 1

“Hey, uh . . .” Kylil’s voice came through the phone, and I rolled my eyes. The way he let out a fake, guilty sigh before speaking told me he was about to be on all bullshit, but I kept listening anyway. “I’m gonna have to rain check on tomorrow. I mean, I wanted to go for real.”

“And tell her why, Kylil. Don’t be half-ass honest now.” A woman’s voice cut in the background. She was muffled but loud enough for me to still hear her. “Tell her you’re not single. Don’t leave that part out.”

“Uh, yeah. My baby mama not goin’ for me bein’ out of town on Valentine’s Day like that—”

“And make sure you tell that girl you’re spending Valentine’s Day with your family.” The woman snapped again, and my mouth fell open in shock.

“My bad, man.”

The message ended with a click, and I stared at my screen in utter disbelief before hitting play again.

I needed to make sure I’d heard what I’d just heard correctly.

Sure enough, this man was curving me on speakerphone with his baby mama in the background.

I couldn’t help the laugh that slipped from my lips.

Had I known he had to ask for permission, he would have never been an option to accompany me on the biggest brand trip of my life.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” I dropped the phone on the couch and let my head fall back as the ring light hummed in front of me.

It was still on from the content I’d recorded earlier, casting that stupid soft glow over the chaos that was my life.

This could not be happening. I blew out a frustrated breath as I sat up and stared at my space.

My suitcase wasn’t packed, my bikinis were thrown all over the floor, and my passport was sitting on the coffee table, mocking my entire existence.

This was not supposed to be my life at almost thirty-five.

This year was supposed to be my year. I’d made a vision board last month to affirm it and everything, and I was still single and still trying to prove to my parents that content creation was a real job.

I had over 500,000 followers on Picsgram and Booktok, but to my very successful engineer and dentist parents, that meant absolutely nothing.

This brand trip was supposed to finally prove to everyone that I had a real career path…

That doing something I actually loved and was passionate about could pay my bills.

“Great,” I muttered. “Now I have no plus one. Love that for me.” My flight left at 9:10 a.m. tomorrow. It was 7:42 p.m. now. My brain couldn’t even begin to process what I was going to do. I grabbed my phone again and opened the message thread with Kylil. I was about to curse him clean out.

Me:

Are you fucking serious right now? Our flight leaves in the morning.

The message tried to send, but eventually, it popped up with a red exclamation mark and a not delivered message. I frowned and tapped his name at the top. The profile picture was gone.

“Oh wow. He blocked me.” Of course, he’d blocked me.

He had a baby mama I didn’t know about until it was damn near time to board the plane.

Before I could decide if I wanted to throw my phone across the room or cry, my screen lit up with new notifications.

A banner from Dee, my Booktok bestie I’d only seen once but talked to everyday, popped down first. I swiped, certain she just wanted to know how the packing was coming along.

@Deebereading: You done packing, yet?

@Deebereading: What books are you reading on the plane?

My heart sank. I couldn’t even bring myself to type back.

My fake boyfriend had just blocked me. I flicked her messages away.

I’d reply to her later. My eyes darted to another banner.

It was an email from Natural Shea Essentials.

The universe clearly thought I needed a reminder of how badly I was about to fumble this bag.

With a heavy sigh, I tapped the icon, and the email opened.

The Duality Experience Couples Escape Zanzibar– Final Itinerary & Travel Reminder

I could feel my heart rate increase as I read the message.

Good evening Harlowebookish,

We’re thrilled to be welcoming you to Zanzibar tomorrow for The Duality Experience! This is a reminder that your car service is scheduled to arrive at your address tomorrow at 6:30 AM to take you to the airport. Please be ready ten minutes before pickup.

We’ve attached another copy of your boarding pass and travel details.

To finalize your flight reservation, we must receive your partner’s full legal name as it appears on their passport no later than 10:00 PM tonight so we can complete the airline manifest and confirm their ticket.

If we don’t receive this information by the deadline, your tickets will be released.

We are so excited to welcome you both to The Duality Experience: Couples Escape Zanzibar, celebrating the launch of Duality by Kellon & Phileigh Barnes, our new his & hers fragrance line.

We can’t wait to finally meet you and the man behind your beautiful content.

With love,

The Duality Experience Team

My eyes fixated on the line about my partner’s information. I couldn’t put it off any longer. There was no excuse that I could use now not to send it. They needed it in less than three hours.

“Fuck my life!” I threw the phone onto the couch and dragged both hands down my face.

This was thirty thousand dollars plus a free trip to Zanzibar, hosted by one of the biggest couples in the world, Kellon and Phileigh Barnes.

Look up Black love in the dictionary, and you’d see their faces.

They embodied everything that I advocated for online.

This was truly a once-in-a-lifetime dream trip to Africa, and my only job was to secure a damn boyfriend, and I’d failed.

This was exactly what I got for lying on Beyoncé’s internet.

If I weren’t trying to make my cheating ass ex-boyfriend Jamal jealous by taking myself on a couple of dates and giving myself a couple of gifts, I would have never gotten into this mess.

I never knew the videos would go viral. I didn’t see the harm in sprinkling a few date nights with bae videos in with my regular book content.

I definitely didn’t see the harm in accepting a few brand deals.

I thought nobody would ever find out that the man in my videos had always been props and good angles.

“Okay, Harlowe,” I told myself, sitting up.

“Okay, we’re not panicking yet. There’s still time.

” There is no time. But lying to myself was my love language I guess.

I grabbed my phone again and opened the Notes app, scrolling to the list I’d titled Potential Vacation Bae.

My eyes glanced over the names of suitable men from Azalea County, and I crossed out every single one of them.

Chris (gym guy): Doesn’t do cameras

Myron (club promoter): girlfriend

Shawn (podcast guy): talks too much

Mitch (Bible study): too holy

I shook my head as I made my way through the list. The only uncrossed name left had just turned himself into a voicemail.

I tapped the screen and added a note next to Kylil’s name.

Kylil (picsgram): baby mama said no

I flopped sideways on the couch, clutching my phone like something was going to change.

My eyes gazed at the beautiful Black faces on my bookshelves.

Every book was nothing but Black romance from top to bottom.

I could point to a hundred men on those shelves who would’ve hopped on a flight for me tomorrow without even blinking.

Fictional men were so much better than the real ones.

The ring light suddenly buzzed louder, reminding me I still had content to record and post tonight.

Even in my distress, the show had to go on.

I sat upright, fidgeted with my crop top, and perched myself on the edge of the couch.

Leaning over, I clipped my phone into the tripod that sat in front of the coffee table.

I grabbed the little remote I used to record, took a breath, and plastered on my life isn’t falling apart smile.

“Hey, Harlings.” I started with my usual greeting and wave at the camera with my lavender nails.

“Welcome back to my corner of the internet, where we only read books with a whole lot of seasoning. Amen?” I gave the camera a church nod.

“Amen.” I exhaled, and my voice instantly slipped into the calm, cool, breezy tone I used when doing content.

“Valentine’s Day is coming up, and since I’ll be lying on the beach with my man,” I continued, “and some of y’all already been in DMs looking for book recs, I got you.

But I’m warning you. These might make you text your favorite ninja and work it out.

” I picked up the stack of books I’d pulled from the shelf earlier, holding up the first one.

“This one right here? Thorns and All by Cyn. Ten out of ten.”

I went through the recs on autopilot. Each book was a testament to Black love and how we deserved to be chosen without struggle.

Most of my recommendations, like usual, featured plus-sized heroines who reminded me of myself.

My mouth did the work, but my brain was on a beach in Zanzibar, drinking some type of coconut alcoholic beverage.

“Remember,” I said, wrapping it up, “even if your love life is raggedy this Valentine’s Day, your bookshelf doesn’t have to be. Bye, Harlings.” I blew a kiss and hit the stop recording button. As soon as the little red light went off, my smile faded.

“Okay. That’s done.” I tossed the remote on the table, reached over, and turned off the ring light.

I could get that video edited on the plane and posted sometime tomorrow.

My phone buzzed, and for half a second, I thought maybe it was Kylil calling back to say his baby mama found somebody else to harass and he was free.

I didn’t give a rat’s ass if he was single or not.

This was business. I snatched the phone from the tripod and tapped on the screen.

It wasn’t Kylil. No, it was my airline app.

Reminder: Your flight departs tomorrow at 8:10 AM.

I’m aware. Swiping out of it in desperation mode, I opened Safari before my brain could stop me and typed rent a boyfriend for vacation near me in the search engine.

As soon as the page loaded, I immediately regretted my decision.

Every site I clicked on looked like a damn escort service from a 2006 Lifetime movie.

“Absolutely not,” I said out loud. “I am not about to become a Dateline episode. Missing in Zanzibar.” I swiped the tab closed and tried another search.

This time, I typed professional plus one service.

The sites that came up this time were slightly less sketchy, but they all wanted background checks, consultations, deposits, and I needed somebody at Azalea Airport by 6:00 a.m. tomorrow, not next month.

“Okay, God, it’s me, Harlowe Harris. I know you are tired of hearing from me, but God.

I need you to get me out of this mess I put myself in.

” I gestured around the room. “I talk about Black love for a living. I boost Black indie authors all day. I tell these girls they deserve softness and good sex and men who don’t make them beg.

And now, when I finally get a Black love brand deal that is supposed to be my reward for that, I don’t have a Black love of my own.

” I blew out a breath. “Lord, I’m not asking for my husband tonight, unless you want to send him, but I just need a plus one with a valid passport, decent teeth, and who can pretend to like me for four days so I don’t lose this opportunity.

I will be in church first thing next Sunday morning. That’s it. That’s the prayer. Amen.”

As if right on cue, my doorbell rang, and I jumped. I stared at the door as if it was a ghost on the other end. God doesn’t answer prayers that fast, right?

“God,” I said half laughing, half terrified, “don’t play with my emotions now.”

I slid off the couch, wiped the tears that had tried to fall from my eyes, and made my way toward the door.

I pulled my shorts down from where they had ridden up between my thighs.

Forget the fact that I hadn’t even finished my flip over sew-in yet.

I stood on my tiptoes and glanced out the peephole.

The only thing I could see was a beautiful bouquet of red roses and white daisies, and I knew instantly it was my best friend.

He was the only man who showed up at my house with this same bouquet around February fourteenth.

If this was God answering my prayers, then He definitely had jokes.

Because there was no way Hasheem Hart was the answer to this mess.