The Fake Relationship
My sexual frustration has reached an all-time high. So much so that I almost knocked on Decker’s door to take him up on that offer to scratch the itch my vibrator isn’t fixing anymore.
I need the touch of a real man—one who doesn’t fall off a motorcycle, wears fake hair, tries to get me to take naked pictures, or smells like cow crap. Is it really so damn hard?
And if I’m lucky, the night might end like the turning point in every fake relationship book I’ve read—with me finally getting my rocks off with a human being. One who will call the next day, telling me he doesn’t want this to be fake anymore.
“Holly?”
“Roy?”
He nods and opens the door for me. Damn, he’s hot. Tall, muscular, and with hair that belongs to him.
“Thanks for doing this,” he says.
“My pleasure. Really.”
We decided last night to skip the ceremony and just show up for the dance. I have no idea who the married couple is in relation to him, but right now I don’t care.
We walk into the elaborately decorated banquet hall, and I can’t help but wonder who the hell got married here. A Trump? Bezos? It looks expensive.
“Should we dance?” Roy asks, taking my hand in his.
He looks a perfect mix of causal and dressy in his suit—still a few inches taller than me in my heels—and my flowy floral dress has just enough movement to be hiked up to my hips if he wants to take me to the coat closet later after one too many slow dances.
“As long as they’re slow songs. My shoes aren’t broken in enough to get jiggy with it without enough liquor to numb the pain. And by then, they’ll just come off.”
He flashes a megawatt smile that melts me right there. Unless he does something more off-putting than the men before him, I’m more than willing to consider a one-night stand with him.
A fake relationship doesn’t give me high hopes of finding a lasting relationship, but I think getting sex out of my system will help me focus better. No fantasizing about Decker. Or Tyler. Or even the hot barista.
“You look amazing, by the way,” Roy says, pulling me against his hard body as we dance to a ninety’s ballad. Bon Jovi, I think. “I was a little worried you wouldn’t look like your picture.”
“You’ve had the same problem? You don’t really look like your profile picture, though.”
“No?”
I smile up at him. “No, you look better in person.”
His lips touch mine, surprising me, but I don’t pull back. I part my lips, letting his tongue sweep into my mouth, and all I can think about is how I want every inch of it on my skin.
At this point, I’m desperate enough to start dipping my toe into the erotica category just for a moment of satisfaction, but as I feel his erection pressing against my waist, I don’t think it’s necessary anymore.
“Would it be too forward of me to suggest we find a quiet place to… talk?” Roy asks, his mouth brushing my ear and shooting another wave of fire to my core.
“Not at all,” I whisper.
We leave the dance floor as soon as a fast song begins, searching for an empty room to slip into. The only unoccupied one without windows is the coat check.
Score.
We slip inside unnoticed, and I feel giddy. Like a teenager making out with my boyfriend at church camp. Yeah, I totally did that.
I can’t stop thinking that maybe Roy is the one I’ve been meant to find. Maybe I wouldn’t have appreciated the instant attraction without the bad dates first.
Our chemistry is off the charts.
“I’ve never wanted anyone like this before,” he whispers, his lips on my neck.
His hands skim along my chest, freeing one breast from the top of my dress before dipping his head to suck my nipple. It’s far too fast considering we just officially met one song ago, but I ache so badly that a single finger might make me come in record speed.
“I’m not typically the type to move this quickly, but I do feel a connection with you,” I pant, rubbing my hand along his fly, appreciating the size of him.
Much bigger than the bully.
“You can take it out,” he mumbles against my skin.
I don’t need any additional coaxing. In seconds, I have his cock in my hand while two racks of jackets shield us from view of anyone. As long as we’re quiet, we should be able to keep the privacy we have.
His fingers slide under the skirt of my dress, pushing my panties aside to stroke between my lips. “I’m not the only ready one.”
“No, you’re not,” I breathe. “What if we get caught?”
“No one’s coming here,” he says, sliding two fingers inside me. “The dance just started—we’ve got at least an hour.”
An hour. I don’t know if I need five minutes.
“Roy,” I whisper, stroking him, “this really does feel like something out of a book.”
He straightens, locking eyes with me while he toys with me. The gaze is intense, sensual, and I’m ready to fall apart—until the coat room door slams open.
We both freeze, holding our breath until the person grabs their jacket and leaves.
The interruption gives me just enough clarity to step back before I completely unravel on his hand. If someone walks past the two racks, they’ll find me with a tit out, his hand between my legs, and my hand holding his dick.
“Roy, I know you’re in here,” a female voice calls.
I step back again, fixing my top and pushing my skirt down, aching without his fingers inside me. The racks shift, and there stands the bride.
Please don’t let this be his sister. This would be the worst way to meet his family. Especially because he hasn’t shifted to put himself away.
“How could you?” she demands.
“Marie,” he says, and the longing in his eyes kills my prayer on the spot.
Marie, beautiful in her gown, bursts into tears. “You brought a date and took her into the coat check to fuck her?”
“You’re married,” Roy says flatly. “To someone else.”
Holy shit. I was the date to his ex-girlfriend’s wedding.
“It doesn’t mean I don’t still love you,” Marie says.
Right. Because marrying another man definitely screams still in love.
“You chose him over me, and now you’re married.”
I finally find my voice. “Um… why are we at your ex-girlfriend’s wedding?”
“Because he wants to hurt me by ripping my heart out and stomping on it,” Marie snaps.
“But didn’t you—”
“Stay out of this!”
I back against the wall as the scene unfolds like a soap opera.
Roy cups her face—with the same hand that he had between my legs just moments ago—and gently kisses her lips. “I love you, and you chose him.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” she whispers, a tear spilling down her cheek and over his fingers. “Daddy doesn’t approve of you.”
Oh. She calls her father Daddy. That kind of explains a lot.
“He doesn’t think I can provide for you like your businessman husband can.”
They kiss, and I’m trapped. Her wedding gown surrounds us and blocks the exit.
My hopes of getting laid are gone. Blown out of the water. And when Marie drops to her knees, taking Roy into her mouth, and strokes his shaft with her gloved hand, I know I can’t stay.
Shoving past her tulle and bolting, I spot the groom in the hallway. He looks around, and I know he’s searching for his wife. I almost want to tell him to check the coat room.
Roy yelps, and we both turn towards the room.
Good. I hope she bit you.
In my car, I take a few deep breaths to calm my racing heart, but then I burst out laughing. I’ve been cheated on before, but I’ve never witnessed it—especially by a bride on her wedding day.
I assume the groom already knows his wife is in love with someone else. And Roy drew enough attention to them that I’m guessing they got caught. I kind of wish I’d stayed to see the big finale. Did they manage to hide from the groom, or did he catch them? And what act did he catch them in?
How many more of these disasters do I have to endure before I find the right man? I still feel this app will bring me to the man of my dreams, but I’m worried I can’t hold out long enough. It’s really starting to feel like it’s not worth the effort.
“At least one more,” I mutter. “I have a Forced Proximity date tomorrow night.”
Please, let it go better than the other. I’m not sure I can survive another train wreck.