Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Josh
As much as Shay claimed that me playing interference with his family “wasn’t part of the deal,” I could see how the tension left his body after I suggested it.
His hot little body…
No, Josh.
That is definitely not part of the deal.
Now that I’d been seated across from him for the past hour, my suspicions that he regularly exercised were confirmed. For as compact as Shay was, he was obviously strong, with defined muscles flexing beneath his black dress shirt as he fiddled with his straw wrapper.
“Do you work out?” I asked, noticing how he minutely jumped, as if I’d startled him from his thoughts.
He squinted at me for a moment before replying, “Are you seriously asking me that? Or is that your old man attempt at a pickup line?”
I laughed, loving how prickly and adorable he was—like a feral kitten rescued off the streets. “I’m just trying to learn the basics about you so it doesn’t seem like we only met today. Let’s try again. What do you do for work?”
Shay sighed heavily, but I got the sense his annoyance wasn’t aimed at me. “Okay, yeah, that makes sense. I don’t work out in the typical sense, but what I do for work keeps me fit.” He paused to observe me silently before carefully adding, “I’m a dance instructor.”
I perked up, thrilled we could connect on a creative level. “That’s fantastic! What styles do you teach?”
This was clearly a sore subject, as he pushed his shoulders back and jutted out his chin. “Competitive pole.”
Ah.
“Let me guess…” I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “Your dramatic family doesn’t approve?”
He huffed a laugh and relaxed again. “Nope. Most of them think pole means I’m stripping at the club—not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
Not at all.
Once again, I was incredibly grateful I could be here for Shay today. Aside from processing his sister’s death, he was about to be among family who clearly made a habit of dismissing him, from his concerns to his line of work.
Determined to show him there was no judgment here, I grinned, noticing his gaze briefly drop to my mouth before meeting mine again.
“I’m admittedly not too familiar with competitive pole, but I follow a few aerial pole dancers on Instagram—I think they’re with Cirque du Soleil.
Oh! And there’s this one artist who uses an enormous hanging spiral as their pole… It’s mesmerizing.”
Shay’s pretty gray eyes widened the more I talked, and it hurt my heart to think there really was no one in his life who could appreciate what he did.
I bet he’s amazing to watch in his element.
“Oh, well…” He cleared his throat and flipped his stylishly cut white-blond hair off his forehead. “What I do isn’t as, uh, artistic as that.”
I scoffed, not liking how he was now dismissing himself.
“I disagree on principle alone. Art is not only subjective but comes in many forms. I know for a fact many of my fellow fine artists think I’m a hack—some because they feel I’m a ‘sell-out’ and others because they believe what I do is taking advantage of my clients’ grief.
Never mind that I hadn’t intended to go into this line of work.
I fell into it by accident, but looking back, I believe it was my calling all along. ”
Shay nodded absently, deep in thought once again. “Yeah, I can’t imagine doing anything else…” He snapped to attention with a sly smirk. “Even if me twerking to nasty hip-hop has scandalized almost my entire family.”
Lord.
I forced myself not to openly react to the vision of Shay’s perfect ass twerking, and refocused on the job at hand. “Do you mind telling me about who will be there today?”
He tensed all over again but resolutely reported on the main players—his mother, father, younger brother, and various aunts, uncles, and cousins, mostly on his mother’s side. The more he talked, the more animated he became, even doing impressions of the dramatics I was about to witness firsthand.
I knew he was anxious about seeing his family, especially given the circumstances, but it all seemed manageable to me.
Then again, I had years of experience navigating large, often extremely dramatic families handling their grief in a variety of ways.
I also had the advantage of being an objective bystander with no skin in the game.
Even if this feels oddly personal…
Shay groaned as his phone lit up on the table next to his empty plate. “Of course my mom is already asking where I am.” He glanced at me apologetically. “I probably should have told you we would be going to a funeral right after this meetup… if it worked out…”
I’d already deduced we were—based on the proximity to Francesco’s and Shay’s instructions to wear black—but I couldn’t help teasing. “And did it work out?”
Did I pass your test?
He rolled his eyes as he stood and straightened his shirt. “You’ll do. Now remember, we met online a few months after I moved away but have only gotten serious in the last month or so.”
I nodded. We’d worked on our cover story together while we ate, including agreeing to keep my name and occupation the same, since Mr. Francesco would blow my cover anyway.
Future plans were to be kept vague, however.
In fact, Shay had threatened me with a gruesome end if I so much as hinted at him moving back to the city for me.
So cute.
I tamped down the strange twinge of discomfort at the thought of this man disappearing into the ether as soon as his family obligations were met. He’d made it crystal clear this arrangement was a one-time thing—that I was solely here for show.
And it’s showtime.
Mr. Francesco greeted us at the door as soon as we entered his funeral home, shaking Shay’s hand and offering his condolences and pulling me into a warm hug.
“Always a pleasure to see you, figliolo,” he murmured affectionately. “Oh, and before I forget. The Mancini family has requested your services again. Said they would pay triple for you to move them to the front of the line.”
Shay eyed me curiously when I choked on air. “They don’t need to pay me triple,” I stuttered, mildly uncomfortable to be discussing business in front of my fake boyfriend. “But I will need to finish my current commission first.”
Mr. Francesco dipped his chin in acknowledgment before insisting on taking my bags to store in his office during the viewing. He didn’t speak again until we’d reached the smaller, private viewing room on site.
“You are in good hands, Shane,” he addressed Shay by what was apparently his full name. “Our Prince Valium will melt all your troubles away.”
After he glided away to greet more bereaved at the door, Shay leaned in close enough that I could smell his cologne. Woodsy with a hint of sweetness. Vanilla maybe.
Delicious.
“Okay, but I thought you were kidding about the Prince Valium thing,” he whispered with an amused huff. “Are you a drug dealer on the side?”
I chuckled, noticing a stern older woman rapidly approaching and instinctively placing my hand on the small of his back. “No. My aunt just claimed I had a naturally calming energy—which obviously came in handy with grieving clients.”
Shay swallowed thickly, his gaze locked with mine. “I—”
Whatever he was about to say was lost as the woman arrived, rumpled and out of breath, although whether her puffing was from exertion or annoyance was unclear.
“Shane Michael Avery!” she hissed—confirming annoyance—gripping his arm in her blood-red talons as if she thought he might bolt.
Probably fair.
“Why weren’t you here forty-five minutes ago? We are about to start the receiving line, and you need to be standing next to your brother.” She paused her rant to glance at me with disinterest. “Everyone else needs to wait out here until—”
“Mom, this is my boyfriend, Josh,” Shay rallied, straightening even as he subtly pressed his body against mine for support. “And I need him close to me during the wake.”
This was obviously not part of his mother’s master plan, as evidenced by her twitching, mascara-caked eye.
And that’s my cue.
I gently pried her hand off her son’s arm and clasped it with my own.
“I am so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Avery, and I wish we could have met under better circumstances.” I lowered my voice, forcing this woman to truly listen.
“Shay is concerned he might faint in the receiving line, so either I can stand behind him—out of the way, of course—or he can sit with me nearby. Your choice.”
She opened and closed her mouth a few times before looking me over appraisingly. I patiently waited her out, knowing full well she’d rather give an inch than allow any bystanders to believe she wasn’t still in charge of the overall production.
Checkmate.
“Very well.” She spoke through her teeth as she smiled at an older couple shuffling by. “You may stand behind him, John, but please do not interact with anyone coming down the line—since you’re not family. Although maybe you could teach Shane a thing or two about good manners while you’re there.”
With that, Mrs. Avery stomped away, and for a moment, it looked like Shay might faint after all.
“Jesus Christ,” he gasped once she was out of earshot. “How the fuck am I supposed to make it through today?”
“You will,” I replied matter-of-factly, rubbing slow circles on his back, relishing the touch even though I shouldn’t. “That’s why I’m here, remember?”
“Yeah… That’s why you’re here,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Okay. Let’s… let’s just get this over with.”
My chest ached, knowing whatever happened here today most likely wasn’t going to provide Shay with the closure he needed. If anything, he’d probably leave in worse shape than when he arrived.
I wish I could just take him home with me.
Determined to provide the best support possible, I wordlessly followed him into the viewing room—taking in the full scope of the situation as Mrs. Avery barked orders about line placement.
Closed casket—just like with my parents.
Not a good sign.
As soon as we'd found our marks, I briefly placed my hands on Shay’s shoulders and gave them a light squeeze. To my surprise, he reached up with one hand to squeeze me back before turning his body to face the guests filing in.
“You’ve got this,” I quietly murmured, for him alone.
Luckily, with it being a private viewing, the line was relatively short. Equally fortuitous was Shay being “allowed” to sit next to me in the row behind his mother for the memorial.
Since the front row is for family only.
Mrs. Avery didn’t give a speech, which surprised me at first, until I realized she was still the star of the show.
Anyone who said a few words was periodically interrupted by her loud sobs and wails of “God, why? Why did you take her from us?!” which Shay had imitated for me in the cafe earlier to an uncanny degree.
Any playfulness he’d displayed then was long gone now.
The shell of a man beside me curled further into himself with each outburst, his body tensing almost violently at the sound of his mother’s voice.
Throughout it all, his hand remained locked with mine—as if I was the only thing keeping him afloat.
Enough of this.
I waited until the next break between speeches to lean forward. “Excuse me, Mrs. Avery? Shay is feeling ill, and I’d like to take him back to the hotel for a bit to rest. I will get the cemetery name and plot number from Mr. Francesco so we can meet you for the graveside service later on, okay?”
Mrs. Avery turned to give me a withering stare before frowning at her son, who was definitely looking green enough to sell my story.
Not that it should matter.
It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen family dynamics like this hundreds of times before, but because it was happening to Shay, it was all I could do to maintain my infamous calm.
A stranger from a hookup app shouldn’t be the only one supporting him through this.
“I won’t say I’m not disappointed…” Mrs. Avery sighed heavily, all traces of her copious tears miraculously vanished. “But I expect you at the burial, Shane—not just on time but early.”
My blood was boiling as I smiled and nodded politely, gently helping Shay to his feet before hustling him down the aisle and away from the family adding to his pain.
He numbly watched me collect the cemetery information from Mr. Francesco along with my Opal Creek bags. As I settled him into a cab beside me, I gritted my teeth at his continued silence, hoping I hadn't overstepped.
“Josh?” Shay finally spoke, much to my relief. “I-I’m not sure I can handle the graveside service—”
“You’re not going,” I interrupted, sharper than I intended, so I softened my tone to continue.
“At least, not today. If you don’t mind exchanging phone numbers, I’ll text you the cemetery info.
Or I can send it through the app if you prefer.
Either way, I’m dropping you off at your hotel so you can decompress however and for however long you need to. ”
Shay’s jaw had practically dropped to the ripped pleather seat beneath him. “B-but… where are you going?”
This question surprised the hell out of me, considering he’d made it abundantly clear how temporary this arrangement was.
No matter how invested I’ve become.
I wanted to tell him I’d stay by his side as long as he needed, but I also didn’t want to take advantage of how vulnerable he was.
This is just business.
Even if it doesn’t feel like business anymore…
“I’m going to take this cab home to my apartment on West 65th,” I carefully replied before offering us both a solution. “But I will gladly go to the cemetery with you whenever you’re ready.”
He dropped his gaze and nodded before mumbling his hotel information to the cab driver and handing me his unlocked phone.
I saved my number in his contacts and sent myself a text so I could reply with the details he needed—along with a potentially unwanted reminder that I was there for anything he needed.
Anything.
When we reached his hotel on 34th, Shay mumbled his thanks and stumbled out of the cab. I watched him disappear behind the tinted glass doors, gripping the seat so hard, I was probably tearing new holes in the material.
“Where to now, boss?” the cabbie called from the other side of the partition.
I can’t leave him.
Not like this.
“Wait here with the meter running,” I growled, reaching for the door handle. “I’ll be right back.”