Chapter 6
Max
I can’t believe he said yes. I’ve got a boyfriend. A fake boyfriend. My plan worked.
Admittedly, he’s not quite what I was expecting, but I can’t claim that Doily hasn’t delivered what I asked for.
Talk about a hottie. The man is outrageously handsome, tall and olive-skinned with a swoop of dark hair that tumbles over his jade green eyes.
And he’s definitely got a bit of an edge.
I wonder if I made a mistake with that particular request. I’m unnerved by how direct Hunter is, something I can’t imagine going down well in a diplomatic setting.
He hasn’t given the impression that he’s the easiest person to work with.
But the second he agrees to my proposal, a switch flips.
He becomes focused, snapping into gear and out of whatever mood he was in.
As we get down to business and into the detail of what I want from him, there’s a spark, an energy that radiates from him.
He pulls out a notebook and pen and starts scribbling.
There’s nothing casual about this for him. This is serious role play.
We agree that we won’t tell any lies unless strictly necessary.
Still, knowing how nosy my colleagues are, we come up with a story for how we met and how long we’ve been dating.
When I tell him he’s going to have to pretend to be an orthodontist called Edwin, Hunter takes it in his stride.
He tells me the best characters are created from real life, but suggests that he should only be a trainee orthodontist, so he’s not expected to be too much of an expert on anything.
He looks up a course on orthodontics, so he can picture what he’s been studying this week.
I tell him no one is going to be grilling him on brace moulds, but he says you never know, and in any case, it’s more about getting into that headspace.
I’m not going to argue with the process.
I’m feeling more reassured by the minute.
We decide that for Hunter to come across as a stable and dependable presence in my life, we need to have been fake dating for as long as possible.
I figure the longest we can get away with is four months, since it was about that long ago that I recall telling Nessie about a trombone player I was stalking on Feeld, and it feels like we have enough to worry about without bringing trombones into the mix.
The only issue arises when I suggest that rather than making everything up, we might use a few details from Hunter’s life.
‘Why?’ Hunter fires back.
His defences have gone up instantly in a way that intrigues me.
‘I . . . I don’t know. I thought it might make it easier.’
‘Do you understand what acting is?’
‘It just feels weird that I don’t really know anything about you.’
‘You don’t need to. You’re dating Edwin. Forget about me.’
I’m getting the feeling I might find that difficult.
Someone once told me that actors are always less interesting than the characters they play.
I’m not sure that’s true in Hunter’s case.
Edwin the orthodontist was not the most alluring of guys, but there’s something about Hunter that has already got under my skin.
‘Backstory isn’t important,’ says Hunter. ‘What matters is how I meet people in the moment. Have you had any thoughts about costume?’
‘What about it?’
‘Does this work?’
He gestures at his outfit. I try to focus, but I can’t help noticing that his pecs are straining to get out of his shirt.
‘Yeah, that’ll do.’
Hunter scowls. ‘“That’ll do?” Do you want to get this job or not?’
I frown at him. ‘Of course I do.’
‘Then take it seriously. Costume is everything. Right now, I’m dressed as an actor going to a meeting at a pub.
I need to be dressed like a trainee orthodontist who is accompanying his boyfriend of four months to a high-profile work event.
What’s the dress code? What conversations did you have about this? ’
‘With who?’
‘Edwin! Me! Your boyfriend!’
As he looks at me with total conviction, something between us ignites. Just for a moment, I believe that we really have been dating for four months. That he’s looking forward to supporting me tonight after missing the big event at Buckingham Palace. That the attraction between us is real.
But then Hunter gestures back at his outfit. I reassess the cotton shirt and slacks. Now that he mentions it, maybe it’s not formal enough for a diplomatic event.
‘Don’t worry about offending me,’ Hunter says. ‘If it’s not right, let’s change it.’
‘Isn’t it a bit late for that?’
‘Not at all.’ Hunter finishes his drink in one swig. ‘Oxford Street is right there.’
We march over there at double quick pace.
I’m kind of bowled over by his professionalism.
If he’s this dedicated, maybe I really can mould him into a creation that can compete with the brilliant Flora Forbes.
I suggest going to Primark to cut costs, but Hunter insists that Zara is more appropriate. He’s so decisive that I don’t argue.
We head upstairs to the men’s section, where decade-old pop hits are playing on loop.
Hunter flicks through the racks like he’s Miranda Priestly, holding fabrics up to the light, testing textures between his fingers.
He gathers a few shirts and pairs of chinos and heads towards the fitting rooms. I linger by the entrance, but Hunter glances over his shoulder.
‘Come on, we don’t have all day.’
The cubicle looked big enough from the outside, but inside there’s barely any room.
I smile at Hunter to acknowledge the awkwardness, but he ignores me.
There are mirrors on three sides, reflecting both of us from every angle.
Hunter drops his selection of clothes on the bench, unbuttons his shirt and slips it off, completely at home with being topless.
I look away out of courtesy, only to see his reflection.
His skin is marked with tan lines, his back and shoulders sculpted enough that he must work out, but not so much that he obsesses over it.
His lower back has a downy sheen of hair that disappears into his belt. Hunter pulls on one of the shirts.
‘I like it,’ he says, examining himself in the mirror.
I murmur in agreement, too overwhelmed by our proximity to offer any kind of meaningful appraisal.
I’m expecting him to try on another shirt, but instead Hunter reaches for his belt.
The sound of unbuckling gives me a rush of adrenaline.
I tell myself to look at the ceiling, the floor, anywhere else, but instead I glance down right at the moment he drops his trousers and I catch a glimpse of his Calvin Klein briefs and the clear outline of his package straining to be contained.
I blush furiously, avoiding Hunter’s gaze, but he doesn’t seem remotely self-conscious.
‘What do you think?’ he asks, pulling on the new trousers. ‘Too tight?’
He turns his back to me, which means it’s my duty to look. The trousers are perfectly cupping his sculpted behind.
‘They look great,’ I say. ‘But you need to be comfortable.’
I glance up and our eyes meet in the mirror.
There it is, that same spark from earlier, only in a setting like this, it’s far more loaded.
The air between us crackles with electricity.
Everything is telling me to look away, but those eyes won’t let me.
I hold his gaze for a beat too long, my lips unconsciously parting.
A knowing smile flickers across Hunter’s face.
What’s he thinking?
My heart is racing, and then, oh god, I feel a twitch between my legs. I avert my eyes, turning even more red than before.
I feel like the floor has fallen out from beneath me, but not a word has been said.
Hunter slips off the first pair of trousers and folds them neatly on the bench, then steps into the next pair.
My gaze is fixed downwards, but as he bends his leg to pull on the trousers, I see a clear side view of his bulge in one of the mirrors.
I could swear it’s got bigger, tugging against the zipper of his trousers with impressive heft as he pulls them on and tucks it out of sight.
It’s only the briefest of glimpses, and yet those swelling contours against the white cotton are enough to make me unsteady on my feet.
The evidence is unmistakable: not only is he very well endowed, but he’s turned on by what just happened. We both are.
‘Better?’ Hunter asks.
He looks at himself in the mirror as he adjusts the waistband.
I swallow and do my best to assess him. The trousers fit like they were made for him, and now that the outfit is complete, it’s shocking how much it has changed his look.
I’m not sure if it’s quite giving trainee-orthodontist-who-I’ve-been-dating-for-four-months, but only because I can’t imagine someone this hot, this suave and assured, being part of my chaos.
Admittedly, the look is only half the battle.
The next few hours are going to be a minefield.
But Hunter is committed, and I couldn’t be more grateful.
‘You look perfect,’ I manage to stutter. I offer him my arm like some Regency gentleman. ‘Let’s do this.’
Hunter looks down at my arm with a smirk, then brushes past me and walks out.