Chapter 5
FIVE
WAYLON
We really can’t put this fake relationship back in the bag.
I deeply underestimated how much people would give a shit about my dating life. My mom, I expected. She looks so thrilled even across the party. But my friends? My relatives? People I know from way back in high school? All of them have been gawking at us the whole time.
Maybe it’s also because Bianca is new in town and absurdly beautiful. Not a lot of brand new people drop into Jepsen.
“Okay. I should tell you about myself then.” She sighs softly, her stunning bright smile fading. “At least a little more.”
“Go for it.” I put my hand on her lower back and guide her to a set of seats somewhat far away from everyone else.
She starts to sit, but finds the chair is rickety as hell.
“Here, take my seat,” I say, starting to stand up.
She motions for me to sit down. “Should I sit on your lap? If we were dating for real, I’d probably do that.”
“Sure.” The idea of her pressed up against my body, her ass dangerously close to my cock, makes sweat bloom under my arms.
But she’s right - it would look couple-y.
I make space for her on my lap and she sits down, close enough to me so that we don’t look awkward. And unfortunately, her ass is just inches away from a place my body wants it to be, but my brain doesn’t.
After she adjusts, she leans against me a little bit. She smells so fucking good. What lotion or perfume or shampoo could she possibly be using, and can I get it by the gallon?
“So, my mom is Miss G, who had that song Fire like fifteen or so years ago,” she finally says.
The name sounds familiar, but I can’t think of what it sounds like.
“You’d know it if you heard it,” she fills in, tugging at her skirt. It exposes a lot of her long legs and it’s been hard to keep my eyes away from them. “And my dad is a music producer. There’s no way you haven’t heard a song he’s produced.”
“Okay…?” I’m not sure where she’s going with this. But I’m surprised her parents are famous. She’s pretty normal, considering the circumstances.
“Throw in the famous-ish parents, my modeling, and my musician ex, and there are more eyes on me than normal,” she says, pulling Sadie out of her bag by our feet. “And a lot of those folks don’t have the nicest things to say about me online.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
She swallows, scratching Sadie between her ears. The dog’s little tail wags. “Basically, I have a reputation as being a bit of an ice queen. Kind of bitchy, really, even though I think the latter is more of a result of my ex’s fanbase. At least I think so.”
“Who’s your ex?” I ask. I hate that I even care.
She rolls her eyes. “Kyler. If you aren’t a young woman who likes a particular kind of pop music, you probably haven’t heard of him.”
“You’re right about that,” I say. I’ve literally never heard of him in my life, which pleases me more than it should. “And what about him? Your reputation shouldn’t affect this situation.”
“But…” She blinks, looking at me like I’m crazy. “You’re you.”
This time I’m the one looking at her like she’s nuts. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Her eyes soften a little bit. To be honest, there’s a little truth to the ice queen image, but only if you aren’t looking at her closely. Even just knowing her a little bit, I can pluck out the deeper emotions underneath. She seems more shy than icy, the kind of person who warms up once you get to know her more.
“You’re so good . So clean cut,” she says. “You’ve been the best at a ton of stuff and save animals for a living, for fuck’s sake. I walk down runways in clothes no one would reasonably wear in public. Or in next to nothing. At least I used to.”
I consider her words. “But who cares if you were a model?”
“The point is that my image and your image are complete opposites,” she says with a sigh. “Kyler and I aren’t that famous but I wanted to give you a heads up before we get too deep.”
She’s not entirely wrong. We do sound like opposites. But how much could her reputation — assuming people put together the pieces of where she came from — really affect mine?
“It’s a short relationship,” I say. “Like until after the wedding. I’m sure any damage that’s done — if it is — will be fixable. The town has known me a lot longer than they’ve known you.”
She considers my words as Sadie gets up and makes a turn in her lap. Sadie already looks so comfortable with her. I firmly believe that dogs can sense people with good hearts. Bianca has to be one of them.
“Okay, true. I just wanted to give you a heads up so you weren’t thrown off entirely. Odds are it won’t be a problem.”
She didn’t have to tell me all of this, but she did. And while I appreciate the honesty, a pit starts to form in my stomach. Is this actually a bad idea? It’s just a few months — we can fake it for that long before we part ways.
“Hey, can we join you? We got bombarded by people asking us questions about the wedding as if we’ve been engaged for months instead of maybe three weeks tops,” Rose says, approaching with Wes behind her.
“Sure, yeah. Grab a chair though. That one’s broken,” I say.
Wes grabs one from another cluster not too far away, and settles in it with Rose in his lap. They’re comfortably pressed against each other, Wes’s arms around Rose.
“They’re already harassing you about wedding plans?” I ask. “Not surprised.”
“Yep.” Wes sighs and pulls Rose closer. “Rose more than me.”
“I mean, your mom and cousin had some really good wedding inspiration Instagram accounts to follow,” Rose says, pulling out her phone. “Now if only I could just follow them and people I actually want to see stuff from instead of all these ads. And I’m over social media for work, too. Just ads on ads on ads.”
“I thought Chrissy was handling social media for us?” Wes asks, looking over Rose’s shoulder. Chrissy is our younger cousin and she’s not the most responsible person I’ve ever met.
“She’s doing a half-assed job.” Rose snorts as she scrolls. “I need a person who actually knows what they’re doing. Someone who has actual time to do it.”
“I can help,” Bianca says, to my surprise. “I mostly have experience with my own social media, but I’ve helped other models build their followings. I mean, if you need me.”
She shifts on my lap, fiddling with her earring. Her curls tickle my cheek with every movement.
“That would be amazing,” Rose says. “I mean, the pay wouldn’t be crazy high, but my gratitude would be endless.”
Bianca looks back at me, gauging my reaction. I nod — if she wants to, why would I stop her?
“Sure, yeah,” she says.
“Hold on, let me get your phone number and IG handle before I forget,” Rose says, hopping off Wes’s lap.
They end up talking for a while, and I peek at Bianca’s Instagram over her shoulder while she and Rose talk about it. It looks perfectly curated, exactly as I’d expect.
And she has a whole lot of modeling photos that I’ll be taking a closer look at later. Even though I probably shouldn’t.
The conversation slowly morphs from social media bullshit (that thankfully I’m not forced to deal with) to more about whether Wes and Rose will have Murphy in their wedding ceremony.
Like most of the night (aside from Mom’s weird attempt to talk me up using the photo wall), it’s easy. Bianca’s edge of anxiety slowly starts to fade the further the night goes, and she slowly sinks into me, like she can’t help it.
I let my hands wander as far as they can while still being polite because apparently, I love torturing myself. She’s so soft everywhere, and I feel like her scent is giving me just as much of a buzz as the drinks are.
I always end up a little more drunk than I intend to be at family gatherings, and after another hour, the combo of booze and fatigue starts to hit me, hard.
“Hey,” I say, lightly squeezing Bianca’s arms.
“Hi.” She covers her mouth as she yawns. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine. I was actually going to ask if you’re fine with us crashing here tonight,” I say. “It’ll take a while for me to sober up and by then it might be too late to drive us back.”
“Sure, yeah.” She cuddles against me more. Okay, she’s also a little tipsy. There’s an adorable haze in her eyes that wasn’t there before, and it breaks through her deceptively cool exterior.
“See you on Monday, Bianca?” Rose asks.
“Yeah, Monday,” Bianca says with a slight smile.
Rose and Wes leave us alone and I give Bianca as much space as I can with her sitting on my lap. I miss her warmth almost immediately. I’ve always been physically affectionate, but I forgot how much I love casual touch. Especially when she leans into me just a little bit, like she wants my warmth.
“Moonshine is very strong,” she says with a hazy smile.
“I can tell you found that out. Want to grab a snack or something before we crash? We’ll probably be on the couches but they’re comfortable,” I say.
“Yeah, I should eat. More.” She takes a deep breath. “The food is so good . It’s been so long since I could eat a ton of bread. Bread is so good.”
I smile and guide her toward the house, where some of my family has started to take in leftovers. Am I touching her too much? My hands just naturally wandered up and down her back, gently cupping the back of her neck and playing with the soft little hairs back there. She’s been leaning into my touch more and more.
“I’m so glad I’m done with that modeling bullshit,” she says. Apparently she’s a chatty drunk. “Like, human bodies shouldn’t stay exactly the same size? I get bloated. I eat tacos. Are there tacos here?”
“Yeah, probably not nearly as good as the ones in LA though.” I peer into the kitchen. “We’re more barbecue and southern food types.”
“Barbecue is so good too!” Her face lights up and god, she’s so pretty like this. “I’ve never had it until today.”
“Never?” I raise both eyebrows.
“Never.” She shakes her head. “I like the pulled pork stuff. And the ribs.”
“Then let’s get some pulled pork. On bread.” I grab some small plates and put together some pulled pork sliders.
My mom comes into the room, her hair pinned up. She looks a little worn out but smiles when she sees us.
“Hello, hello! Getting a little snack?” Mom asks.
“Yeah. Can we crash here tonight?” I ask, grabbing us each a plate. “I can’t drive home.”
“Of course! You and Wes’s old room is all set up. Just got a new king size bed in there,” Mom says, grabbing a plate too.
I freeze for a second before I continue to put some pulled pork on a slider bun. “We’re fine with the couches if Wes and Rose want the bedroom.”
“No, they’re staying in the room above the garage. Much bigger.” Mom scoops a huge pile of Nana’s peach cobbler onto her plate. “Y’all want any cobbler?”
“No, thanks,” Bianca says.
“I’m good too.” I wrack my brain for any excuse to try to take the couches instead of the bed, but can’t think of any that wouldn’t tip Mom off. Shit.
“Okay. You know where the sheets are. And the towels.” Mom comes over and kisses me on the cheek, then gives Bianca a hug. “Good night.”
“Night.”
Thankfully Mom slips away to her and Dad’s room, leaving me and Bianca alone in the kitchen.
“I can sleep on the floor,” I say softly.
She snags one of the sliders and takes a dainty bite, studying me. I can’t quite read her, but eventually she shrugs.
“If you want to fuck up your back, go ahead.” She shrugs. “I don’t mind splitting the bed.”
I blow out a breath through my nose. I can have good self-control. Sharing a bed with a woman who I’d love to fuck in any other circumstance, when we just agreed to a fake relationship. One that’s fake for very good reasons.
We finish eating our snack and I guide her to the bedroom. Mom must have slipped in and put some fresh towels and sheets on the corner of the bed. Duke walks straight to the dog bed that’s always lived in the corner for any of the family dogs that want to sleep in our room, and flops down. Bianca lets Sadie down and Sadie joins him, squeezing against him.
“This was your room?” Bianca asks, looking around.
“Yeah, Wes and I shared. Mom’s redecorated it though, thankfully. It used to be a whole lot nerdier,” I say. “Do you want to use the bathroom first?”
“Sure. Can I borrow a t-shirt or something?” She fluffs up her curls.
“Yeah.” I go into the drawers and find one of my old ones, then dig around for some shorts. All the ones I have would fall right off her. “I don’t have shorts, though.”
“It’s fine, I don’t sleep with pants on.” She takes the t-shirt and a washcloth before disappearing to our attached bathroom.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to redirect the blood from my cock to my brain. Bianca sleeping in just my t-shirt and panties wasn’t in my mental fantasy bank, but now it’s taken up a permanent spot.
I make the bed and double check that the dogs are fine in their shared bed. Sadie’s toasted marshmallow fur blends in with Duke’s light brown fur, so they look like one ball of dog. Eventually Bianca comes out, her curls up in a bun on top of her head. If the thought of her in nothing but one of my t-shirts and panties was devastating, seeing her in it is going to fucking kill me before the night is over.
Her height exposes more of her long, smooth legs under the shirt, and the neckline of it is stretched out just enough to expose a tantalizing bit of collarbone. She’s not self-conscious whatsoever, and I’m not sure if it’s from her being a little drunk or her modeling making her confident in her body.
She flops onto the bed, face down, and sighs. The hem of the t-shirt flips up, exposing her ass in a tiny pair of pink lace panties. Her ass is so nicely shaped and the way her panties cling to her are like art. I suck in a breath and she tugs the t-shirt over her butt again.
I hustle to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. The bed is big. I’m pretty tired, honestly. I can keep my cock under control, even though I was having a difficult time keeping it together when she just sat on my lap. After I brush my teeth, I go back out.
“Is it fine if I take off my shirt?” I ask her.
“Mmhm.” She rolls over and watches me as I toss my shirt aside. Her eyes scan my chest as I get into bed, trying to stick to my side of it.
I flick off the lamp on my side table, but the light from the moon is just bright enough to cast the room in a slight glow. I can’t help but look over at her, and she’s facing me.
“Tonight was kinda nice,” Bianca says, curling up on her side and facing me. It feels intimate, especially with her guard down like this. Her eyes are filled with sleepy warmth.
“Yeah? You weren’t terrified by my mom’s shrine to me being an overachiever?” I still can’t believe my mom did that. Then again, the only other woman who’s come over was Catherine, and she was overachieving alongside me. My accomplishments weren’t as big of a deal.
“No. It made this all made sense. The fake relationship thing.” Her expression softens with curiosity. “Is it a lot? Being under that much pressure from her? Or having her and like half the women in town be that invested in your life?”
I swallow, looking up on the ceiling. “Yeah, to be honest. It felt so much easier in high school and even in college because my success was easily measurable — grades and awards. I knew whether I measured up. Now that I’m an adult, it’s less cut and dry. I kind of wish I could just…not give a shit about whether I’m seen as successful or not, whether it’s work or doing stuff in the community or my relationships.”
“Just break free?” she asks.
“Yeah, exactly. Just live life without either my mom constantly in the back of my head or the little voice that tells me it feels good to win.” I swallow. “Which feels like I should just be able to ignore. I’m not a kid anymore.”
The drinks made that way more honest than I wanted to be. But she doesn’t judge. She just nods and scans my face.
“Sometimes our brains do shit that doesn’t make any sense, no matter how you try to look at it.” She fluffs up her pillow. “My brain does it too.”
“How?” I ask. I want to know more. To feel more of this — like she’s just trying to listen instead of fix. I want to give the same to her.
She shakes her head and closes her eyes. “I guess I’ve always been under a lot of pressure to follow a path and modeling felt like the best one at the time. Then within that there’s a ton of pressure to look a certain way or have a certain number of followers or date certain kinds of people. Which ran me into my shitty ex and kept me with him for two whole years. I wish he’d just leave me the fuck alone.”
“You’re sure he’s not threatening you?” I sit up on one elbow. I saw a few pictures of her ex on her Instagram, but he seemed too meek to harass a woman he’d date. Then again, he did look like a raging douchebag so maybe I’m wrong.
“I’m sure,” she says. When I raise an eyebrow, she holds up a hand. “It’s fine, really. Complicated. Whatever. But basically, it’s been nice being here. I even created some bucket lists so I can actually explore the world beyond my old bubble.”
I hate the idea of her ex harassing her, or even reaching out after their breakup, but I don’t want to push her too far. So I pivot.
“Bucket lists?” I ask. “Not just one?”
“No, I want to keep them organized.” She gives me a little secretive smile. “I have one for dumb, normal person stuff. Like baking things or eating at a restaurant alone. Then semi-normal bucket list stuff like stargazing in a place that’s legitimately dark or hiking up a mountain. Then there’s the sex one.”
I nearly choke on my own spit. “Sex one?”
She laughs, her eyes fluttering shut more out of fatigue than anything else. “God, never mind. It’s so dumb. It’s not even a bucket list, per se. It’s more like a ‘I want to learn how to be good at sex and what good sex is’ list, but that’s kind of too wordy to say.”
I blink several times. What do I even say in response to that? Or at least, what do I say that’s actually appropriate?
Before I can respond, she chuckles.
“This is weird as hell, but did you know I’ve gotten railed better in fanfics written about me and my ex than I have in real life?” she asks. “Everyone thinks he’d be some sweet gentle lover who actually makes me come but in reality, he just pumped it in and called it a day.”
My blood is heating, both in arousal and in anger. He couldn’t make her come? It sounds like he didn’t even try, which is the worst part. I don’t understand guys who just fuck women without caring if their partner gets off.
Making a woman get off is one of the best parts of sex. And finding out all the different ways to do it is even more fun.
“Whatever,” she mumbles, yawning. “Night.”
She’s passed out seconds later and I’m left wide awake, trying to ignore all the things I’d want to teach her.