Chapter 5 Nicholas #2
“The questionnaire I made in excel to see if we were compatible.”
“What does it matter if we’re compatible? It’s not real.”
“Be that as it may,” Andrew scoffs, “appearances matter. I still don’t know why you want a fake boyfriend since neither you nor Amanda were forthcoming about that over dinner, but I’m going to assume it’s related to some kind of PR issue, meaning people will be paying attention and—”
“It’s not a PR stunt. I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks about me. If someone doesn’t like me, they can fuck off.”
“How charming,” Andrew says in such a calm tone it’s impossible to tell if he’s being serious or sarcastic. Before Nicholas can try and figure that out, he’s being handed a stack of papers. “I took the liberty of printing it out for you to fill out over dinner.”
“What the fuck is this?”
“I just told you, it’s a compatibility questionnaire.”
Nicholas’s eyes scan over the first page which ranges from do you like coffee to what is your preferred method of transportation.
There are several more pages of questions including things like what side of the bed he prefers, if he’s a morning or night person and even how many dates would you need to go on before using the term boyfriend.
Nicholas can do nothing more than stare at the papers like it’s some kind of test he’s doomed to fail.
“I’m not fucking filling this out.”
“Yes, you are,” Andrew replies with a frankly annoyingly calm smile. “Then after, we can go over the contract I drew up.”
“I thought you were an accountant, not a lawyer.”
“I am an accountant. My parents are lawyers.”
“You had your parents draw up a contract to fake date me?” Nicholas gapes.
“No,” Andrew replies as if Nicholas is the ridiculous one in this situation.
“I don’t want anyone to know I’m fake dating you.
Which is why I’ve included an NDA in there.
In fact, if this isn’t a PR stunt then as few people as possible will even need to know we’re dating—or fake dating if you want to be accurate—as possible.
Eventually, we’ll have to just call it dating if we both agree to move forward with this.
Honestly though, this will all be a lot easier than I initially anticipated if we don’t need to involve my brothers—particularly Charlie. ”
“Why the fuck would we involve your brother?”
“Because Charlie is a nosy fucker who knows everything about me. Or almost everything. It would be almost impossible to hide this from him, but that might be the smartest thing because there’s just no way he’d believe we were dating.”
“Why the fuck not?” Nicholas asks, voice too loud judging by the stares they garner.
“Lower your voice please,” Andrew requests.
“Fuck you,” Nicholas grumbles, crossing his arms.
“You’ll feel better once the food comes. Did you eat today?”
“Do you ask all your dates what they ate?” Nicholas snarks.
“Only the ones who burn six thousand calories a day as a professional athlete and therefore are likely to experience more severe blood sugar crashes when they don’t eat enough,” Andrew answers. “Alternatively, you ate plenty today and your default is just an asshole.”
“I am an asshole,” Nicholas confirms, “don’t expect anything else.”
Most people take this as their cue to depart, but Andrew merely sips his water again, seemingly unruffled by Nicholas’s bark.
He’s so calm that Nicholas can’t decide if it makes him want to calm down to match Andrew’s energy or rile Andrew up.
It’s contradictory and a little arousing, only confusing Nicholas further.
“Why the fuck won’t Charlie believe we’re dating?” Nicholas demands, needing a distraction.
“Oh, because.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Because you’re you,” Andrew offers, as if that explains anything.
“Don’t fucking telling me I’m not good enough? I’m rich, famous and sexy as fuck.”
“So modest too,” Andrew deadpans.
“Fu—”
“Your dinner, sirs.”
Nicholas sits up a little straighter. He might’ve done his best to drill out the social niceties and fine manners his parents spent thousands of dollars instilling in him with nannies and boarding school, but he’s got enough to know to be polite when a server is around.
Soon the table is covered in an array of colorful dishes, at least on Andrew’s side.
Nicki’s steak and mushrooms pales in comparison to the multitude of dishes set in front of Andrew.
“Why are there so many plates?” Nicholas asks.
“I don’t like when my food touches,” Andrew answers, the expression on his face making it clear he’s waiting for Nicholas to poke fun. He might be an asshole, but he’s not a fucking dick.
“Fair enough,” Nicholas shrugs, digging into his own food with intensity.
To his surprise, Andrew doesn’t pepper him with more questions, or push the stupid fucking paperwork.
If anything he seems to almost disappear into himself, quietly eating.
It’s not until Nicholas is almost done with his own food that he realizes Andrew is eating in a sequential pattern so that every plate has the exact same amount of food left on it.
He’s well-mannered in an effortless way, the kind of way Nicholas’s parents wanted him to be but he could never manage.
There’s something mesmerizing about the movement of his elegant hands as he uses the chopsticks and the little sigh of pleasure he makes when he takes a bite.
Nicholas can’t seem to take his eyes off Andrew, watching the chopsticks disappear between his narrow lips, the tip of his tongue darting out to lick the end.
Maybe Nicholas hit his head against the boards harder than he thought in the game last night. That’s the only conceivable explanation for why he’s getting a hard on under the table watching Andrew fucking King eat sushi.
Suddenly his own appetite is gone, and he pokes morosely at his own food.
Someone like Andrew probably wouldn’t date Nicholas for real.
Not that he wants to date Andrew, or anyone else for that matter.
Watching his parents' toxic marriage unfold was enough to turn him off the idea of relationships completely. Regardless, it’s hard for Nicholas not to compare them.
While Andrew is not wealthy or famous, he’s effortlessly refined like he belongs here.
He’s also clearly a much nicer person than Nicholas since he’s here against his own desires because Amanda and Denise asked for his help.
What kind of person does shit they don’t want to, especially fake dating someone, just because someone needed help?
Someone who is a better person than Nicholas, that’s for sure.
“Is something wrong with your food?” Andrew questions.
“No, it’s perfect.” Nicholas makes a show of taking a bite, chewing it is suddenly like chewing sandpaper. He needs to get the fuck out of here. He can’t sit across from this man who is kind and decent and obnoxiously handsome.
He needs to do something—break something or get drunk or punch someone. He needs to get behind the wheel of his Ferrari and find a deserted road to speed down. Anything besides sitting here in his own brain.
“We should get the check.”
Andrew blinks, glancing down at his own side of the table. “I’m not done yet.”
“You can finish, I’ll pay.”
“Oh.” Andrew’s cheeks darken, his face falling. “I understand.”
“Understand what?” Nicholas questions.
“You’ve changed your mind,” Andrew says, looking resigned. “I thought you might but, well—it doesn’t matter.”
“What doesn’t matter?” Nicholas demands.
“Nothing.”
“Tell me,” Nicholas demands, unsure why he needs to know so bad.
“You aren’t the first man to leave mid-date.
I just thought we’d at least get to the parameters of the contract before you left.
” Andrew wipes his mouth with his napkin, gulping down water far faster than earlier.
There’s a slight tremble in his hands, and Nicholas has the sudden urge to punch whoever ditched Andrew before and made him feel bad.
“I’m just tired from this week's games,” Nicholas tries.
“You don’t need to lie to me. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t,” Andrew says, pulling out his wallet.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Nicholas snaps.
“Uh, getting ready to split the check.”
“You’re not fucking paying for dinner, and we’re not done.”
“You just said—”
“Ignore what I just said, I’m not fucking tired anymore,” Nicholas says, stabbing his steak so hard the fork clatters loudly against the plate. “Eat your dinner and then we’ll go over this fucking contract stuff. Then you can tell me if you changed your mind.”
“Me?” Andrew says, clearly confused.
“Yeah, you.” Nicholas clenches his jaw. He sure as fuck doesn’t deserve Andrew’s help, or a man like Andrew, not even for a fake boyfriend, but he’s also not going to be the one to walk away. “I’m a pain in the ass. You might not be able to handle me.”
“I can handle you just fine,” Andrew counters, hesitantly picking up his chopsticks. “You’re moody though, and loud.”
“I know.”
“You do look very pretty tonight.”
“The fuck?”
“I said you look very pretty tonight,“ Andrew repeats.
“I heard you the first time, but who the fuck calls a man pretty?” Nicholas questions.
He leaves off the ‘especially a man like me’.
Sure he’d been told he had a bit of a pretty boy face as a teenager, but he’s grown into his body in a way that makes his features too hard to be pretty and his tattoos too harsh to be remotely close to it.
“I do,” Andrew replies, seemingly regaining his confidence. It’s annoying but also kind of sexy.
“I’m not fucking pretty,” Nicholas grumbles.
“Whatever you say, Nicki.”
“That’s right, what I say.”
Andrew’s mouth quirks up in the corner like he’s trying not to smile. “Sure.”
“I am in charge right now,” Nicholas argues.
“I said sure.”
“You said it with a tone.”
“That’s just my voice.”
“No, you had a tone.”
“Would you prefer it if I didn’t talk?”