Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Finch
"Come in!" I called when I heard a rap, rap, rap on the exam room door.
I lifted my head to see Frankie peek her head in, her long ponytail falling over her shoulder as she looked into the room and spied my patient: a flamingo with an injured foot.
"Hey!" she said a little too cheerily, and I knew she was putting on the voice.
"Hey," I called back, snipping the sticky bandage around the flamingo’s foot. I’d give it less than 24 hours before he managed to work it off and I’d have to replace it.
I was going to find Frankie before my family had a chance to interrogate her about our supposed relationship. But then I’d gotten a radio call from Heron saying there was a flamingo with his foot stuck in the zebra’s watering trough. How , I had no idea, but the bird was successfully rescued from his blundering ways, and after an X-ray concluded there was no break, all that was left to do was wrap up his foot to protect the three stitches. Then I was planning on going straight to the café to find Frankie before one of my siblings spilled the beans.
"Just the person I was looking for," I said, grateful Frankie had summoned herself to my office instead of having to hunt her down. "What's up?"
"Can I, uh, talk to you for a sec? I need to ask you for a favor.”
"Small world," I murmured more to myself than her. I needed a favor too. "Yeah, come on in. He won’t bite. Flamingos have pretty flimsy bite pressure anyway, even if he did.” I tilted my head to beckon her in. "Here," I said, directing the flamingo’s feathered body toward her. "Hold this."
Frankie's eyes flared as she knelt beside me, careful to fold her shin-length linen skirt under her knees. "This?" she squeaked but she took the bird's body, gently holding his wings in place.
“Ron, meet Frankie. Frankie, meet Ron,” I said.
“You named your flamingo Ron?”
“Technically, his full name is Ronald Ulysses Swanson,” I said. “Dove named him.”
"Oh, so this is who that emergency radio call was about?” she asked, looking up at Ron’s long neck.
"Yeah, not my favorite way to start the day, but such is the life of a zoo vet.”
"I'll bet," she said, chuckling as Ron started chittering his beak, making little clicking sounds up Frankie's arm like he was trying to groom her. He was such a love bug, even more of a Casanova than I was.
"That means he likes you," I assured Frankie as I got the last layer of tape out to finish bandaging his wounded webbed foot.
"Oh good. I really couldn't handle any more rejection right now,” she joked and then grimaced. "Speaking of, you'll never guess who I just bumped into at the shops."
"No!" I cursed, almost dropping my scissors. “Sgt. Douchebag?"
She gritted her teeth, seemingly unhappy about her ex’s new nickname, but if the shoe fit. "Yep," she said, popping her P. "I pretended we were still together. I hope that's okay?"
"Perfect actually?—”
"Good because they invited us to a yacht party next Friday and I need you to come with me and pretend to be my girlfriend?” She took a deep, gasping breath after the confession flew out of her. Her brows pinched together, her face going pale, as if she were afraid I was going to say no. "Please, please. I really, really need this. I’ll find a way to make it up to you. Anything you want.”
Ron chose that opportune moment to slip his beak into the neckline of Frankie's blouse and extend his long neck all the way down her shirt.
"Whoa!" Frankie yelped.
I shot forward. “Ronald!” I scolded the bird, dipping my hands into Frankie's shirt without thinking and fishing around for the flamingo's beak.
It wasn't until my fingers grazed across Frankie's breasts that I realized I was digging around her shirt and touching all over her smooth, warm skin.
"Sorry!" I bit out, finally grabbing Ron by the beak and feeding his long neck back out the top of her shirt.
Frankie's cheeks were flushed a gorgeous pink that matched the shade of the bird in front of her.
"I'll forgive you if you promise to come to the yacht party with me?" she asked hopefully, determined despite her nerves.
“Very subtle.” I rolled my eyes. "Agreed, on one condition."
"Anything.”
The way she said it, all breathy and eager, made me clench my jaw, pushing down on the heat rising in my gut.
Anything . She'd give me anything, and fuck if I couldn't think of quite a few things I’d like her to do for me. God, I needed to get laid. It had been nearly four weeks, which in my world was practically a dry spell. After the night I'd kissed her . . . Nope, I wasn't going to read too much into that, especially after I’d just inadvertently touched her boobs.
"My family has been all up my grill about my dating life," I confessed, releasing Ron to let him wander around the room. He immediately tried to attack his bandage, but it would take him a while. "I guess you might say I've developed a reputation."
"Even I have heard about this reputation in my time here,” Frankie teased.
"You’ve been talking to my siblings, haven’t you?” I didn't know why, but I didn't like the idea of Frankie knowing about my playboy lifestyle. "What have you heard?"
"That you've slept with every woman over 21 on this island apart from your family, Aya, and Kirby."
"I'm guessing Kirby told you that." I should get Frankie out of the Salty Dog before they tell her any more misguided stories from my life. Having her stay with those two gossips was a mistake.
"Yep." Her ponytail swished as she laughed. "I'm a little offended you haven't tried to hit on me yet."
"I literally grabbed you by the back of the neck and kissed you a few weeks ago," I deadpanned.
"Only after I asked you to pretend to be my girlfriend in the bar," she replied.
"Yeah, well." My words faded off. She had a point. Normally, pursuing a stunning woman like Frankie would be right up my alley. "I don't normally chase after the recently heartbroken," I said, even though that wasn't even remotely true. Everyone had been fair game to me before. Sex was great for getting over a breakup. I was the perfect revenge lay in the sapphic world. It was honestly a public service for all those heartbroken lesbians.
"Okay,” Frankie said, and I swore she sounded a little disappointed.
"Did you want me to be hitting on you?" I asked skeptically. When her flush deepened, I laughed and leaned in. "Maybe just a little?"
“Just wanted to be included,” she joked breathily. "What was this favor you wanted to ask me?"
"Oh, right." I remembered and leaned back. "I need you to pretend we're seeing each other exclusively." I added hastily, "To my family at least.”
"What?"
Now it was my turn to go red. My ears burned with embarrassment. "I may have told them at our last family dinner that we were dating to get them off my back about my sex life." When she just gaped at me, I continued, "You told the same lie! Don't look at me like that."
"My lie was a one-off—well, two-off—the bar and then this yacht party and then we're done. Your lie is something I'm going to have to pretend every single day for the entire summer!”
Ugh, she had a point. I really, really didn't want to tell my family we'd broken up already or worse—that it was all a lie. I'd never hear the end of it.
"You said Jake is staying on the island for the summer?"
"Yes," she said carefully.
"Then you're going to want us to pretend more than once too," I pointed out.
This was a mess. I was doing a really poor job of explaining it too. Normally, I was smooth as glass, but this made me feel like all rough edges. I knew how to do one-night stands, not relationships. This was all too complicated. "Look, this arrangement would be good for both of us. I get my family off my back for the summer, and in return you make your ex so jealous that he dumps that girl and comes crawling back to you, begging your forgiveness. Win-win."
“I do like the sound of Jake begging . . .” Frankie pursed her lips, considering. Finally, she sighed and shrugged. "Okay, I guess it's actually a smart idea," she lamented. "It lends credibility to the lie. But we need to be convincing." She pointed an accusatory finger at me.
I blew her a kiss. “You don't think I can be convincing, babe?" She blanched at the endearment. “See, it’s you that needs to be convincing."
"We have to get our story straight, uh . . ." She looked all around the room. "When's your lunch break?"
"What?"
"Your lunch break? I'll bring up sandwiches and we can hash out all the details."
"Um, yes to sandwiches—always—but what details?"
"How we met, our first kiss, our goals, our hobbies, all that stuff. We need to act like we know each other if this is going to convince anyone."
"No, yeah, that's a good point," I said. "Okay, 12 o'clock. Meet in my office and we'll figure out all the smoke and mirrors.”
"Okay.” She sounded so relieved. "This is going to be the best fake relationship ever." She said it like she was trying to convince herself.
As she stood, Ron waddled over and started grooming up her legs again. But this time, when his head dipped under Frankie's mid-length skirt, I held my hands up like I had a gun pointing at me.
"You're on your own," I said as Frankie shot me a look. "Unless." I took a teasing step closer. "You want me to help?"
"Don't you dare!" She laughed as she moved Ron’s long neck out from under her skirt, flashing a long strip of creamy, soft thigh as she did.
I swallowed the lump in my throat at the sight, thinking of how good it would feel to trail my lips up that stretch of skin. My stomach dropped. What was I getting myself into?