Chapter Two
Jen
“Who’s the hot guy and where do I get one?” My friend Mabel steps into the house, a cool breeze carrying in behind her as she flips her long auburn hair back over her shoulder.
I consider telling her that the man in question is a handyman or a circus clown, anything but the guy I hired to take me to the wedding, but Mabel will be there as well, and given the fact that we’re best friends, I figure she deserves in on my bullshit.
“He’s my fake date,” I manage, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Your fake date?” She narrows her brows with judgment, a signature move that I usually bond with her over. “What does that mean?”
“Reed is going to be at Brian and Lydia’s wedding with his new girlfriend, so,” I shrug like people do this all the time, “I hired a fake date.”
She glares up over the wood banister at the man currently scraping some kind of mud all over the wall. “And he also does home repairs?”
“He was supposed to have finished them already.” I shake my head and take her hand in mine, dragging her into the kitchen and out of the man’s earshot. This guy doesn’t need another boost to his ego. Something tells me he’s doing just fine in that department.
“Wow, I like it. Is this some sort of kink thing? Does he like being bossed around and told what to do, or do you get off on your ex watching you with another man?”
I consider the options and wonder which is truer. “Oh God,” I groan, taking a sip of the coffee I’ve just poured. “Am I that girl?”
“Maybe.” She shrugs and sets her mug down on the granite countertop I had installed last week. “The countertops look great, though. The whole place does. You’ve really done a lot with it.”
“Wait, go back to the weird kink thing. Do you think I’m a weirdo for bringing a fake date?”
She shakes her head, hiding her smile behind her mug as she takes another sip. “What? Who said that?”
“You did! You asked me if this was a kink or something.”
“Well,” her eyes widen, “is it?”
“No! You can’t tell me you wouldn’t want to make your ex jealous too. I mean, you—”
“You don’t have to explain it to me. I know what he put you through, and I saw the little tramp he’s with.
So, I say go for it.” She takes another sip of her coffee.
“I’m just surprised is all. You’re usually so reserved, and this guy is…
wild-looking. I think you’re definitely going to put on a show. ”
“A bad show?”
“No.” She shakes her head back and forth quickly. “If I were your ex, I’d be jealous. That dude is big, rough, hot, and he looks like he knows how to have a good time. How do the details work on that? Do you pay him, or provide other services?”
I don’t have it in me to get into the details of the arrangement, so I nod and change the subject. “Something like that. We’re still working out the specifics. Does this kitchen remind you of anything?”
Mabel’s eyes draw through the galley-style kitchen, taking in the oak cupboards and the pine floors. “It’s a lot like your parents’ place.”
I grin. “Right? Even the maple trees through that window bring back memories of their house.”
“Absolutely.” She wanders toward the window and stares out, the red and orange leaves spiraling to the ground. “We used to climb that tree outside the kitchen window every day after school before your mom hollered for you to come practice piano.”
I pinch my lips together and nod, my heart somehow both full and sad all at once.
“I’m so thankful you made the move out here with me. It’s so nice to have a friend that remembers the old days.”
“Your parents practically raised me. You’re my family, Jen. I just… I worry you overextended yourself. I mean, how are you going to afford all this? You haven’t written in months. I mean, where did you even find the cash for the renovations or the handyman sex god?”
“Handyman sex god?” I laugh. “I hope so, ‘cause I’ve got a few entryways that could use some work.”
Did I say that out loud?
“Seriously,” she presses. “I’m worried about you. The divorce, your job, and now the renovations. You’re running yourself ragged.”
“One good book and I’m back on track, and the divorce made everything easier.”
She tilts her head to the side as though she doesn’t believe me. “I know you’re putting a brave face on, but I think you should talk to someone.”
“I am.” I twist toward the kitchen sink and run the water for a second before turning it off again. “I’m talking to you.”
“I mean someone who knows how to help. Doesn’t your livelihood depend on writing?”
“I’m okay.” I nod, knowing full well that I’m lying through my teeth. “I just have to get in the mood to write the best book I’ve ever written.”
“What gets you in the mood?” She leans against the counter as she talks and sips the dark roast I paid far too much for at the corner store.
“I don’t know anymore. That’s the problem.
I used to feel like a different person when I was in my alter ego writer world.
Now, I just feel like me, and I guess I don’t have much to say.
” I’ve barely finished my sentence when I hear Atlas’ heavy weight on the stairs.
I’m not sure why this makes me nervous, but suddenly, my stomach is churning.
It could be because Mabel is very opinionated, or maybe it’s because I know whatever this guy does or says is going to lead to a thousand more questions I don’t have the answer to.
“Walls all set.” Atlas steps toward me like he’s known me for ages, like we’ve been dating for years, like he’s used to greeting me with broad shoulders, a strong back, and a kiss. He wraps his arm around my waist and tugs me against his massive frame.
A moment later, his lips are on mine, warm and hot, as the scent of pine, cedar, and some other masculine scent surround me.
What the hell is happening?
I should struggle against his touch and pretend I don’t want this, but it feels so good to be pressed against his giant frame. It feels invigorating to have his warmth against me, his lips on mine, his rough touch across my skin.
A gentle hum echoes up my throat as he tugs me in tighter, the rough bulge in his jeans apparent as it presses against my stomach. When it begins to protrude, he pulls back with a groan, his gaze on mine like he wants me to know he’s interested.
“Have fun with your friends tonight. I’ll come by in the morning and we can catch up.” He kisses the top of my head and turns back, nodding toward Mabel. “Make sure you keep this one on her best behavior.”
Mabel smiles and glances toward me, but I don’t think she responds. I don’t know because I’m too busy having a panic attack to notice.
Seriously, my heart is going to pound straight out of my chest!
The second he’s out the door, Mabel glares at me. “Umm… if that comes with the fake boyfriend package, I see why you’re paying for it!”
“Yeah,” I lick my lips, the scent of his masculine pine still surrounding me, “it’s convincing.”
“Reed is going to be so jealous. Hell, I’m jealous and I actually want good things for you.” She steps down into the sunroom and folds her legs up onto the couch, coffee still in hand. “Are you worried this could all blow up in your face, though?”
“How so?”
“I don’t know. Any chance someone might recognize him?”
I hadn’t thought of that.
“Where’s he from?” She takes another sip of coffee.
I glance around at the house he grew up in. “Here.”
She nods, though I’m not sure she fully connects the dots. “So, he’s from Rugged Mountain?” Mabel shakes her head. “Just be careful. Everyone knows everyone in this town. That could totally blow up in your face.”
“I see what you’re saying. I’ll keep an eye out.”
“No, you won’t,” she groans playfully. “You’re still thinking about that kiss.”
My chest squeezes the second she says it. “Yeah, ‘cause clearly I’m desperate for human affection.”
“Does your handyman sex god package include,” she grins, “his package?”
My cheeks heat. “This isn’t prostitution!” I say with a chuckle, though I kind of wish it was. I’ve definitely spent triple what this is costing me on far less. “It’s a date. A deal. A favor. That’s all. We’re just showing up to the wedding, acting like we’re in love, and that’s the end of it.”
“And it won’t be weird when Reed comes by a few weeks later and you’ve broken things off with the handyman sex god?”
I shrug, wishing a teeny bit that the date wasn’t pretend. Not because I think Atlas is a great catch, but because I crave that ‘want you so bad feeling’ everyone talks about. Reed never had that level of passion, and it seems like it’s happening for everyone but me.
“It’s not… it’ll be fine. Look, I’m forty this year, Mabs.
Forty! I know people say that’s not old, and blah blah blah, but it feels pretty damn old when your ex trades you in for a twenty-something.
I can’t get the image of him hanging all over her out of my head.
It’s burned into my skull. I mean, who shows up to a pee-wee football game in a bikini top? ”
Mabel nods enthusiastically. “And this whole thing will be over in a month.”
“They’ve been together two months already and she’s like totally obsessed with him.”
“Because she has daddy issues.”
I roll my eyes. “She picked the wrong daddy then.”
“Exactly, and she’ll see that and move on. Reed is awful. No way she doesn’t realize that.”
I don’t say anything because, for some reason, I’m afraid of my thoughts.
Afraid of what the future looks like if some twenty-something is raising my son.
Afraid of what a future looks like where everything is different.
Isn’t that funny, the way your mind works?
Even when things are bad, different sounds worse.
My therapist told me it’s because our minds are wired for routine, and even chaos can become routine.
“It’s going to be okay.” Mabel leans forward and brushes her hand against my leg. “Forty is young, really. You’ve still got more than half your life ahead of you.”
“The worst half.”
“Hey!” Mabel shoves me again. “I’m a year older than you. Watch your mouth.”
“Sorry. You’re right. We’re young and—”
“No, we’re not young. We’re old enough to see the mistakes we’ve made and smart enough now to make better decisions. Also, let’s face it… we’re hotter.”
“Hotter?” I laugh. “Hotter than the twenty-something in the bikini top?”
“Yeah,” Mabel nods and shrugs her shoulders, “we’re hotter.
And I don’t know about you, but I know what I want now.
I didn’t know shit when I was in my twenties, and I spent my thirties so focused on helping my mom that I completely lost myself.
” She sighs loudly. “It’s time for both of us to get back out there. By the way, how old is Atlas?”
“I’d guess in his early fifties.”
“By your own flawed logic, you’re that hot, young thing he’s into.”
“Right,” I laugh under my breath. “I’m basically a baby to him. Can’t wait until I’m in my fifties. What then? I date a seventy-year-old man to feel young again?”
“If you have to, or just be happy you made it that far and date whoever you damn well please. Don’t let your ex and this whole twenty-something thing get in your head.” Mabel glances at her phone. “We still have a bit before the girls show up. Should we pick an outfit for the wedding?”
“What are you wearing?” I ask as I lead her down the hall to my bedroom.
“Not sure yet. I don’t want to buy something new, so I think I’m going with the little pink dress I haven’t worn in a while. It’s cute, but I’m not sure it’s cute enough to get me laid, and I really need to get laid.”
I laugh. “You and me both. I could see if the handyman sex god has a brother.”
“Oh my God, that would be perfect,” she laughs. “All I think about is dick these days. I’m starting to think my forties are worse than my teenage years.”
“I think I’ve read something about how women in their forties have a higher sex drive than teenage boys.”
“I believe it. I masturbated like four times yesterday and I still couldn’t have a straight conversation with Mike.”
“That’s still happening?”
“Yeah,” her cheeks turn red as she speaks, “it’s bad. I don’t know how I could spend ten years working with a guy, be totally uninterested, then all the sudden need his hands like water.”
“He’s divorced, right?”
“Yeah, but he’s my boss. I can’t do that.” She pauses for a second before speaking again. “Oh! I have a pretty, rose A-line dress if you’re interested.”
“Sure, I’ll take a look at it. Lord knows I can’t afford anything new right now, and most of my wardrobe is black on black. This is a garden event, right?”
“That’s what the invitation says, though I’m not sure how they’re going to pull that off if the weather stays cold like this.”
I run through the dresses I have hanging in my closet as she talks. “Oh, I do have this one dress. It’s like a short red thing. Not sure people wear red to weddings, though.”
“If you’re talking about that dress you bought last Valentine’s Day, then yes.
You should wear that dress. It’s the perfect revenge outfit.
You bought it hoping it would spice things up with Reed, and he couldn’t manage more than a passing ‘looks good,’ remember?
You show up in that same dress while some other man can’t keep his hands off you,” she groans emphatically, “that’d be perfect. He freaking deserves it.”
“Or is it weird?”
“No. It’s classy, but mildly slutty, and it sends the exact message you’re trying to send.”
Debating my choices, I stare out at the woods. Pine, birch, aspen, every leaf changing color, every coneflower standing taller and brighter with the shifting season.
Maybe this is the book I should be writing. The story of a newly divorced woman who buys a quirky little farmhouse in the woods and plays fake date with the super-hot previous owner. Truth be told, the reality of what’s happening seems like a book already.
I mean, I’ve been alive forty years, and I’ve never had a man kiss me the way Atlas just kissed me. Maybe it’s a sign… or maybe I’m having my richest delusion yet. Either way, I think I’m finally in the mood for writing.