Chapter 3
MAGGIE
“What did you just say?”
I can’t have heard him right, because I think Arlo just said he’ll pretend to be my boyfriend.
Arlo’s sitting with his arms out expansively and his eyebrows raised and a cheeky glint to his deep chocolate colored eyes.
I’ve never noticed the amber flecks in them before, or the way they light up when he’s laughing.
My heart skips a beat at the thought of Arlo pretending to be my boyfriend. Will he pretend to kiss me? The thought sends a bolt of heat through my body, jarring my thighs together. And I have to lower my eyes in case he reads the lusty thoughts in them.
It’s ridiculous. He can’t pretend to be my boyfriend. I might like it too much. And I can’t let my mother loose on Arlo. That wouldn’t be fair.
“My mother would eat you alive.”
He smirks, all manly confidence. “I can handle it.”
He probably could too. Arlo is the friendliest person I know. He’ll talk to anyone, which is why he makes a good barman. Which is why he’s offering to help me out. It’s not because he wants to help me. It’s because he would help anyone.
“Are you working this weekend?” I ask.
I can’t believe I’m even considering this harebrained scheme, but the other option is an unknown bearded man on the other end of an app that’s no longer on my phone.
Better the devil you know and all that…
“I can swap my shifts.”
“Don’t do that,” I say quickly.
If he’s working, then that’s better. My parents can come in to eat at the restaurant, because they’re dying to see where I work.
At least that’s what Mom says, but I know she just wants to check out what the HQ of a motorcycle club looks like.
She’ll be disappointed if she’s looking for a drug den and loose women.
The Wild Riders MC aren’t like that. They’re a group of military veterans who love bikes and want to do good in the community.
The bar is decked out with motorbike memorabilia and there’s always an impressive array of bikes parked out front, but other than that it’s a classy place.
The brewery out back makes craft beer and the mechanic’s isn’t a front to launder money, at least not that I know of. I don’t think the Prez would stand for that.
I’ve only been here for three months and I’ve barely talked to any of the men apart from those that I work with, but I can tell the Prez doesn’t stand for any nonsense. He strides around with a set look and a sharp eye. He runs a legit business and doesn’t suffer fools.
Arlo is eyeing me with a look of amusement that makes him look freaking adorable.
I sigh inwardly. If I was a bolder type of girl, I’d know how to flirt with him.
I’d bat my eyelashes and let him know I’m interested.
But I’m not. I’m a small, tubby girl who prefers the company of food rather than people.
Besides, as Mother has pointed out so many times, with my career choice it will be impossible to have a family.
There’s a reason why most top chefs are men.
Women drop out of the industry when they get to their child rearing years.
I made my decision when I went to culinary school.
If I have to choose between being a top pastry chef and having kids, I choose being a chef.
But when I look at Arlo, there’s a pang of regret. I shake the feeling away. No point getting sentimental for a man who couldn’t possibly be interested anyway.
My phone buzzing pulls me out of my reverie, and there’s a message from Mom. She’s really trying to get a handle on the text function.
Does Allan like blueberry muffins? We’ve got a good crop this year, and I’m baking
I glance up at Arlo, and he’s eyeing me intently. A delicious shiver runs through my veins.
“Do you like blueberry muffins?”
His grin widens. “Sure do.”
This is the chance to tell Mom it was all a lie, that I’m not seeing a bearded man called Allan, that I don’t want a man and I don’t want children. But I’m an only child, and that truth will break her heart.
Instead, I text back.
He loves them!
Arlo’s grinning at me when I put the phone down, and if he wasn’t so damn handsome this might be easier. I don’t know how I’m going to get through a weekend pretending he’s mine, when in reality he never will be.
“Fine.” I place my hands on the table. “But there are ground rules.”
Arlo leans forward, his eyes sparkling. “I’ve always been a rule breaker.”
His eyes dart to my lips as he says it, sending a wave of heat rushing over me and making me lose my train of thought.
“Rule number one. No kissing.”
His eyes dart to my lips, and he leans back. “I’m not promising anything.”
Damn, his confidence sends my pulse racing. He’s a natural flirt and must be used to girls falling all over him, not that I’ve seen him with anyone since I’ve been here.
“This is a pretend relationship for two days. There’s no need to kiss.”
“I disagree. You want to fool your parents, then you need to give them a show. Make them think you’re passionately in love. If there’s no physical affection, your mom will be calling you every day to ask if we’ve broken up yet.”
He has a point, but he looks so damn smug when he says it that I’m sure he’s trying to rile me up.
My eyes dart to his lips, and an image of his mouth on mine, his beard ticking my throat springs into my mind. I grab the side of the table to steady myself.
“No kissing, Arlo.”
He doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t press the point. The thought of kissing Arlo has me so hot and bothered and flustered that I can’t even think about what else should be in the ground rules.
There won’t be a chance to kiss him if he’s behind the bar working anyway.
“You meet them once. I’ll bring them into work to see the place, and that’s it. Answer their questions, be yourself. That’s all you have to do.”
He strokes his beard and thinks about it for a while.
“So, you want me to pretend to be your boyfriend, but I’m not spending time with your parents or kissing you?”
“That’s correct.”
He eyes me from under hooded eyelashes with a look that makes me squirm. He leans forward.
“Honey, if I was your boyfriend, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you.
I’d want to meet your parents so I could ask them all about what you were like as a kid.
Find out what your favorite doll was, what made you giggle, and what you were frightened of.
Then I’d spend my life making sure you never had those fears and were surrounded by the things you love. ”
The words heat me up from the inside out. The smirk’s gone from his face, and the look he’s giving me is so intense that it’s hard to look away.
My mouth drops open, and my tummy flutters. I can only stare at this man who’s making me feel things I’ve never felt before. Things I don’t want to feel.
My breathing is ragged, and I have to get out of here. I have to get back to the kitchen and the safety of the things I know. Arlo’s making me want things that I can never have, things that I can never give a man.
I love the pretty words he’s saying to me, but he’s just flirting, I remind myself. Already playing a part.
“And if I was your girlfriend, I’d be up at 4 a.m. every morning for work. And when I work my way up to head pastry chef, it’d get worse. I’d work until midnight, I’d never be home for dinner, there’d be no date nights, no time for children, and you’d never see me.”
His mouth drops open in surprise, and his eyebrows pull into a frown. I’ve wiped the smirk off his face, but it doesn’t feel as satisfying as I thought it would.
I stand up abruptly.
“So it’s just as well that this is a pretend scenario for one weekend only, because I’m not girlfriend material.”
With that, I pick up my chef’s hat and head back to the kitchen. I feel shitty, but it’s best he knows straight up. There’s no point in flirting with me. I’ve got no room for a man in my life.