The Pretend Boyfriend novel Chapter 12

She's aware of that double entrende. She still has her back turned on him.

"Believe me, I've seen nothing on you that remotely interests me," she says in a tone that is meant to sting.

"That makes two of us, sweetheart."

She hears him sauntering off to the bathroom and she half-turns to steal a look. His incredible bare buttocks roll as he disappears. A moment later, and the sound of a shower hits the tiles. He hasn't even bothered to shut the bathroom door.

If she's supposed to be the mistress and he her willing slave, he certainly has got the tables turned.

How is she ever going to get through sleeping in the same bedroom with him tonight?

Tonight, there's a reception at the Grand Ballroom of the hotel.

"Remember, it's a snazzy affair, so you'll have to dress up," Sam reminds him.

She's anxiously fussing over her own hairdo. She's frizzing it up with some sort of spray, which accounts for the massive suitcase she made him carry all the way from Chicago. She combs each strand and musses it up again with gel, as if she's trying to shape it into some sort of bizarre corkscrew pattern.

He doesn't see the point, since she's got great hair. Not that he would ever tell her that in a million years, of course.

He knows why she is so worked up about appearing good for her sister. At least, he thinks he knows. If she is any extension of what she was during middle school, then she would have had a hard time coming out of her sister's shadow. A sister, from all accounts, who is prettier, more glamorous and more successful in landing big fish than she is.

He says, "I don't know why you bother. Your hair never going to resemble anything other a bird's nest."

As soon as it's out, he regrets it. Why do you always have to be such a goddamned asshole?

He sees the hurt blossom in her eyes. He curses himself. But he has an unapologetic veneer to maintain, and so he spreads his mouth into a cynical grin instead.

"And yours will never be anything but a total bedhead," she shoots back.

Ouch. He takes great pride in his hair. But he gives a lot, so he's equally good at taking it.

"So why are you so hung up about what your sister thinks?"

"Huh?"

"The hair. Me. The fact that I'm here on this sordidly deceptive weekend. Or should I say ... deceptively sordid weekend?"

"Oh, that."

She locks eyes with him in the mirror. His breath catches. Her eyes will always be her best feature. He can well imagine those eyes being smoky with desire, gazing adoringly up at him from a horizontal position as she writhes sexily under his heaving body.

His dormant cock begins to stir. He shifts on one leg.

Careful.

He watches as a plethora of complex emotions flit on her face.

She sighs. "You wouldn't understand. It's complicated. Anyway, you don't give a damn what anyone thinks or feels, so why do you care?"

He splays his hands. "Hey, I'm just askin'. No need to bite my head off."

"Not that you'd ever understand what it feels like to be a dork."

He slams the door behind him. He hasn't had his daily, emotionally meaningless sexual fix yet, thanks to Ms. Uptight and Prissy.

Now what is he going to do for sex?

Hartford is a small, small town. Apparently, the Buchners own half of it. They also own the hotel, the mill, the lumber factory and the bakery. Talk about diversification.

There's a cafe called 'Figero's' right next to the bakery. And a strip joint. Brian waltzes into the strip joint. With his luck, the Buchners probably own it too. With video surveillance.

Inside, a few tired strippers are dancing around metallic poles. They look up as he enters. It's five in the evening. A few older men are guzzling beers and smoking cigarettes. Brian goes to the bar and plonks himself down on a barstool.

"Is this place always this zombified or is this just the graveyard shift?" he quips.

The bartender is cleaning a beer mug.

"What'll it be?" he says gruffly.

"Stella."

"She ain't working tonight."

"I meant the beer."

The bartender fills Stella Artois into a chilled mug. Brian lights a cigarette.

A stripper sidles up to him. She wears a bright yellow thong and two equally bright yellow pasties on her nipples. The pasties are in the shapes of stars.