A flighty fake boyfriend, p.1
A Flighty Fake Boyfriend, page 1
A FLIGHTY FAKE BOYFRIEND
Z.A. MAXFIELD
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
To My Awesome Readers
Also by Z.A. Maxfield
About the Author
Authenticity is the daily practice of letting go of who we think we’re supposed to be and embracing who we are.
Brené Brown
CHAPTER ONE
Today, the server’s name badge read Muse. I’d been to Bistro a total of four times this trip, and he’d been Bob, Jeremy, and Jackson.
That wasn’t the only reason he interested me, although I love a mystery. The kid was college aged, bright, and funny. Plus, he had a winning, affable personality.
He always remembered the last thing I’d eaten and asked how I’d enjoyed it. He was also remarkably bossy. Like on the first morning the hostess had seated me at one of his tables, he decided I needed avocado on my omelet due to the fact I looked…well, like me.
Driving to Luis’s wedding in Santa Barbara had seemed like a pretty good way to unwind, but I hadn’t been taking care of myself. The route was long with lots of lonely stretches.
I didn’t expect the thing that drove me—the restlessness that made me burn the candle at both ends at work—to sit on my shoulder the whole time.
I seriously needed this vacation. Too much work and stress resulted in a badly misused body—namely, mine.
Muse, Bob, Jeremy, whatever his name was, noticed things like that. He treated every customer to his particular brand of mother-henning. He made suggestions and even overrode the unhealthy choices of those he knew best in a gently teasing way that probably doubled, even tripled his tips. I’d been unusually generous, and I had a reputation for tipping well.
I couldn’t take my eyes off him when he was in the room.
As I scrolled through the many urgent messages on my phone, “Muse” brought water.
“Good morning. Did you want coffee today?”
Oh, I did. I wanted coffee so badly my eyes would probably bleed. But with the hangover I had after partying with Dan and Cam at Nacho’s Bar the night before, coffee might be a bad idea. Going easy today might save me.
“Herbal tea if you have it.”
“Certainly. Have you decided on breakfast yet, or do you need another minute?”
I didn’t bother looking at the menu a second time. "Oatmeal, please. And dry toast.”
His eyebrow rose. “Would you like the usual accompaniments?”
“I’m sorry?”
“We serve steel cut oatmeal with brown sugar, dried fruit mix, and half-and-half.”
“That’s fine.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Is there something wrong with that?”
“Not a thing. I just wondered—because of the oatmeal and dry toast—if you’d rather have soy milk.”
“Half-and-half is fine.”
“Okay. Sure. That was really weird, wasn’t it? I’m sorry.” He took the menu from me and walked away, shoulders tight.
I went back to the messages on my phone until he slid a pot of water onto the table before me and said, “Teabag?”
I opened my mouth to offer an off-color reply, then closed it. “Sure.”
“We have several herbal teas.” He opened a chest and let me look at the variety within. I picked one at random. Usually, I had no choice. I didn’t know what the difference between the teas he offered could be.
“Thank you.” I removed the teabag from its packaging and placed it in the hot water pot.
Oatmeal and toast arrived shortly after that. My server stood next to the table until I looked up again.
“Is there anything else?” he asked.
“No, thank you.”
He didn’t leave. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” I glanced around. No one else seemed to think he was acting weird. Weirder. More weird than normal.
“Okay. Thank you.” He walked away again, his shoulders as tense as before.
I tried a bit of my oatmeal. It seemed okay—at least my stomach didn’t rebel. I added some dried fruit and half-and-half and had another few spoonfuls.
Nausea fluttered, making me swallow several times. Herbal tea usually helped with the sensation, so I took a long swallow. This was the hangover talking, right? There was no reason to invent a connection between the wedding and any digestive issues I might be having.
I felt eyes on me. To my left, my server peeked over the half wall that hid the point-of-sale machine. When he saw me, he ducked. I briefly wondered if I’d missed a news report about spree killers who matched my description.
The tea was good. I ate my breakfast slowly. At home, the entire purpose of food was fuel, and I managed as much as I could before pushing the bowl away. Beads of sweat itched at my hairline.
When the waiter came back, he dropped the check and whispered something in my ear.
“Excuse me?”
“Meet me out back.” He jerked his head. “By the dumpster.”
My need for a cigarette caused me to linger in the parking lot, so I thought why not?
“Muse” slipped out the back door, glanced both ways, and called out, “Hey. Pssst. C’mere.”
Intrigued enough to solve The Mystery of the Very Weird Waiter, I strolled his way.
He pulled something from behind his back. My heart gave a jolt. Leaped? Stuttered? Nausea crept into my throat, and I nearly lost what little I’d eaten on the pavement. I backed away, hands up.
Turned out he wasn’t holding a gun or a knife but a creamy orange drink.
My reaction probably seemed absurd—at least to anyone who hadn’t recently traveled to a part of the world the US State Department considered too dangerous for Americans.
“Jesus,” I reached out and fell against the wall. “What is wrong with you?”
“Me?” He held a to-go cup in one shaking hand. “I just wanted to give you this. For later, you know. If you want.”
I still couldn’t believe this was happening. “What is it?”
“Mango lassi.” He bit his lip. “With whey protein. It’s, um…it’s easy to digest, and—”
“You made me a mango lassi?”
“It’s on the menu.” He said this like, Duh. “I recommend it because you seem so”—he glanced away—“not okay today.”
While my heart rate went back to normal, I studied him. Thick dark hair, pale skin, and piercing blue eyes. The rest of him was hidden beneath a typical Parisian waiter’s uniform: white shirt, white apron, black vest, and trousers.
I fidgeted when he frowned at me. He made me want to straighten things like his tie and my spine.
“I’m not very hungry this morning.”
He let out a breath. “Look, it’s none of my business, but my grandmother swears by these for hangovers. You looked like you could use one.”
I rubbed my forehead with the heel of my hand. Then I heard my hair sizzle.
“Whoa, pyro.” He took the cigarette from my hand. “You singed your hair.”
“Aw shit. I hate the smell of burning hair. It stays with you forever.”
“I…did not know that.” He didn’t give the cigarette back “I’m keeping this. You’re not allowed to play with fire right now.”
“Do you always get so involved in your customers’ lives?” I felt like a pitcher who’d gone three and oh with a batter he’d never faced. I meant to brush him back. Change things up. “Or am I special?”
“I meddle all the time. Ask anyone.” As if I needed to. “And also, I think you might be special. You’re staying around here, right? I’ve seen you around.”
“Yeah?” I made the word a question.
He toed the ground shyly. “I hope we bump into each other again.”
“Maybe we will.” I took the drink he offered. “Thanks for this.”
There was no reason I shouldn’t try the drink. It could be drugged. Poisoned, for all I knew. Maybe Bob, Jeremy, Muse was a serial poisoner, and no one would ever know because he only poisoned people who were passing through.
I pulled out of the Bistro parking lot and headed back to the highway. A tentative sip of the drink told me it was delicious. Mango and yogurt. What was not to like about that combination? Plus, instead of roiling around after it went down, it quenched the nausea building inside me.
Even if the waiter was a serial poisoner, his drink did the trick in the meantime. I’d take it. If I keeled over later, it was almost worth the price.
The main reason I’d stopped in St. Nacho’s at all was to visit my friends Daniel and Cam Livingston. We’d known each other for ten years—ever since Daniel had become interested in supporting StolenLives in the fight against human trafficking. He’d reached out to my boss, Lila Newcastle to learn mor e, starting out as a benefactor and becoming a very good friend. Since then, he’d divorced, come out as gay, and married Cameron Rooney. I’d broken up with Luis. Things had changed for both of us, but we’d remained close.
Their house sat just outside San Ignacio. As soon as I pulled into the driveway, I was greeted by three dogs and a goat. Their miniature horse stared at me from inside its little paddock.
Daniel had taken well to life in his adopted home. He and his firefighter husband were so in love you could write epic poetry about it. Understandable, because Cam was as gorgeous as he was sweet and caring. I couldn’t be happier for them.
I’d arranged to stay with them for a few days before driving the rest of the way to Santa Barbara to meet my plus-one. Dan worked from home, so I normally found other things to do while he was busy.
I stepped inside and noticed again how homey Dan and Cam’s place looked. The house he’d shared with his ex-wife had been sleek and modern and—I privately thought—ice cold.
This new Ralph Lauren adjacent country elegance suited the Daniel Livingston I knew much better.
“Have a seat. I was just about to get some coffee.” Dan wore jeans and a button-down. He still looked as elegant as he had when his suits were bespoke. He had dark hair and serious brown eyes in a handsome face. Since I’d known him when he was married to his ex, BreeAnna, I never saw him as anything but a friend, but I often wished I had someone like him. Intelligent and kind. Dedicated.
I cleared my throat. “No thanks.”
“I feel like hell this morning,” said Dan. “Note to self: Ryan Winslow’s idea of a bar crawl is madness.”
“I’m hungover as fuck,” I admitted. “I drink too much. It’s habit. I drink coffee to stay awake and liquor to wind down.”
“You think you have a problem?”
“I think I will if I don’t do a little more to protect my health. Our favorite server at Bistro accosted me with this today.” I held up the drink. “You’re not the first to tell me I look like hell.”
“I think it’s going to be a theme if there are people who know you at Luis’s wedding.”
I shrugged.
“What’s got you so messed up?” he asked. “The wedding or work?”
“I’m always messed up about work, but yeah. This wedding’s fraught with anxiety. Luis and I are playing chicken. I doubt the invitation was sincere, but I couldn’t refuse because I don’t want him to think his marriage bothers me.”
“Does it?”
I hesitated. “I’m glad he found what he’s looking for.”
“But…?” Dan knew me so well.
“But his fiancé is a barrister specializing in international law and human rights. He’s dedicated, invested in his work, but has somehow made time for a personal life. It’s as if Luis is saying, ‘This could have been you if you weren’t defective.’”
“Don’t compare. People handle stress differently.”
“It’s becoming clear I don’t handle stress at all. According to you and the waiter of mystery, I store it on my body like The Picture of Dorian Gray.” I sank farther into the comfort of a buttery soft couch and pretended not to notice that one corner of the skirting had been chewed down to the foam padding.
“Maybe you should talk to a therapist?” Daniel always got to the heart of things.
“Probably.”
“I’m putting that on my checklist of things to badger you about when you get home. You can’t keep going like this.”
He was right, of course. “No. I can’t.”
“I’m glad you’ve at least taken these days to visit. I’ve enjoyed spending time with you.”
“Me too. I love it here.” I snapped my fingers for Blue the Queensland heeler. Between her, a border collie with one blue eye and one brown named Malarky, and Molly, a younger border collie, I’d rediscovered my love of dogs. I wished I could adopt a dog, but I lived in an apartment and spent long hours working. “How come you have so many animals? When you were with BreeAnna, you never had any that I knew of.”
“Cam grew up on a ranch. He adores them. I love watching him with them. There’s nothing in the world like a hot man romping with dogs at sunrise.”
“I work too much, or I’d get a dog.”
“We have plenty to share. Our place is turning into a petting zoo. Stop by any time.”
I smiled, wishing it was that easy.
“About your plus-one.” He grinned knowingly. “You never did say who you’re taking. Is he hot?”
I gasped in mock outrage. “Do I appear shallow to you?”
“Yes. Now spill.”
“I’m taking Lawrence Dunbar.” I tried not to sound smug.
He gasped. “The guy from the Marvel movies?”
“That’s the one. He’s meeting me in Santa Barbara on Friday night.”
“I am in awe of your choice.” He sat back. “Gorgeous, out and proud, A-list actors aren’t thick on the ground.”
“He’s a friend and benefactor. Lila brought up his name when we were working on our media campaign two years ago. He’s a great guy. He agreed to be in our public service ads, and while we were shooting them, he and I hit it off.”
“Go you.” Daniel widened his eyes. “He’s pretty hot. What’s it like, dating such a big name?”
“He and I don’t date.” I finished the last of my drink and set the cup on the coffee table. “We’re just friends.”
“Too bad.”
“He offered to act as if we’re more than that for the wedding.”
Dan snorted. “He’s a very good actor. Take him up on it.”
“I’m no good at that kind of subterfuge.” I stretched. “How can I be so exhausted right after breakfast?”
“Why don’t you take a nap. We’ll be lazy today.”
“That sounds wonderful.” I stood.
The food in my belly was comforting on both a physical and emotional level, and hanging out at Daniel’s place was a balm to my spirit.
I never slept like I did in St. Nacho’s. I put it down to the clean sea air. The taste of salt on my tongue. Being with friends I didn’t have to impress. But it was more. When I strolled along the boardwalk, everything around me seemed more vivid. Colors brightened. The air filled with music. Everywhere I looked, someone was smiling, laughing, performing some small act of kindness—like my mystery server and his grandmother’s hangover cure.
Blue followed me into the room and hopped up on the bed after I got in.
Despite the emotional pain of Luis’s wedding—despite the pressure building as work went undone—as soon as I laid my head on the pillow in Daniel’s inviting guest room, I drifted into a dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER TWO
The sun had set before I woke up. Groggily, I made my way to the kitchen where I found Daniel feeding the dogs.
“Hey, I’m so sorry,” I said. “I can’t believe I slept that long.”
“You must have needed it.”
“I probably won’t sleep tonight, though.”
He brushed his hands off on his jeans. “We can get dinner and walk along the boardwalk. Let’s stop by the firehouse and say hi to my man.”
“I’m up for dinner and a drink or two. Nothing like last night.”
“You got that right. Let me get changed then. Back in a bit.”
“Me too.” My clothes were rumpled and a little damp from sleeping in them. “I’ll be out in a few.”
Still on the fuzzy side of waking, I rummaged in my suitcase for something appropriate. The temperature had dropped. I opted for a white T-shirt, jeans, and a thin sweater. When I saw Daniel, I asked if he thought I’d need a jacket.
“Probably, if we’re going to walk on the beach. The wind can really cut through knits.”
“Okay,” I went back to the guest room and got a lightweight blazer. “You mind driving?”
“Not at all. Let me just make sure the dogs are set.” I heard running water before he came back, ready to go.
