Between takes, I found myself sighing, a deep melancholy sinking into my bones at the idea of our impending deadline. Well, if we were temporary, then I was going to make the most of every second we had together. First things first, I would take Arlo shopping and buy him a whole new wardrobe. Dinner? That was a given, but I needed to do more. The hotel doorman, Gerry, had said something about a concert in the park, hadn’t he?

  A sly grin spread on my lips. Operation Romance the Literal Pants Off Arlo began to form in my mind, because you could be damn sure I wouldn’t be following his stupid rules if it meant never getting to taste Arlo’s sweet slick. What was the point of it all if we weren’t fully enjoying each other? He knew my dark desires and didn’t even blink. I wanted to knead my fingers into his tender ass cheeks while bottoming out inside him, and listening to him moan around my cock as I came down his throat.

  I discreetly adjusted my pants. Great, now I had to act like I didn’t have a raging hard-on.

  9

  Arlo

  This date should’ve been romantic. I mean, it was, objectively.

  First, Max picked me up, driving a Porsche. A fucking Porsche! Just to drive around downtown! I honestly didn’t think it was his intention to brag about how rich he was; it was just ingrained in who he was at this point, like he was acting the part of rich celebrity. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about his status. I was jealous of his income simply because of the security it provided him. I would love to be able to pay my bills without worrying about how I would do it again next month. The way Max was showing off without thinking? All it did was make me feel even poorer than I was.

  Then he took me shopping at this super expensive clothing store, because obviously I didn’t own a suit or anything fancy. I mean, I used to work at a mechanic, where I wore grease-stained jeans and t-shirt, and then The Bar Cherry, where the saying “less is more” was applied to clothes—as in less clothing equaled more tips.

  I reluctantly agreed to Max buying me a suit because it seemed like an investment for my current job, but he didn’t stop there. He bought me three suits, plus a bunch of casual clothes, all with designer labels. It didn’t matter how much I protested, my words fell on deaf ears. He just kept grabbing shirts and pants from the racks, seemingly at random. When the cashier rang it up, my stomach twisted so tightly that I nearly barfed, but Max just passed over his credit card like it was nothing.

  Afterward, Max drove us back to The Scarlet Hotel, where he had the front desk staff take all the bags and packages up to his room for us. We left the car with the valet, and as the car disappeared around the corner to the right, from the left came the clip-clop of horse hooves.

  “Max…” I began uneasily, but it was too late. He turned to me, beaming with pride, offering me a hand up into the open carriage that had drawn up at the curb, pulled by a pair of pure-white mares. How could I possibly tell him no, when he was so proud of the date he’d planned?

  So, instead of fighting him on this, I ignored my growing unease, put my hand in his, and stepped up into the carriage.

  I would admit, it was nice snuggling up with Max under a blanket to hold back the evening chill. The carriage took us down the street, people in their cars gawking and snapping pictures on the way by, then we made a slow route through the park.

  In the distance, I could hear strains of music. “Where is that coming from?” I asked, sitting up to squint in the dying light. Max only offered me a Cheshire grin. He was thoroughly enjoying this.

  The music swelled as we got closer, and finally, the carriage pulled up in front of a full symphony set up at the park’s amphitheater. A decent audience had gathered for the concert, but soon enough, heads began to turn, people nudging their neighbors, whispering behind hands creating a soft shushing sound. Before we’d even made our way to our seats, their attention on me made my skin crawl and itch, goosebumps rising. I could barely pay attention to the music.

  By the time the concert was over and we’d made our way back to our awaiting carriage, I was queasy and clammy. I was just glad to get the hell out of there. It was still early, though, and the date wasn’t over yet.

  “I thought we would wrap things up with dinner,” Max murmured in my ear, nuzzling into my neck. “Maybe some dessert?”

  “Hmm? Sure,” I agreed, though I wasn’t sure I could eat a bite.

  Max leaned back and looked at me, a crease forming between his perfectly shaped brows, obviously having heard something in my voice, but our carriage was just pulling up in front of the hotel. We were interrupted by the doorman who rushed over to open the carriage door. He had gray hair tucked under his hat, and he moved with a stiffness that spoke of his aching joints, but when he spoke with such enthusiasm, his eyes lighting up, he seemed to shed years from his age. “Good evening, Mr. Shepherd! I trust you had a wonderful time?”

  “Yes, Gerry, thank you for the suggestions. It was perfect,” Max said, patting the man gently on the shoulder.

  I accepted Max’s hand again to step down from the carriage, and then with a hand on my lower back, Max ushered me through the front door currently held open by the doorman. As soon as we were crossing the lobby, Max leaned in and whispered, “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Why?” I lied smoothly.

  Max gave me a skeptical look but said nothing else until we’d made our way through to the restaurant and were seated. Our table was smack dab in the middle of the dining room, perfect for making me feel like I was under a microscope. I really would’ve preferred something a little more private. Was it always like this for celebrities? Max sat in the chair beside me instead of across the table. I wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

  I picked up the menu and froze. The prices were… steep. My throat seemed to close, making it hard to breathe.

  The server appeared at my elbow, a man in his twenties with hair curling around his ears. “Bonsoir, gentlemen. My name is Benedict, and I will be your server this evening. Can I get you anything to drink?”

  “J-just water for me,” I managed to choke out.

  “Nonsense, this is a special night,” Max said. “We’ll get a bottle of your Chateau d'Yquem.” I didn’t know much about wine, but it sounded expensive.

  Everyone was staring, I was sure of it. Sweat dripped down the back of my neck and into my brand-new overpriced suit that felt like water against my skin. I was probably ruining the fabric right now with my massive pit stains. I tried to swallow, but the sides of my throat stuck together like glue. I couldn’t manage to gather even a drop of spit. Was it just me or was the room getting smaller?

  Max had been talking, but I hadn’t been paying attention. “What do you think of Arlox?”

  He seemed to be waiting for me to reply. “What?” I mumbled, drowning right here in my seat.

  “You know, as a Hollywood couple name. It’s cute, right?” He seemed oblivious to the pressure building inside my head. I closed my eyes in a long blink, trying to maintain control. “That’s how you know your fans approve of a relationship. Or I suppose the alternative is Marlo, and that’s also—”

  “Stop!” I hissed sharply, unable to keep it in any longer. I gripped both sides of my chair hard, until my knuckled popped.

  The server chose that exact moment to appear with the bottle of wine, and he froze, his eyes darting back and forth between us, picking up on the tension.

  Max frowned, obviously confused and scrambling to make sense of what he’d missed. “Is it the wine? Would you prefer red?”

  “No, just…” I glanced at the server, and Max caught the reason for my hesitance.

  “If you could excuse us for a moment, please,” he said, smiling with practiced ease. As soon as the waiter stepped away, Max reached under the tablecloth and pried my hand off the edge of the chair. When I tried to pull away, he tightened his grip on my fingers, refusing to let go. “Arlo, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

  I took a long slow breath, in through my nose, out through my mouth, setting my hair swaying in the puff of air. “I can’t afford any of this,” I finally admitted, and it worked like a pressure valve, venting off some of the tension. My shoulders eased away from my ears where they’d crept up.

  Max chuckled, seemingly relieved this was something he could handle. “Oh, is that all? We’re not going Dutch on the check, Arlo. This is my treat.”

  I shook my head sharply, clenching my teeth. I knew what my friend Cass would say, that Max was essentially my sugar daddy and I should just enjoy the ride, but that wasn’t me. This was a kind of excess I didn’t feel comfortable with.

  “I’ll pay you back,” I muttered under my breath, hoping nobody could overhear. I could only imagine the stories that would circulate if news of our arrangement got out.

  “Please don’t. Hell, I can probably write some of it off as a business expense, since you’re technically an employee, right?” He laughed, trying to lighten the mood, and his thumb was drawing circles over the pulse point at my wrist. He leaned in just a little bit, pleading with me, “I really didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just… wanted everything to be perfect.”

  My heart stuttered in its rhythm, softening at this sweet man’s confession. “Perfect would be just the two of us, with no audience, but I know that kind of defeats the purpose of what we agreed to. In order to play your fiancé, we need to be seen.”

  He smiled slowly, his eyes taking on a more familiar glint of mischief. “I don’t know about that. I mean, fans love to speculate about what happens behind closed doors, even more than gossiping about what they can see with their own eyes. You want privacy? I can do that.”

  Max motioned for the waiter, who quickly made his way back to our table. “We’ll take our meal upstairs,” he said without preamble, and in the same moment, pushed his chair back and tugged me up, our hands still joined.

  This time when people watched us leave in a hurry, they were wearing knowing smirks, and I could practically hear their naughty speculation. I laughed in relief as the elevator doors closed behind us, shutting us safely out of sight of prying eyes.

  I felt suddenly lighter, freer than I had all day. Until I texted Cass to let him know where I was and that I would be late. He texted back with: Bow-chicka-wow-wow!

  And just like that, the pressure was back—except now it seemed concentrated in my pants, pressing tight against my zipper.

  10

  Max

  As the hotel room door closed behind us, Arlo let out an audible sigh, his body practically sagging.

  “Better?” I asked, standing as close to him as I dared.

  “Much.”

  Now that I watched the tension leave his body, I felt like I must’ve been blind not to see it creeping into him. How long had he been stressing out? Since we sat down at the restaurant? The concert? Or even earlier, at the clothing store this afternoon? I’d been so distracted playing the part of fiancé that I forgot I had a co-star.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, inching closer. “That was a lot, wasn’t it.”

  Arlo chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “You could say that. Is it always like that?”

  “Pretty much,” I said, shrugging. “I don’t even notice it anymore.” But that wasn’t exactly true. I kicked my shoes off, and Arlo followed suit, then he followed me farther into my suite. “You know, I think I’ve just gotten so used to it that it’s embedded in every move I make, you know? Like, I dress a certain way, anticipating that I’ll end up on some gossip website, talking about how I ordered my coffee at the corner café, with one cream and one sugar. And I’ve spent so much time fostering my nice-guy role that I have to hide who I am in the bedroom, even with the dates I take to red-carpet events. I can’t trust anyone not to sell my secrets behind my back.”

  “That sounds really lonely,” Arlo said softly, and his words seemed to echo in that hollow cavity inside my chest. Lonely was an understatement. “Well, I promise you don’t have to hide who you are with me. Telling people about you would mean telling them about me, and that’s never going to happen.” As serious as his words were, he bumped me with his hip on the way by, throwing a wink at me, before sliding past to check out the room.

  He spun in a circle, looking left and right, up and down. “Wow, check this place out. Swanky.” His tone of voice implied he was teasing, but he also wasn’t wrong. The VIP room was seriously nice by most standards. It was more like an apartment than a hotel room. The entire floor of the hotel was broken into only four suites, each with a bedroom, living room, dining room, small kitchen area, an office, a boardroom, and a massive bathroom with whirlpool tub and a walk-in shower. There was a balcony that extended the entire length of the suite.

  Whereas most of the hotel had kept its classic 1920s charm, they had obviously allowed a little more flexibility in the design up here, for its guests who were willing to pay for luxury. The flocked wallpaper was crimson and gold, with thick red drapes, a carpet plush enough to dig your toes into, and a king-size bed decked out with a memory foam mattress (obviously not period accurate).

  My eyes followed Arlo as he disappeared into the bathroom. His long, low whistle echoed. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ll be moving into this bathroom for the duration of our time together,” he called. “It’s bigger than my apartment!”

  “I assure you, the bed would be more comfortable than sleeping in the bathtub.” Did I mean for that to sound like an invitation to stay? Maybe.

  Before I could explore that thought any further, a knock came at the door. I was grateful for the interruption. I opened the door to find a tall man with a room service cart. “Your dinner, sir,” he said. “You didn’t have a chance to order your main courses, so our chef took the liberty to prepare something special for you.”

  “Wonderful, thank you, Joseph,” I said, reading his nametag. “Please, just set it up on the balcony.” I stepped aside and gestured for him to enter.

  The staff member pushed the cart ahead of him and got to work, laying out place settings, removing cloches, and pouring wine.

  “What are these towels made of? Like, angora ballhair or something?” Arlo said, coming out of the bathroom rubbing a towel on his cheek. When he saw the room service staff, he zipped his mouth shut, his cheeks blushing. “Sorry,” he mouthed at me.

  I shrugged, laughing. I probably should’ve been more worried about appearances, but I couldn’t be bothered. Arlo was too adorable when he was embarrassed. Before he could retreat and hide in the bathroom again, I snatched up his hand and tugged him through the open door to the balcony. We were high enough above the city that the evening’s traffic noise was in the background, and the night sky was coming to life above us, stars doing their best to twinkle through the light pollution. Pulling out a chair, I nudged Arlo forward until he lowered into it. He clasped his hands in his lap, clearly out of his element.

  Too many people would’ve taken advantage of this scenario. Yes, I was paying him handsomely to play pretend with me, but I’d also offered to lavish him with gifts, and all it had done was make him uncomfortable. He clearly wasn’t accustomed to luxury, but on the flip side, he didn’t seem to want to abuse it either.

  Ignoring that my place had been set across the table from Arlo, I dragged my chair around to sit beside him, and without even blinking, the staff smoothly slid the plate over in front of me. “I apologize, we weren’t made aware of any dietary preferences or allergies for your guest, so if you would prefer something else, please let me know. This evening, you may like to start with our signature crab bisque, with Caesar salad and garlic bread. There is also herb-roasted squash and sweet potato, and for the main course, pearl lobster and seared Kobe steak. For dessert, we have cannoli.”

  Arlo’s eyes seemed to get larger as the meal was outlined, and a bowl of soup was placed in front of him. His jaw seemed to wag a little as he struggled to find the right words.

  “Would you like me to stay and serve you?” Joseph asked.

  I glanced over at Arlo and saw his lips thin into a hard line. “No, thank you, Joseph,” I told him. “I’m sure we’ll manage.” He let himself out, leaving me alone with Arlo, who’d gone tense again.

  “This is too much,” he whispered, frowning down at his food. “Seriously, I would’ve been fine with a hotdog from the cart down the block.”

  I pursed my lips in thought. “Now that you mention it, a hotdog sounds good. Shall we go?” I asked, already pushing my chair back, but Arlo snapped out a hand and grabbed my arm.

  “No! I mean, the food’s already here, so it would be a waste not to eat it… right?” His eyes moved over the array of dishes. “And it does smell pretty good…” He bit his lower lip, undecided. He wanted the food, but he didn’t want to want it.

  “It’s okay, you know,” I said, plucking a crouton from the salad and holding it up between us. “To enjoy nice things, I mean. You don’t need to feel guilty about it.”

  He eyed the crouton I offered then slowly leaned forward and opened his mouth. I popped it in, enthralled by the way his lips closed around it, brushing against my fingers for a too-brief moment. His tongue darted out, licking the corner of his mouth.

  When he was done chewing, he picked up his spoon and dipped it into his soup, seeming to have made the decision to eat. “It’s not guilt, exactly,” he said. “It’s about necessity. So many people are struggling to make ends meet, and I guess I don’t see the point in all this.” He huffed. “Why did you pick me?”

  “What do you mean? Besides because we were caught groping each other in a parking lot?” I smirked, and my teasing seemed to lighten the mood slightly.

 

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