Page 11 of The Fake Boyfriend Fiasco

Best,

Aria

Dear Aria,

I want to argue, but your compilation is, in fact, way better than mine. See, I’m all about sportsmanship. I can lose gracefully.

However, I will not take this loss lying down. You may regret the day you ever dared to best me in anything remotely resembling a competition. Because you and I will now be trapped in this contest forever, while I do everything I can to prove myself the ultimate Vine master.

To that end, please find attached another compilation. If you can give better than that, hit me.

Nik

Dear Nik,

It’s on.

Chapter 3

A Shit in a Showroom Toilet

Six Weeks Later

Remember to text me the address!!!

Don’t worry, I will. We just arrived, so I’ll send it soon. x

Jennifer wasn’t usually a triple-exclamation-mark kind of gal, but she was clearly feeling anxious about her best friend travelling to Spain with a retired footballer to pose as his fake girlfriend. Well, actually, Jen didn’t know about that, because Aria had signed an NDA. So, she was really anxious about Aria, known lover of fuck boys and literally murderous men, flitting off on a ‘romantic holiday’ with a ‘new boyfriend’ no-one but Keynes had ever met.

Which meant that Aria had to text Jen constantly this week, just to confirm her continued survival and ease her poor friend’s worry.

It was a damned good thing she was getting paid for this, or she’d be annoyed already.

Of course, the sultry heat of a Spanish afternoon went some way to alleviating that annoyance. So did the massive 4x4 whose passenger seat she currently occupied, and the huge gated villa the car was pulling up to… and even the man in the driver’s seat.

Not that she liked Nikolas Christou, or anything—even if he was kind of funny over email. She didn’t like him at all. Theirs was a strictly professional relationship. But God, on a physical level, Aria liked him a hell of a fucking lot.

From behind the cover of her Victoria Beckham-esque shades (circa 2006, since Nik was a footballer and all), Aria devoured the man sitting beside her. His attention was on the cool, shadowy garage they were rolling into. His head was tilted back slightly, and his full lips were parted in a way that reminded her of, say, a guy looking down at her as she sucked his cock. Just for example.

He had one big hand wrapped around the gearstick, the other on the wheel. His forearms were golden-brown and dusted with dark hair, thickly muscled and lined with veins she’d love to run her tongue over. Theoretically, of course. Just like she was theoretically wondering which of the many toys in her sox—aka her sex box—might be the exact same size as his long, thick fingers. All in the name of science, you understand.

But Aria did not like Nik at all.

He parked the car and looked at her. It wasn’t the way normal people looked, with eyes and general attention and all that. It was some next-level, ridiculously intense look that she’d only ever seen from Nik. He met her gaze and she felt like she’d been slapped in the face with feelings. Like he was telepathically pushing shit into her brain, shit like, You’re special, and You’re the centre of my world, and Holy fuck, I care so much about everything that comes out of your mouth.

He put all that in her head with a sweep of those thick lashes, and then he followed it up with the utterly mundane: “You good?”

Nik, Aria had quickly realised, was one of those men. You know; the ones who’d been born with the superpower of effortless seduction, who could make you believe they’d fallen in love by fucking accident. She’d decided to keep that fact at the forefront of her mind all week, like armour in the battle against those big brown eyes. “I’m good,” she nodded.

He smiled at her as they got out of the car, and Aria’s so-called armour collapsed. Oh, dear Lord, why did he have to be so fine? Why? What was the reason? Who made him? Where did he come from? It simply wasn’t natural.

“Everyone will be asleep,” he said while she had a mental crisis over his hotness. “Except G, maybe. She gets up early.”

Aria cast a doubtful look at the bright Spanish sun beyond the opening of the garage. “Asleep?”

“Party started yesterday, technically.”

She hadn’t expected Nik to grab her luggage at the airport—rich men were generally thoughtless—but he had. So, she wasn’t surprised when he did the same thing now, hauling both their suitcases out of the car as if it were nothing. His might actually be pretty light, but Aria knew full well that hers was weighed down by vital outfit changes, shoe options, assorted belly bars, and a hell of a lot of sex toys. Like she’d ever leave the sox at home when she was fake-dating the guy who’d melted her knickers off with a kiss. What did she look like, a fool?

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