Page 32 of Misadventures With My Fake Fiancé

Mike shook his head.

“Violet's written a book. An erotic romance and it's smokin' hot.”

Mike gave me a look in the mirror that screamedReally?

“It was nothing.” I shrugged my shoulders trying to play it cool, when in fact I was completely freaking out. The bookwas supposed to be a secret, something that wasn't going to be shared with anyone. Goldie, sure, but she ran an adult store and could appreciate a good sexual fantasy more than anyone else. And up until about thirty seconds ago, I thought she was very good at keeping secrets.

But to tell Mike, ugh, Mike of all people! I was mortified. What was he going to think of me, think of what kind of weird, kinky person I was when he read it? It was one thing to practically get off from his vibrating cell phone while humping his leg, it was another to share with him my writing. No, he was never going to read it. I'd feed Goldie's e-reader to Bullwinkle first.

The last time I wrote a piece of fiction was back in college for a creative writing final. I'd been proud of my work, erotic and racy, and I'd poured my whole heart into it. I'd shared it with my boyfriend at the time, Todd. He'd broken up with me directly after reading it, stunned I could come up with such 'trash,' as he'd called it. If that wasn't enough, he'd told all of his frat buddies. The guys were either stunned I wasn't a 'lady' to take home to their Southern mammas or they figured since I wrote about sex I wanted it with anyone. Fortunately, it had been the end of my sophomore year and I was able to escape by going home for the summer.

I had been devastated by Todd's cruel words and my friends' reactions to it enough to know I couldn't go through that kind of blanket rejection ever again. Fortunately, if there was one good thing from the experience, is that I'd been far from home in Louisiana. Not Montana where my family and real friends lived. After summer break, where I'd taught fly fishing to tourists, I returned for my junior year and immediately switched majors to elementary education. It had been a cruel time and I'd learned my lesson. The hard way.

My hard and fast life rule, only broken for Goldie, was, ‘No more stories.’ Besides, men didn't like women who wrote erotica. At least not for more than one night.

“Goldie, Mike's not interested in something like that.” I meant my book. “It's for women and nothing he would like.” I cleaned out my fingernails, refusing to look up and see Mike's reaction.

No one said anything. Although the silence was unsettling, it was better than being grilled about erotic romance. After a few minutes, Goldie piped up. She couldn't stay quiet. Ever. “Claudine told me all about our day tomorrow. I can't wait.”

The woman had been in the state twenty minutes and knew more than me.

“The train ride is going to be amazing. I hope it's not too early for you,” Mike told Goldie.

Train ride. Early. Hunh.

“Oh, no. I slept most of the flight from Denver. I'll be ready at five-thirty just as Claudine planned.”

What? Five thirty? In the morning?

“Hold up.Five-thirty?” I looked at the tiny blue numbers on the dash. It was after midnight and the sky was still bright. I wasn't going to make it.

“Sightseeing train down to Seward,” Mike told me. “Leaves at seven.”

Planes, trains and automobiles. With Goldie and Mrs. O. I would never complain about tutoring boogie-faced kids ever again.

Two nights in a row,I fell asleep while Mike had his turn in the bathroom. The only way he'd get lucky with me was if he was into unresponsiveness.

What felt like moments after my head hit the pillow, a blaring alarm clock jolted me awake. I sat up, not sure where I was, then slumped back down with a groan, my head splitting. My mouth felt like a mushroom farm had moved in and my stomach flipped like clothes in a dryer.

Mike slammed his hand down on the bedside clock. I winced at the loud noise.

“Come on, babe. Sights to see.”

I threw the blanket over my head in response. The bed was warm, the blankets soft, and the darkness beneath bliss. I had no idea how I was going to handle consciousness, sunlight, a moving train and the combination of Goldie and Mrs. O.

Hearing the shower kick on, I curled back into oblivion.

“Your turn.” Mike pulled the covers back. “Holy hell. You need these worse than I thought. Here.”

Sprawled facedown, I opened one eye. The room was dim, but daylight peeked around the metal blinds. If I hadn't flown into darkness, I'd think the sun never went down.

Mike held several pills and a glass of water. He wore jeans, unbuttoned and nothing else. A smattering of dark red hair spread across his chest, a thin line of it tapering down over his flat belly to disappear behind the zipper of his jeans. God, he was sex on a stick. Even hungover and miserable I was able to think steamy thoughts.

I wasn't dead.

“Doctor's orders.” Sitting up carefully, I complied. “You'll feel better after a shower.”

“Promise?” I asked as I continued to ogle his hotness.

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