Page 3 of Fake Dating Daxton Hawk
When I see who the message is from, my excitement disappears. The resting bitch face returns and I scowl at my phone.
Daxton “Dickhead” Hawk
I have a request. Wear the red dress again tonight.
Jerk. Of course he’d say something like that. The red dress has a plunging neckline and also barely covers my ass. The businessman we had dinner with last time couldn’t stop staring at my cleavage and sending me smiles. No surprise, Daxton closed his business deal with the man that night.
The bitch within me wants to wear a black dress, just to spite Daxton. But I can’t jeopardize this source of income, so I fluff up my curls and head to my bedroom, finding the red dress, all so some guy can leer at me and want tohire my cunt and ass for the night.
What the hell is my life?
ChapterTwo
Jordan
STEEL WEST
I’m in Manhattan. Landed in New York earlier today.
I smile as Steel’s message appears in the Secret Santa app on my phone. My one reason for excitement in this world: Steel West.
“Boyfriend?”
Startled by the voice, I look up and find the male Uber driver watching me in the rearview mirror. He’s some seedy dude with a thick, black mustache. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“That smile on your face, it’s not the kind of smile reserved for family and friends. He’s a lucky man. You’re a beautiful lady.”
Creep. Male attention isn’t new for me, being a burlesque dancer. But the attention goes unwanted when I’m minding my own business. I blame the red dress. Daxton and his ridiculous requests. He’s inconsiderate too, asking me to wear this tiny dress in May, with tonight’s temperature on the cooler side.
“Yeah, my boyfriend texted me.” I tell the driver a lie so he thinks I’m unavailable and leaves me alone.
Out of all the male attention I receive in my life, I only want Steel’s. Which shows how messed up I am about men since I’ve never met Steel, seen a photo of him, or heard his voice. We only communicate through Secret Santa—an app designed to spread holiday cheer and foster new friendships during the holiday season.
When the app launched a few years back, I thought it sounded suspicious. The premise was bizarre to me—chat with an anonymous stranger, your Secret Santa. No gift exchange necessary, just the company of an online friend. Surely people were using the service for quick hookups and to send unsolicited dick pics. But then I discovered Secret Santa was founded by a charity in support of mental health, that all users must submit three pieces of ID to receive membership, and applications only opened during November and December. Oh, and there’s no photo sharing options, making dick pics a no-go. If people want a one-night stand, there are more accessible apps out there.
I joined Secret Santa three years ago when spending my first Christmas in America, alone, because I couldn’t afford the airfare back home to Australia with Mina. What could have been a lonely and super depressing December turned out to be the month where I met one of my closest friends. Steel and I hit it off from the moment the app matched us.
JORDAN HART
You’ve been in my city all day and waited this long to message me? Super pissed off.
STEEL WEST
Busy day filled with meetings. Trust me, you haven’t left my mind once. I met a lady at the airport. She was blond, beautiful, and asked for my number, but all I could think about was how she’s not you.
My smile deepens. I lick my lips, loving the way Steel speaks to me. That he feels this connection too.
All Secret Santa users are given a set username to protect their identity. At the end of the holiday season, users can choose if they want to reveal their real name to their match. Considering I was given the usernameSugar Plum Potatoand Steel’s wasMr. Gingerbread, we made a deal: share our real names, replacing our ridiculous usernames, but never search for each other on the internet or social media.
We’ve continued our friendship on the app, and only in recent months has Steel asked to meet me. I like the idea of meeting, but it also scares me. What we have going on in cyberspace is a good thing—the only good thing in my life, actually—and I’m afraid meeting in person will spoil our connection.
We message all day every day and it’s the most exhilarating feeling. He’s kind, funny, and always knows what to say when I’m upset. Though we’re not dating each other or anyone else, I basically treat him like a boyfriend. I could meet Steel if I really wanted to. It’s just… the fear again. What if we only work on Secret Santa? I do trust Secret Santa’s security measures, but every once in a while, a slight fear surfaces that I’m being catfished and Steel isn’t really a thirty-year-old guy living in LA and working in real estate.
Perhaps I’m sabotaging something that could be amazing. But I’ve been burned too many times, believing in my parents—the two people I’m meant to trust most in this world—only to be disappointed time and again by their lies. As much as I’ve tried to cut them out of my life, the emotional baggage and trust issues follow me everywhere. Is it so wrong of me to want to protect this little bubble of perfection I have with Steel, even if that means we only ever exist in cyberspace?
JORDAN HART
Maybe this woman at the airport was me.
