Page 4 of Beautiful Disaster

“Starting now,” she told me as she leaned into me, taking a selfie. Desiree sat down immediately, scrolling on her phone. “Our affair is now posted on Instagram, Facebook and Twitter. Welcome to the world of the Queen of Hearts, my new fake boyfriend, Hardin Mills, the money man.”

Four

Hardin

We both checked our phones the moment we arrived in Boulder City. I nearly pissed myself to see that all three platforms blew up. A few fans even offered for me to be their baby daddy. I bet this girl sensed this much needed boost to my self-esteem. Some comments were less than savory toward both of us. However, Desiree only looked at me, arching her brow with a smug grin. She was right. How in the hell does she do that? The Queen of Hearts gained listeners by being persuasive, not knowledgeable. Maybe that’s how she got lovers too, only for that novelty to wear off. I wasn’t sure if she became bored with those men or the other way around.

“How many followers have you gained, Mr. Money Man?” It wasn’t my name, but it stuck; hell, I may have found my new moniker.

Too many people were so reliant on social media, I’ve never been one of those people. However, since my popularity was mainly in this God forsaken center of all that is social now, I had to look. “Um, wow!”

Excitedly, she asked, “What?”

“Four hundred new followers on Instagram,” I shook my head, now checking my Twitter account, “Five hundred forty-seven new stalkers on Twitter and friend requests aplenty on Facebook. Desiree, I seriously hate social media.” She paid no attention as she ran over, grabbing some unsuspecting man to take our picture.

Gritting her teeth and whispering, “You need to kiss me—on the mouth.” I can play that game, placing my mouth on hers, letting my lips linger on her cherry-chocolate flavored full lips. After the gentleman graciously took the picture, we both stared at each other in awkward silence. Was she thinking the same thing I was? Or perhaps that I could have used a mint? Not sure with her, but the look in her eyes was one of yearning, not disgust by my egg breath.

She took her phone back, thanking the man with the need to check out the picture. “That’s not too convincing. Why did you need to look at the guy when he took the picture?” Desiree complained, lightly tapping me on the arm.

“Fake relationship, fake kiss.”

Desiree tightened her lips, shaking her head. “You could, at least, fake better, Hardin. Let’s go play tourist,” she demanded, taking my hand in hers.

***Hours Later***

This girl dragged me from shop to shop, vendor to vendor. We had old-fashioned pictures taken—how appropriate; I dressed as a stuffy banker; she became a saloon girl. Desiree insisted on straddling me, which was a terrible idea since I was unable to hide how euphoric she made me feel.

We ate terrible Bar-be-Que, ordering lousy funnel cakes, while drinking our share of beer from local micro-breweries. It was a given that neither of us were in any shape to ride home; I was buzzing hard, and she seemed loopy. “Desiree, do you think it’d be a good idea getting a room rather than riding home?” Just what I needed on my record, a DUI.

“Oh,” she answered, stuffing her mouth full of cotton candy. “I am one step ahead of you, I always reserve a room, months in advance, knowing I’d be drinking all day. Also, without fail, there are never any vacancies during Western Days.” Of course, why doesn’t this surprise me? This girl was a thinker and a planner. Desiree took my hand, dragging me to a Bed and Breakfast. Since the owners were on a first name basis with her, it was safe to assume this was her usual place to stay every year. “This is my super fab boyfriend, Hardin.” The owners were kind, older people who smiled, introducing themselves while shaking my hand.

“Now, Miss Desiree, if you two are going to play around, keep it quiet since we're at capacity today,” the gentleman said with a stupid grin on his face, never taking his eyes off me.

That was overstepping any boundaries of common decency, but, I suppose, he was on that level with Desiree, so it was to be expected. What did he think we were going to do? Or what did Desiree think we were going to do? Was I going to bend her over and dry hump her? Hell no! I commit to making love to a woman. You never know if she’d commit to that. She was a good girl once you stripped away her tats, lavender streaked hair and piercings.

Once we closed the room door, she tossed her backpack next to mine on the bed and collapsed. “Come here, my fake boyfriend.” She held her hand out, inviting me to lie on the bed next to her. I would have declined that offer; however, my riding boots weren’t the most comfortable to walk around in all day.

Desiree turned on her side, resting her head on her hand. “Today has been a success. Let’s see how many listeners you get on Monday.”

“That would be great, sure.” There was no emotion in my voice, I had more on my mind than my radio show. “Hey, Desi—can I call you Desi?”

“No, you may not! It makes me sound like Farmer Ted. Like, I own a lot of cows, waiting to get their teats squeezed dry.” She was funny; not only funny, but she was also walking sensuality and something in me wanted to explore more than being a fake boyfriend.

“What if something happened between us? Like tonight, what if we really kissed and then oops slept with one another?” She sat up with her mouth gaped open. There was no frown on her face, more confusion.

“Are you saying that you are marginally attracted to me? And would like to engage in a one-night stand?” Wow! I take back everything I said about her being a good girl. I gather it does not oppose her to this idea. “Well, you’re a really handsome man, really pleasant to be around.” She shrugged, “you can rest your weary head. Nothing is going to happen to avoid the spread of nasty rumors about us on Monday.”

Epic fail but I tried!

Five

Desiree

While catching up on Outlander season three, I was daydreaming about Jamie Fraser using me to make Claire jealous, when Hardin walked back into the room from the community bathroom. He looked adorable dressed in plaid pajamas, though he tore off his nightshirt the moment he closed the door. “It’s too hot to have this thing on.”

I didn’t notice him at first, since a shirtless Sam Heughan captivated me on my iPad. It wasn’t until Hardin stood by the bed drinking a bottle of water that I noticed this man had the same body as my fantasy Hardin: a hairless chest and perfectly sculpted abs. “What are you watching?” Hardin asked as he threw himself on the bed next to me. I removed one of my earbuds in case he felt the need to engage in conversation. “Oh, Outlander? I love this show, Claire is hot!” And he did, though I wasn’t complaining; he was a good-looking man and I had been intrigued since meeting him face to face yesterday. “Already on Season 3?” I nodded. “I binged watched all four seasons in one month. Yeah, I have no life.”

“Neither do I,” I laughed, “I did the same thing. Oh, and I’ve read all the books. Such a brilliant story. I always fantasize that I will travel to Scotland, ride my bike up to Craigh na Dun and take a trip back in time to steal Jamie away from Claire. Of course, that’s after I persuade him to follow me into the barn so we can carry out some illicit behavior.”

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