The Real Deal

He shrugs. “Yeah, that’s true.”

I give him the once-over. “Fine, your Darth and your Kermit are totally impressive. And so is the suitcase full of accents. Yet I do like that whole gravelly, phone sex, talk-dirty-to-me voice you’ve got going on.”

It’s his turn to raise an eyebrow. “‘Talk dirty to me’? That’s how I sound to you?”

Yes, God yes. And some secret part of me is dying to hear your voice in the dark.

But I don’t say that or anything more sanitized either, since there’s no point. We aren’t going there. We aren’t going anywhere. Plus, the conductor takes over, barking overhead. “Take your seats. The train is pulling out of the station.”

Theo raises his right arm and yanks it down and up. “Toot toot.”

He sounds exactly like a train whistle. He shoots me a sheepish look, and it’s a new one for me. He’s been all cocky confidence and irresistible charm. This new look is endearing, like he wants me to like his train noises. “Sound effects provided at no extra charge.”

“A bonus? Lucky me.” I cross my arms in mock indignation. “I suppose it’s only fair that I get an extra service from you, seeing as how you’ve ruined caviar. You’ve ruined trains. I won’t let you ruin my other train fantasy, though.”

“What’s that one?”

The car lurches forward, rolling out of the station.

Should I go here? Should I tell him my train fantasy? I’ve never shared it with another man, and looking back, I’m glad Landon the Liar doesn’t know I have a thing for trains. I’m equally pleased that Brody the Basement Dweller never took me on the New Jersey PATH and tried to get it on.

But here with Theo? The guy I hired to play my lover, who’s willing to “tell wild and risqué stories … about our hot-as-sin sex life?” Sure, I can tell him. Telling him is safe.

My voice drops in volume as I set the scene. “A quiet train at night. Nearing midnight. The car is almost empty. All the interior lights are dimmed, and there’s just a flicker now and then from a passing town.” I let my hand brush down my chest, the fantasy unfolding so vividly before my mind’s eye. “And we’re quiet, no one can hear us. But we have to be careful.”

He breathes harder for a second, and I feel like I’ve caught him off guard. Hell, I think I’ve caught myself off guard. Here it is, more fantasy unspooled as the wheels stroke against the rails and we move backwards.

“You’d like that?” His voice is deeper, rougher. And that’s saying something.

I turn to him. It’s early evening, we’re surrounded by people, and the conductor is trundling up the aisle, a few rows ahead.

“I would like that,” I say, my voice barely a whisper; then I latch on to the stories we tell. “Isn’t that something we did the other night?”

He slides so seamlessly into the way we played the other afternoon. His eyes darken. The corner of his lips curves up. “Yeah, you wore a black dress. The kind that wraps around your waist,” he says, ghosting his fingers over my stomach, not quite touching. My back nearly arches. I will myself to stay still. He hasn’t even put his fingers on me, but I can feel how he would.

“You like it when I wear those dresses.”

His voice is like a growl, low and dirty. “Because I like having access to you.”

He tugs at the imaginary tie around my waist, and a thrill races through me, like a pulse. I turn my face, even closer, and we’re inches away, spinning stories of our imaginary love life. “Sometimes you can’t keep your hands off me.”

He laughs, but it’s a sexy sound, raspy and masculine. “‘Sometimes,’ cupcake?” He raises a brow, then drags his index finger from my shoulder down to my wrist, leaving a trail of hot sparks in his wake. How I wish I’d already taken off this little summer sweater. I’m dying to know how he feels flesh to flesh. “Try all the time.”

“All the time,” I repeat, because it sounds too good, too intoxicating not to say it again.

I watch his throat move as he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Like the time on the train a few weeks ago.”

“The car was nearly empty,” I whisper as heat sweeps over my skin.

“Only another couple far up in the front. We took a chance.” His eyes are on me the whole time, and I swear they’re blazing.

“We like to take chances.”

He dips his face closer to my neck. “I couldn’t wait, April. I had to have you then.” The way he says my name is dark and sensual.

The pulse beats faster. “You looked around, made sure no one was walking by. Then you pulled me onto your lap.”

“And lifted your skirt,” he says, his voice smoky and sending me into a tailspin of lust. I can see this all in my mind’s eye. His pants undone. My knees on either side of his thighs. His hands wrapped around my hips. My face in the crook of his shoulder as I swallow all the sounds. Our moves as subtle as possible so no one knows.

No one but us.

“We were fast and quiet,” I whisper, my voice like a feather.

A rumble sounds across his lips as he goes next. “But it was good. So fucking good.”

“It always is.”

“Every. Single. Time.”

A man’s voice interrupts. “Tickets, please.”

I snap out of this dreamy state. Take a deep breath, center myself. I grab the tickets from my purse, handing them to the silver-haired man with the bushy mustache. His conductor hat perches low on his forehead, obscuring his eyes as he punches the tickets. When he raises his face, he studies my green eyes longer than I expect. “Everything okay? Your face is…”

I clasp my hand to my cheek. I’m flaming hot. I fan my face and point to the window. “It’s from the sun,” I say, even though we’re heading into evening.

“Be sure to get some water.” He turns, ambles to the next row, and says, “Tickets, please.”

Theo laughs under his breath.

I swat him. “Thanks for not sticking up for me.”

“What was I supposed to say? My pretend girlfriend gets hot from the stories of our fake sex life?”

He says it like it’s the most ridiculous thing, but my eyes stray downward, and the shape of his jeans tells me it’s not ridiculous at all. I’m not the only one aroused from stories of our make-believe midnight train ride.

“Finish the story,” he demands, his voice husky again.

Yeah, I’m not the only one at all. But this sort of arousal hardly counts. We’re like two actors getting turned on from a screen kiss. Surely, Emma Stone has gone weak in the knees from at least a couple of the times she’s kissed Ryan Gosling on camera.

“Hmm.” I tap my lip and hum. “I can’t seem to remember now. Did it end well? Do you recall?”

He brings his mouth near my ear. Dangerously close. “I always get you there.”

“Dangerously close” describes us perfectly. Dangerously close to trouble.

I smooth a hand down my shirt. “Now that we’re clear on that fable, we should probably settle on the other details, don’t you think?”

He nods. “Of course.”

“You’re going to be Theo, right?”

“It’s just easier to use my name.”

“We met at your bar. We’ve been together for a month and a half. We like to go bowling, play retro arcade games, and I regularly whip your ass in foosball.”

“What? No way. I school you.”

I stare down the bridge of my nose. “We’ll see about that. If you want to take me on in foosball, go ahead and try.”

“Fine. You’re the foosball champ.”

“Other details. Let’s see. My family has no idea Xavier was going to be my original plus-one, so we’re fine on that count. You’ve met Claire and Tom, so you can reference them, especially since the four of us sometimes go dancing at clubs. I’ve never met a cuisine I won’t try. I drink coffee, tea, or soda. I’m completely caffeine omnivorous, and I can have it at any time of day. I love hot food and ice cream, and I’m waiting to find out if I’ll win the gig painting the swimsuit edition of Sporting World.”