Counterfeit Love

"And, really, smoking?" she asked, picking up a pack of my cigarettes from the table. "Are you literally trying to burn up all this money?" she asked. "I will write you up a PDF about all the changes that need to be made," she prattled on, locating my cell, picking it up, and swiping through it.

Finding what she was looking for, she pulled out her own phone, typing my number into it, taking me entirely out of the equation. "And I expect the changes to be implemented immediately upon receipt of said PDF," she declared, moving away from me, dropping my phone.

"Yes, ma'am," I said to her retreating form. Her hands were already quickly typing on her phone, probably working on that PDF that she threatened me with.

"Told you I had it all worked out," she said to Ferryn and Vance on her way out.

"Like your friend there, babe," I said to Ferryn, feeling a little whiplashed from the whole interaction.

"She's my cousin," Ferryn corrected.

"I think I might like getting bossed around by your cousin, babe," I told her, smirking.

"Well, that works out. Because she's really good at bossing people around."

I liked the idea of that.

I couldn't say I was that particular about women, personality-wise. I wasn't exactly a one-and-done sort of man, but I also wasn't one who spent so much time around a woman that her quicks and personality traits might appeal or repel me.

Fun and short-lived; that was how I liked it. A nice weekender, if you will. Maybe a fuck-buddy situation. Nothing deep, though.

So, I really wouldn't have realized yet I would be so into the idea of a woman that bossy, that intimidating, that intelligent telling me what to do.

If you would have said a week ago that I would stop smoking wherever I damn well pleased because some chick was going to put a line item in a PDF, I would have had a nice laugh at your expense.

But that was before Dream Girl walked into my place, and threw her attitude around, along with that milk and honey scent that seemed to be coming out of her pores.

Ferryn and Vance left to go into their apartment, having loud sex that the thin walls of the apartment building did nothing to muffle, making it impossible for my mind not to wander.

To ideas of naked bodies tangled in a heap on a bed, boneless, exhausted.

It would come as no surprise to anyone that the body and face of the other person in that imaginary bed belonged to Chris, the woman who, apparently, now had my balls in a vice grip.

I had a feeling she was the sort who would squeeze, too.

And yet I found I wanted to experience that anyway.

'Cause that wasn't fucked up at all.Chapter ThreeChrisHe was attractive.

You know, in a Da Vinci style Golden Ratio way. His features all worked together. Nothing was too close together, too wide, too narrow. All the parts had the right mathematical equation that equaled physical attractiveness.

I guess some might actually take a few points off for that rather menacing scar down his cheekbone. Then again, science says that when a person's face is too symmetrical, they fall into the 'uncanny valley,' which means normal people almost see them as inhuman, alien, robotic, like something isn't quite right with them.

The scar gave his face character.

And kept him from, you know, looking like an alien.

So, yeah, according to science, Finch was attractive.

The girls a few tables away--much too young to be eyeing a guy his age, I might add--certainly thought he was attractive, evidenced by the giggling and blushing if he so much as looked in their direction.

They even seemed to think he was attractive when he was shoveling pasta in his face. And, let's face it, next to no one was attractive when they were trying to suck a noodle into their mouth.

Why we were currently sitting in a diner three towns outside of Navesink Bank at midnight on a Saturday was completely beyond me. All I knew was this was the time and place he agreed to meet me.

Normally, I was the one setting up meetings, making plans. And, typically, those meetings would take place in daylight in a public place, out in the open. Parks were a particular favorite of mine.

I hadn't even put up a fight about it, though. Which was weird. I liked things my way. And I would typically go toe-to-toe with someone until I got it.

But his text had come through, and before I knew what I was doing, I was telling him I would be there.

So.

Yeah.

We were at the diner.

He was eating spaghetti, the meatballs long gone, and I was nursing a cup of bitter coffee.

"Order something," he demanded, not for the first time.

"I had dinner."

"Dinner was four or five hours ago, dollface," he reminded me. And I had to admit, my stomach was starting to grumble at his food. But I was having a hard time accepting that one could conduct a business meeting while pouring syrup over pancakes. "I saw you eyeing that breakfast menu," he told me, leaning back, taking a breather from his food. "Now, I just gotta figure out what you wanted. Eggs? Are you really an eggs at midnight at an all-night diner kind of person? I don't think so," he answered himself, head tipping to the side, gaze directed at me. "No. I think you're the kind of girl who goes for sweets when she's cheating from her normal routine. I think you want something slathered in syrup."