Fake Boyfriend Read online

  At the Atlanta airport, I shuffled into line with everyone else. I had TSA pre-check status so at least I was in the shorter line, although I wasn’t in a huge hurry. I was facing a five hour flight to Seattle. And while I’d been trained to survive in harsh conditions if necessary, I still didn’t look forward to folding my large body into the tiny economy seat.

  At the check-in line, a young woman stood in front of me. She was taller than average and slender with a bouncy red ponytail. A pair of fitted jeans showed off her cute little backside. I might be ready for some solitude, but I wasn’t dead inside.

  She had a huge purse with her, and another large padded bag that seemed too heavy for her, because she kept adjusting the strap. Finally, she let it drop to the floor. Her shoulders sagged.

  She turned around and shot me a big grin. I found myself smiling back, which was new. I usually tried to ignore people in airports.

  She looked around nineteen, which was way too young for me, but it didn’t hurt to look.

  “I think I overpacked,” she said. “I have my camera inside, and the tripod, and all the extra lenses.”

  A chatty passenger. This was the reason I usually ignored people in airports. I gave her what I hoped was a polite smile, but probably looked more like a grimace and turned to the side. This line wasn’t long, but we could be here for awhile. I didn’t want to be stuck in a conversation.

  She seemed to get the hint and she turned back to face forward, but it didn’t last long. Within minutes, she’d turned back around to face me. She looked me up and down. “Vacation?”

  I nodded. I was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, which was noticeably different than the people all around us traveling in business suits.

  I didn’t feel like offering any extra information. Once people found out I was in the Army they wanted to talk about it. At great length. I’d just have to keep that to myself.

  “My trip is for both work and vacation. I’m taking photos for a wedding,” she said proudly, apparently unbothered by my lack of participation in the conversation. “My friend warned me about putting this bag in the checked luggage. She said it would be in pieces.” She looked at me expectantly.

  I’d never had trouble ignoring someone outright, but I couldn’t bring myself to ignore her. She was so eager, so excited. I didn’t want to be the one to burst her bubble. “Your friend is right,” I said. “They throw the luggage.”

  A line appeared across her forehead. “I cannot let that happen to my camera.”

  “You need a rolling suitcase for next time,” I said, and I wanted to offer to carry her bag, but that would be crossing the line for someone I just met, especially in an airport.

  “That’s a great idea,” she said. “I need wheels for this thing.”

  How the hell she didn’t realize that was beyond me. I gestured to the desk ahead as we crept forward, because she was still not making any move to get her wallet out. In a crowded airport, the rest of the line would get frustrated fast with someone who didn’t have their shit together. “You need your driver’s license or passport out, and your boarding pass.” I pulled my ID out, and my boarding pass, hoping she was paying attention.

  She beamed up at me as if I’d given her a winning lottery ticket. “Thank you.” She dug in her purse, and came out with the stuff she needed.

  She made it through the check-in okay, but when it was time to put her belongings on the conveyor belt, before sending it through the x-ray machine, she hesitated. I saw her looking at the sign that listed all the prohibited items.

  “First time to fly?” I asked her.

  She spun to face me, and her brown eyes went wide. “No. I mean.” She bit down on her lip. “It’s the first time I’ve left through this terminal.” She pointed at the sign. “I have a lot of stuff listed there in my purse.”

  Behind us, people were already starting to groan and make irritated noises. I looked at my watch. I still had plenty of time before I boarded. “Do you need some help?”

  “Please.”

  To hell with being creepy. We needed to get this done. I picked up her big camera bag from the floor and slung it over my shoulder. I motioned for the couple behind me to go forward, and I took the young woman by the arm and moved her back in line with me.

  “Show me what’s in your bag.”

  Her cheeks turned red. “Everything?”

  What the hell did she have in there? “Do you know the rules?”

  “Which rules?”

  How old was this woman? Who didn’t know the security screening rules? “Come on.” I tapped her shoulder and pointed. “We’re going to the back of the line. All the way back. We’re lucky you qualified for TSA pre-screening, or we’d be in a much longer line.” About ten people scooted around us, and I held out my hand. “Let me see.”

  She handed over her bag. Inside was a glass water bottle with a silicone case, a huge bottle of lotion, and a giant can of hairspray and about a million other things.

  “You can’t take half of this on board.”

  “Why not?”

  Had she been living under a rock? Maybe she’d been homeschooled, and wasn’t allowed to watch television or read the news. “The TSA says so. They think it could lead to something dangerous--”

  “Like a bo--”

  I put my hand up to her mouth. It was way more personal than I’d normally get with anyone I didn’t know. Had she seriously been about to say the word bomb? At an airport?

  “Rule number one. If you were about to say what I think you were, don’t. Never ever say that word in an airport for any reason.”

  She nodded. “That makes sense.”

  “Rule two.” I picked up the hairspray. “Anything over two ounces is a big no.”

  “You must think I’m insane,” she said, but she didn’t look the least bit embarrassed. Her large brown eyes were dancing.

  “You’re definitely insane. Why do you need this much of hairspray? Are you staying for a year?”

  She grabbed the can from me. “My cousin’s getting married.”

  “She can’t pack her own hairspray?”

  She popped the lid off and shook it, then pretended to aim it at my face.

  I took the can back before she accidentally doused me. “See, that’s why they can’t allow aerosol sprays on the plane.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because you’re scary with it. And it can blind someone.”

  She laughed. “I’ve always wanted to be scary. But the can is for my clients. No one ever has enough hairspray at a wedding.”

  “Ever?”

  “Nope. Not ever.”

  I opened her bag again. I’d have preferred to dump it on the ground. I rounded up all the stuff that wasn’t allowed, and handed it to her. “You better ditch all that. Your only other option is going back to your car and stashing it there.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Too much trouble.” She leaned over the rope and dropped it all into a trash can.

  “I think you’re the one that’s trouble.”

  “That was lame. Really lame.”

  “I never said I was cool.”

  She put her hands on her hips and stared up at me. “I’m Loren,” she said.

  “Jackson Williams.” I found myself laughing. This woman was pure chaos. “Headed back to college?” I asked. God help me, why was I asking her questions now?

  “I graduated. In May.”

  “I assumed you were younger.”

  “Most people do. But I’m twenty-two.”

  “What was your major?”

  “I graduated with a degree in photography. I want to be a wedding and an event photographer.”

  “I don’t know much about photography.”

  “Would you let me take your picture? I did a whole semester on portraits and candids. I won’t post it online or anything crazy like that.”

  “Here?”

  “Sure. I can just use my smartphone. I won’t unpack all my equipment.” When I didn�
��t answer, she smiled. “You don’t have to. I know it’s a weird request to ask of someone you don’t know.”

  I didn’t mind. I wasn’t working, so I didn’t see the harm. “Okay,” I said. “But why?”

  There was that smile again. I’d never met someone who smiled so big over something so small.

  “You were nice to me. I could hear the people groaning behind us, pissed off because I was holding up the line. I like to document everything.”

  “But not on social media?”

  “No. I do keep a photography blog.” She lifted one shoulder. “But I won’t post yours.”

  “You can post it. Not sure why you’d want to, but I don’t mind.” Plenty of my teammates posted ridiculous selfies. As long as we didn’t identify where we were or what we were doing, it was fine.

  “I have a feeling you’ll get a lot of hits,” she said under her breath.

  “Are you going to objectify me?”

  Her skin turned scarlet, but she laughed. “I’d like to say no, but…” She pulled her phone out of her purse. “Just look down at your watch. Now look at me. Now smile.” She put her phone away. “You have a gorgeous smile.”

  I didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about my smile, but I’d take the compliment. “Thanks.” I’d been hit on plenty of times, and I often took the women up on their offers.

  Finally, we were at the front of the line for the TSA security check. “Let me go first,” I said. “And you watch.” She did, and she sailed through the process.

  I could not watch her struggle with that bag while we walked. “Let me carry that.” Without waiting for her to agree, I picked up her bag again. “What gate?”

  “Gate?”

  “Look at your boarding pass.”

  “This says I’m Gate 54-A.”

  We were on the same flight. I wasn’t sure if I should be happy or alarmed. The longer I spent around Loren, the more I liked her. “Headed to Seattle?”

  “Yep. And then onto Alaska.”

  “Me too.”

  She whirled toward me, nearly knocking into a sunglasses display in the middle of the terminal. “I can’t believe we’re on the same flight. That’s serendipity!”

  “What are the odds?” I said.

  “Pretty small,” she said. As we walked inside the main terminal, she stared up at the ceiling. “It’s huge in here.” She followed me on the moving sidewalks and onto the tram system, where we both stayed standing as the tram rattled along the terminal.

  “Where do you usually fly out of?” I had to know.

  “Macon.”

  Macon was small, but it was still an airport. There were still rules to follow. As we rode, Loren pulled her phone out again and snapped photos of the tram.

  “I’m hungry,” Loren said. “Do I have time to stop at one of these restaurants?”

  “We have about thirty minutes. You don’t want to cut it too close, but you have time to stop.”

  “Do you want anything?” she asked.

  “I’ll stop too.”

  She picked a little cafe with sandwiches. “Let me get yours,” she said. “As a thank you for being so helpful to me.”

  This young woman was not going to pay for my food. “You’ve already thanked me. I’ll get yours. To celebrate your first time at the Atlanta airport.”

  She blinked those big eyes at me. The corners of her lips curved up. “I definitely think surviving that line full of hostile passengers deserves a celebration.”

  “I’ve seen worse.”

  “Yeah, only because you stepped in. Whenever there are a lot of people around, or there’s a lot going on, I get flustered.”

  “Aren’t weddings kind of chaotic?”

  “Yes. I’m working on it,” she said.

  We both picked out bagels and a piece of fruit and she chose a table nearest the rest of the airport. “I love people watching,” she said. “And this is a great place to do it.”

  If we were in a city, I’d have insisted we move. In a city, we’d have been too exposed for me to relax enough to eat. But here, in this weapons-free, closed environment, I could let it go.

  I nodded. I watched people too, but not for fun.

  She spread cream cheese all over her bagel, and I watched the graceful movements of her hand while she held the knife, and my body reacted. I wouldn’t mind having her hands on me.

  Was I losing it? Had I gotten an undiagnosed head injury in Romania? I liked women. I always had. But I’d never gotten hard over something so mundane. Hoping for a distraction, I bit into my apple.

  And then out of the blue, she asked, “Which branch of the military do you serve in?”

  I kept chewing my apple, trying not to look startled. I wasn’t expecting that question. I wasn’t going to lie to her, although I gave as little details as possible. “Army. How’d you know?” I’d had plenty of people ask me, but most were other soldiers who said they recognized the body language, or some mannerism I had.

  “I saw your ID when we were in line.”

  Well hell. Apparently I wasn’t very discreet. Not that it mattered. Undercover missions weren’t part of my job, so it didn’t matter who knew.

  “Active duty?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you for your service,” she said. Her sunny smile faded. “My cousin was killed in Iraq. He was a doctor in the Army. We didn’t think he’d be in danger. But you know how it is.”

  I did know how it was. And I never knew what to say to a grieving family member. Everything seemed inadequate. “I’m sorry.”

  “My uncle is in the military too. He’s an Air Force Lieutenant Colonel. He’s serving at the Pentagon.”

  Pentagon? That was probably a signal to me to stay the hell away. The last thing I needed was her obviously well-connected family pissed off at a thirty-six year old soldier for corrupting their baby.

  “Time for us to go,” I said, grabbing our paper trash and stuffing it into the trash can.

  I picked up Loren’s camera bag and started walking.

  “You walk too fast,” she said.

  “You do not want to miss your flight. It’s a massive pain in the ass.” I liked her. A lot. But she was twenty-two, had a bunch of high-ranking military family members, and seemed way too innocent to be near me.

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  Once we arrived at our gate, Loren didn’t even have time to sit down in one of the hard plastic chairs before the loudspeaker popped on. The intercom crackled as the airline attendant spoke. “We are now boarding first class.”

  “That’s me,” Loren said.

  Of course. She was in first class. So I really wouldn't be seeing her again.

  She put her hand on my arm. The spot where her small hand landed on my skin felt like flames licking my skin. I’d been touched hundreds of times. Why did her hand feel any different?

  “Thank you again,” she said. “I really do appreciate it. If you ever want to see my photography blog, my last name is Stevens.”

  “I’ll look you up,” I said.

  I watched her walk away. Most recent graduates didn’t have the money to fly first class. The ones that did usually had rich parents, but they’d flown hundreds of times. She’d claimed this wasn’t her first time to fly, but I doubted she was telling the truth.

  That didn’t stop me from watching her. There was no harm. She’d be safely tucked away in the front of the plane, and I’d wedge myself into a tiny seat, and I’d never see her again.

  Chapter Four

  Loren

  “Enjoy your flight,” the attendant said as I neared the boarding area.

  Face flushed, I could only nod at her.

  I’d just met the hottest man I’d ever seen in my life, and I had made a total and complete mess of myself.

  I covered my face with my hand. I’d considered myself a seasoned traveler. But there was a world of difference between flying on a private plane where I walked onto the tarmac and hopped on,
without giving what I’d packed a second thought.

  Was it just last week that I’d chided my mom and dad for treating me like a baby? And then I’d shown up at the Atlanta airport, an international hub with thousands of people following the regulations, and I’d shown just how little I knew about regular life.

  Why did it have to be right in front of Jackson?

  I supposed it didn’t matter too much. Even if he was stationed at Fort Benning for years, I’d probably never see him again.

  I’d always had a thing for older men, although I’d never pursued one. And one had certainly never pursued me, because I’d always had a bodyguard about two feet away. High school prom? Security guard present. Sorority party in college? Security guard present. There was something about having a giant man watching my every move that put a real damper on my love life.

  If a guy ever did start to hit on me, as soon as he saw the bodyguard, a hulking man in a black suit, he backed off fast.

  On some occasions, I’d gotten to kiss guys, and even dance with them, but that was as far as it had ever gotten.

  And I know for a fact that every security guard I ever had, did report everything right back to my mom and dad.

  I’d complained for years. But no one was sympathetic. Most of my family had private security, and they all thought the trade offs were worth it.

  I was the only one that didn’t appreciate the scrutiny. Did that make me a selfish jerk? Maybe. But I was past caring.

  Now for the first time in my life I’d broken free, and I’d immediately made a fool of myself. In spite of my ignorance, Jackson had been patient with me. If he’d been exasperated, it hadn’t shown.

  What could I do to thank him? Would it be creepy to upgrade him to first class for being nice to me? Probably.

  Wait. He was a soldier. It was definitely socially acceptable to thank a soldier, and I genuinely wanted to thank him. I’d watched the sacrifices my own family members had made over the years to serve our country, and if I could find some small way to honor them, then I’d do it.