Chapter Seven
Bethany
I fell into the pattern of exchanging information with Ransom in a game instead of the ordered method I’d had in mind. It felt strange in a certain way--telling Ransom random things about myself, and hearing things from him, without knowing how much of what he was telling me was actually about him, and how much was the character he’d invented for himself.
“What culinary school did you go to?” That seemed like the kind of thing that I would know about my boyfriend--especially if we’d started dating after I’d hired him to cater an event for the organization I worked for.
“I went to Le Cordon Bleu, of course,” Ransom replied. “What was something that you always wanted to do when you were a kid but never quite got up the guts to do?”
“Ride a horse,” I said. “I always wanted to, but whenever I got the chance to try it, I always found a way to chicken out.”
“Horseback riding is a lot of fun, if you’ve got the legs for it,” Ransom said, and he took the opportunity to give my legs a lengthy look. “And you do. You’d be fine.”
I rolled my eyes at that but I couldn’t help but feel strangely flattered.
As the afternoon wore on, we had another beer each, and started quizzing each other about what we’d learned. I didn’t want to actually be drunk before the big dinner, but I had to admit that I didn’t--exactly--want to be sober, either. With two beers in me, I was definitely feeling more comfortable at the thought of seeing all the people I knew from my graduating class, and more confident of the scheme that Ransom and I had worked up between us.
“Why is my name James?” he asked.
I blinked at Ransom’s question, on the point of telling him his name was not, in fact, James--and then remembered the identity he was assuming. “Because your mother was a big fan of...James Brown,” I said. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t think of what Ransom had actually told me his cover story’s name idea had been.
“Nope. It’s because my Dad was in the military, and his commanding officer had been called James,” Ransom said, clucking his tongue against his teeth. “That means a forfeit.”
“Oh god. What are you going to make me tell you?” Ransom tapped his fingertips against his lips.
“Have you ever had sex with another woman?”
I felt my face burning at the question. I nodded. “Once, I tried it--just to see,” I said. “You know how it is, I guess.”
“And what did you think?”
I looked at Ransom sharply. “That isn’t part of the question.”
“I’m just curious,” Ransom said with a shrug.
“I thought it was nice...but it wasn’t anything really special. It was the same thing as having sex with anyone.” I stopped myself there; I could feel the words crowding at my lips, but I couldn’t let myself say them.
“Your turn,” Ransom said, accepting my answer without prying too much--which I couldn’t help but appreciate.
“What’s my dream date?”
Ransom tilted his head back slightly, thinking. “You want to be surprised with a four-course meal, somewhere private...and you want it to be all your favorite things. Your favorite foods, your favorite wine--Beaujolais--and your favorite flowers, which are...daisies?”
“Nope. My favorite flowers are tulips,” I said.
“I would probably make that mistake even if I was your actual boyfriend,” Ransom pointed out.
“Still, you earned a forfeit,” I countered.
“Fine, fine. What do you want to know?”
“Same thing that you asked me, but reversed. Have you ever been with a guy?”
Ransom grinned, looking absolutely shameless. “One or two--just to see,” he said. “I was a horny teenager. I didn’t think I was into guys, but there were a couple of guys at a school I went to who were into me, and I figured that getting off was getting off.”
“You’re not embarrassed or anything?”
Ransom shook his head. “It was enough for me to know for sure that I wasn’t into guys, and the guys who I was with knew that I probably wasn’t, so they weren’t too heartbroken about it,” he said, shrugging.
“Guys are weird,” I said, almost to myself.
We kept going like that, though I backed off on the beer for a little while, changing it out for water. I tried to keep an eye on the clock, to give myself enough time to get ready for the dinner at the school, but I was so wrapped up in Ransom’s game--and the forfeits--that hours passed with us just drinking and talking, and joking with each other.
Around mid-afternoon, I got a chance to show off my own cooking skills, and made us some easy snacks to eat while we quizzed each other back and forth. I just made a quick roasted vegetable salad and some garlic bread to go with it, but Ransom wolfed it down.
“Well, I should have some cooking skills, if I’m dating a chef--right?” I said, grinning at him. I was starting to feel more and more at ease with Ransom. It was almost strange--because I definitely hadn’t felt so at ease with any of the other guys I’d had anything to do with in years.
“You definitely should,” Ransom agreed. “And that reminds me—we should figure out what your favorite dish of mine is.”
“I would need to know what you’re actually able to cook,” I pointed out.
“Assume I can cook what normal chefs can cook, along with some other stuff,” Ransom told me.
“But you’re not actually a chef,” I insisted, without knowing why I insisted on it.
“But I’m also not likely to be called on to act like a chef,” Ransom countered.
“Hmm, maybe something French?” I suggested.
“Coq au vin. With noodles,” Ransom said.
“That’s the one, then,” I agreed, giggling. It was just so ridiculous to me suddenly.
“What’s funny about that?”
I shook my head. “It’s just that I can’t quite believe I’m actually going through with the scheme of having a fake boyfriend.”
“Well, think of it like I’m a temporary boyfriend instead,” Ransom suggested.
“That makes you sound like a male prostitute,” I pointed out.
“I actually have a question about that,” Ransom said. “Why didn’t you just hire a male escort? It would’ve been cheaper than the twenty-thousand you offered me.”
“I figured it would get obvious if it was a pro,” I said.
“Well, at least with a pro, you could also get actual sex--that’d be a benefit,” Ransom pointed out.
I shook my head. “I wouldn’t be interested. Now, let’s go on with quizzing each other. What’s my favorite color?”
“Easy. Green. What’s my favorite band?”
“Trick question,” I replied. “You love Frank Turner, who isn’t technically a band.”
“What’s the one dish I never mastered from culinary school?”
My mind went completely and totally blank. “Oh, I know this. I know I know this.” I rubbed at my face, trying to buy myself time to remember the fake fact. “It was something really simple, too.”
“Nope, you can’t answer. You have to do a forfeit,” Ransom insisted.
I tried to rack my brain for a few more moments, but the answer just wouldn’t come to me. “Fine, fine. What’s the forfeit?” I cringed pre-emptively at the idea of what Ransom would ask me.
“Why wouldn’t you have been interested in sex?”
“It’s just not something I’m into,” I said, already feeling a little defensive--but less defensive than I would have the night before.
“A pro could change your mind on that, and for twenty thousand dollars, you could get a hell of a pro,” Ransom pointed out.
“Trust me, I’m not into it for very good reasons.”
Ransom raised an eyebrow at that and I took the opportunity to ask him another question about me before he could dig any deeper.
“You started working there when you were still in college, and got a full-time job as soon as you graduated,” Ransom replied to my question.
Back and forth we went until I’d hoped he’d forgotten about my comments on the subject of “professionals” completely. I put away the leftover snacks and decided to have one more beer before I went upstairs to get ready. I finally got my own back--a little bit--on Ransom, when he forgot what I’d told him about my favorite dessert.
“When did you lose your virginity?” I asked him.
“I was nineteen.”
“That old? Even I lost mine at seventeen,” I said, teasing a little bit.
“Seventeen? But I thought you weren’t interested in sex,” Ransom said, teasing me right back.
“It’s not because I haven’t tried it! Jesus.”
“So, did you just burn out on it when you were still a teenager?” he asked.
I shrugged. Somehow, I was feeling more open than ever before--maybe because I had a little sense of pride at having lost my virginity before Ransom did, in spite of his comments about boy-on-boy action.
“Wait! You said you’d been with a boy before,” I said, when I remembered.
“That wasn’t real sex,” he countered. “Besides, I figured you meant with a girl.”
“I did, I guess,” I admitted.
“So, why aren’t you interested in sex?”
I considered coming up with a lie, but I didn’t feel like it. “No one I’ve been with has been that great, I guess,” I said. “I mean--they’ve enjoyed themselves, at least as far as I’ve been able to tell.”
“But you didn’t?” Ransom looked at me a little bit doubtfully.
“It was kind of fun, at first. But I never got anything out of it...physically.”
“What do you mean by that?” Ransom’s doubtful look turned into confusion.
“I don’t think I’ve ever actually had an orgasm,” I said slowly, looking down at my hands. I don’t know why I felt ashamed of it--I’d read up on the issue long before, and found out that a lot of women just didn’t. But I felt weird about it anyway, and I felt weird about admitting it to a stranger.
“Never? Not even on your own?”
I bit my bottom lip. “I’ve been told it’s different with actual sex,” I said. “I think--I’m pretty sure--I’ve gotten myself off, but not…” I shrugged again.
“But never with anyone--guy or girl?”
I shook my head.
“That’s a damn shame,” Ransom said.
“It’s just one of those things,” I said. “There are lots of women who can’t get off from sex.”
“No, there are a lot of women who haven’t met someone who’s patient enough and educated enough to get them off,” Ransom countered.
“Well, whatever the case, it’s never happened with anyone for me, and I guess...I just kind of gave up on trying. I put all my energy into other things.”
“You’re not asexual, are you? I mean--if that was the case, that would make sense,” Ransom said.
“I definitely experience sexual attraction,” I said. “I just know it’s never going to lead anywhere.”
“That’s just sad,” Ransom said, shaking his head in a disappointed way.
“It’s life. Not much I can do about it.” I decided that it was definitely time to change the subject, and moved back into quizzing him and answering his questions.
By the time I finished my beer, it was time for me to get ready to go, and Ransom brought the bag out of his room to get my approval on what he’d bought: a pair of basic black pants, and a blue dress shirt that I thought would make his eyes look like brown velvet. He had a tie to go with it, and I had a blue dress that I could wear to match him.
I went upstairs and got into the shower, trying to decide how to feel about what we were about to attempt. I scrubbed myself from head to toe, and made sure I didn’t need to shave anywhere, since the dress I’d decided on was a little on the daring end. Ransom seemed like a decent enough guy, and he was definitely smart. Part of me felt guilty at the idea of passing off a fake boyfriend, but I reminded myself that the high school friends I’d kept over the years probably weren’t being completely honest about their own lives in all their social media postings.
I’d spent years devouring their vacations, their wedding pictures, pictures of their kids, news about their promotions. I got a kind of vicarious thrill out of lives I knew I wasn’t quite brave enough--or something enough--to try and lead for myself. I never posted much about my own life, apart from occasional updates about my work or promotions for events, but I tried to make it seem like it was because I was just a very private person.
I wanted to make a real splash at the reunion, and I was pretty sure that the combination of my job success and the fake boyfriend I was going to bring would solidify the idea that I was living the best possible life that I could. I hoped that I could pull things off with Ransom--James, I reminded myself--and that we’d carry through the whole weekend without anyone, except for my friend Jess, the wiser that it was all a sham.
I also hoped that I could get Ransom to take money instead of the information access I’d agreed to, but I had long since made peace with the fact that he might not, and that I’d just have to deal with it. By the time I went downstairs, my shoes in my hand so I wouldn’t risk tripping on the stairs, I felt like a million bucks, and I was as confident as I could be. All there was left to do was get through the night.