Jon raced down the alley, as Greta contemplated the potential ramifications. Best case scenario: she became Kardashian-famous, parlaying her sexy stint into a reality show, clothing line, and signature perfume. Worst case: fired, disowned, publically humiliated.
One certainly seemed more likely than the other, but Greta had always considered herself an optimist.
-Have unwittingly created sex tape. Unclear if ruined or need agent. She quickly thumbed out a group text to Summer and Amy and waited. She didn’t wait long.
-OMFG CALL A LAWYER Summer responded, just as Amy’s came through.
-if i’d known u were doing that i could have given u tips
-But I didn’t know, that’s the whole point! The more she thought about it, the less certain she was that fame and fortune would result.
-Out of curiosity, though, I may need those tips later. She added thoughtfully.
-NOPE JUST LAWYER came Summer.
-i’ll pm u grl Amy typed.
Greta began to consider the pros and cons again. On one hand, it was probably good to know what one’s sex faces looked like so that one could adjust them to their most attractive. On the other, her mother would most certainly kill her. And her sisters would help. And there was a decent chance her brothers-in-law would kill Jon.
But there would be a public record of the hands-down best oral ever, and she could relive it any time she wanted to. But, again, there would be a public record that any old skeeve could relive anytime they wanted to.
It was dark, and she’d been covering half her face, so there was actually a really good chance no one would ever be able to tell it was her. But what if, God forbid, Mina accidentally saw it?
Nope. The sex tape had to go. Anyway, Greta never would have survived a reality show. She was too private.
-WTF ARE YOU GOING TO TELL US THE STORY OR WHAT buzzed Summer’s text.
-Later. Yes.
-Lol i expect a copy of the tape plz Hah, Greta thought, it’d be screened at the next Green Guerillas fundraiser, no doubt. Speaking of—she checked the time—that would be over by now.
-Did you make any money tonight, Amy?
-WHY ARE WE TALKING ABOUT AMY
-lolol very little $ but very much fun thx for bringing hot dj
She had to admit. It did feel sort of nice to show up with someone to these events. And it wasn’t like she was showing up with just anyone. Even people who didn’t recognize DJ Force still knew he was crazy good-looking, and that was pretty cool. There was a little thrill of delight that went through her knowing she was the object of other women’s envy.
Tonight she’d been cornered by three different people demanding to know where she’d met him. “My sister’s wedding,” she’d answered, and left it at that. No doubt about it, she’d picked the best possible fake-date. She had amazing taste.
Well. Amy and Summer had. But they wouldn’t have picked him if she hadn’t been scoping him, so she felt she got partial credit anyway.
And she still felt deliciously warm and relaxed from her tryst, regardless of the current weirdness. Which bore some more thinking about as well. A mere few days ago, Greta had sworn she wasn’t even going to kiss the guy. Then she’d had such a great experience kissing him that it was awfully easy to have done it again tonight.
And the man knew what he was doing when it came to a woman’s body, no doubt about that. It had been so long since Greta had experienced that, she had forgotten to miss it.
But after this? No way was she settling back into a dry spell. So what was a girl to do? She supposed the simplest—if anything about this could be considered simple—plan was the best.
They’d just have to be fake dates with benefits.
It would lend more credence to their pretend relationship, after all, if people saw them occasionally get a little handsy. It was becoming very easy to justify more orgasms. But who didn’t want more of those? No, this was a good idea, she just hadn’t seen it before.
After all, there was no danger of emotional entanglement. Not on her end, at least. She made a mental note to remind Jon that she wasn’t really available.
Speaking of Jon, what was taking him so long? Was he fighting the DJ? Was he winning? Greta didn’t know what the protocol was here. Should she go look for him, or stay and wait?
-In alley, waiting for co-star to return, ideally with tape. Send snacks.
-OMFG GET OUT OF THE ALLEY
-WHY ARE YOU IN AN ALLEY
-WHO EVEN ARE YOU ANYMORE
-lolololol i need snacks for this thread
-This night has really been a roller coaster. Greta realized even that was putting it mildly.
-BUT ARE YOU STILL ALONE IN AN ALLEY
-THE LACK OF HYGIENE INVOLVED CONCERNS ME AS MUCH AS THE TAPE
Just then, Jon came jogging back around the corner with a grin on his face. He wasn’t even winded, and there was no visible blood anywhere. Greta was impressed with his fighting skills. He must have just demolished that kid in no time flat. Very impressive for a DJ.
“You know martial arts?” She hoped it was that, and not that he had some sort of weapon concealed about his person. Though surely she would have noticed? She’d thought he was just happy to see her, but it really could have been a gun in his pocket.
“Uh, no. I offered him some tickets to next week’s show with CeAnna if he erased it.” Jon looked more amused than she thought he should at the whole situation.
“So to be clear, my boss will never find my sex tape online?” She felt she needed to steer the conversation back towards the potential gravity, despite having had the thoughts she had before.
“You’re safe from internet-porn-fame for now.” He wrapped her into a hug, surrounding her with his familiar seafaring scent. “Shall I escort you home, then?” She nodded her assent. “And perhaps escort you out tomorrow?” She paused, then nodded again. They needed to do plenty of public dating to prove to her friends she was giving it a real go.
“I’m going to have the girls meet us,” she told him. Considering he knew full well these weren’t real dates, she still could have sworn he looked mildly disappointed.
“Fine, but we’re continuing on without them afterwards.” Greta’s nipples tightened.
“No can do. I only have a little time off. Bob’s got a ‘business’ trip.” This time, she felt a little disappointed too.
-All clear, tape destroyed, headed home. If she didn’t let the girls know, Summer would be out personally patrolling the streets soon.
-YOU ARE WAY TOO CALM ABOUT THIS SHIT On second thought, she might just do that anyway.
-these texts had everything. good premise, plot twist, resolution.:)
Well. That was true. For everywhere the night had taken her, she had to admit it was a good story.
* * *
“So your story is that you came straight home after my roller skating party?” Mina said suspiciously.
“That’s my story. Yep.” Greta avoided eye contact as she cracked a couple of eggs into a shallow bowl. No way was she revealing her misadventure, and not just because she was worried she’d come all over again just thinking about it.
“Because I really wanted to tell you about how Coco Barnes was so jealous that DJ Force showed up that she told everyone that Beyoncé was going to sing at her birthday party, only her stepmom heard her—you know, the one we’re all not supposed to know was her nanny before—” Here Mina shot Greta a look that was simultaneously warning and hopeful.
Greta ignored it, and began to whisk milk into the eggs. They’d been over this story before. Obviously Mina had the fantasy of Greta being Mom too, but like hell was Greta hooking up with Bob. Nasty. Although Coco’s dad was even worse. Who were these desperate women out there, dating all the creepy dads?
“I still can’t believe your father made you invite that little twit,” she mumbled, reaching for the nutmeg.
“He said if I was inviting the rest of my class that I had to invite Coco, but I think really it’s because my dad is trying to get a meeting with her dad and her dad isn’t returning my dad’s calls.” Greta paused to follow the thread, then nodded for Mina to continue.
“So her stepmom said, in front of everyone, that they weren’t getting her Beyoncé, they were getting her a pony ride and a princess castle bounce house! Can you believe it? Do we have blueberries?” Mina was fairly giddy with her rival’s public takedown. Not giddy enough to prevent her from backseat driving in the kitchen, though.
“No, I can’t believe it,” Greta said, though she really could. All these poor little rich girls were constantly involved in an elaborate game of putting on shows for each other. It was behavior you usually didn’t see until the teenage years, at least not in the neighborhood she grew up in.
And it was sad.
“Well, maybe you could have believed it last night, but you were not in your bed when I jumped on it.” Busted.
“Well, I mean. I maybe was outside talking to the girls when you went in.” Greta busied herself slicing some leftover challah bread.
“Maybe. But I peeked out there too. Do we have the blueberries? And the good kind of syrup?” She was doing big-blinky-eyes now. Cute little monster was too nosy for her own good. What happened in the alley behind the skating rink was staying in the alley behind the skating rink, no thanks to one of the two DJ’s present.
“Go look for yourself. Maybe I was in the garage.” Greta was rapidly running out of hypothetical places she could have been.
“I’ll look. But I guess I never know if I’ll find them or not.” Mina’s blinky eyes were filled with faux innocence.
“Okay, fine. I stayed out a little bit later with Jon. Just a little bit, mind you. And I did spend some time talking to the girls.” About things you need never know about, little one.
“I knew it, I knew it! You did kissing.” Despite her prediction, the girl turned away from the fridge with a container of blueberries in one hand and a mini-jug of real Vermont maple syrup in the other.
“Says who?” Greta asked, indignant. Even though—well.
“Says your face.”
Well that was impertinent. “Mina. That was very impertinent.”
“No it wasn’t. Your face is bright red. That’s how I know you did kissing.” Oh. Well. Huh. Looked like she didn’t even have to relive the scene to get all verklempt.
“Okay. Fine again. We did kissing.” Greta narrowed her eyes at Mina before tossing their French toast on the griddle.
“So?” Mina asked, leaning forward.
“So what?” She flipped the bread, perfectly golden.
“Was it gross?” Good kid. Even though it was so beyond amazing. So amazing that she was literally floating around cooking French effing toast right now.
“It wasn’t really gross. But that’s only because he has his cootie shot, which boys don’t get until they are eighteen, so don’t think about kissing any yourself until then. Hand me your plate.”
“What if I got a cootie shot early?” Mina hedged.
“What if getting it early made you come down with a raging case of cooties instead?” Curiosity was not a good thing in some cases.
“What if it didn’t, though? What if I kissed Ethan Sedger?” Mina focused very hard on sprinkling the powdered sugar.
“Ethan Sedger? That little turd?” Greta broke the only rule of the what-if game. But really, that kid was such a shit. There had been the hitting incident last year, the time he mooned the teacher last month, and just two weeks ago had pulled the wings off a butterfly at recess in front of a crowd of horrified third-graders.
“He’s not a turd.” Mina giggled at the word. “He’s cute.”
“He’s a turd. Remember the time he farted so much in story time that your teacher had to cancel it for the day? And he was so proud of himself. Just like a man.” Greta frowned at her toast. Maybe this wasn’t breakfast conversation.
“That was so gross. But at my party we couple-skated and he offered to draw me a unicorn picture and now I like him.”
Greta considered. As desperately attractive as hand-drawn unicorns could be, this was definitely not typical Mina. Ethan Sedger was a blonde-haired devil. Oh. A blonde-haired, green-eyed devil. A mini-Jon. Minus the faux-gentleman schtick. Oh dear. Now she understood.
She felt guilty in some nameless way all of a sudden. Poor kid just wanted to do what Greta was doing. She was obviously feeling left behind.
Or maybe she was reading too much into it, and Mina was just at an age where farting, creepy kids were funny. Doubtful, though. Good girls like her weren’t generally impressed by butterfly maiming. Odds were quite good that the promised unicorn picture would also feature flying chainsaws, or some other such nastiness.
Greta cut a piece of her own gluten-free toast, too distracted to even wish it was challah, and chewed it methodically. She’d been so certain that Jon was not a good role model for Mina, but maybe she wasn’t either. And comparatively, Jon had swept the girl off her feet by performing at her party, whereas Greta had done an entirely different sort of performance. Oh, no, she was the worse one right now.
“Let’s go out tomorrow afternoon, just me and you.” They’d be cultural, or something. Role model stuff. It would be the perfect way to spend the day before her evening faking it with Jon and the girls.
“Can we have ice cream?” Kids. Well, as a role model, her first task was clear.
“No. We will be having Thai.” She ate another piece of syrup-drenched toast, feeling rather virtuous at the prospect of curried veg.
“You don’t know how to have fun,” Mina grumbled. Greta considered the previous evening’s misadventures.
“No, I definitely do.” She was a goddamn fun machine.
* * *
“Wait, you thought a nine year old was going to have fun at the Contemporary Jewish Museum’s display of Jewish artifacts?” Summer looked pained.
“I’m the biggest museum-goer I know, and even I know better than to take a small child there. A small gentile at that. Didn’t you think to check the exhibit first? Shame the Amy Winehouse one is over. You’re an artist, why didn’t you just take her to the MOMA?” Amy said. “I mean. Really.” She stared at her friend. Greta closed her eyes briefly. If even Amy couldn’t find a way to be on her side, than she had certainly been misguided in her attempts at role modeling. Oy vey.
“It was a good idea, though. I mean, the girl has no mother. I thought maybe it would be a way to impart some of my own heritage on her. Loads of cool chicks from history are featured there. My intentions were good!” Greta protested. It could have been solid. If the exhibit hadn’t been dryer than stale matzah. Even she was bored, but then again, she had interesting things to think about.
“And we all know what the road to hell is paved with.” Summer took the edge off her comment with a grin. Greta stuck out her tongue. She might have been working on being a better adult, but that didn’t take away any of the satisfaction a childlike response gave her.
Amy just laughed at both of them, as per her usual.
“Now, birds, she quickly realized the error of her ways,” Jon chimed in with her defense. Annoyingly, because at least one of her friends should have done that. What was the saying Amy always used? Uteruses before duderuses. She giggled at the thought, then silenced herself before anyone asked what was so funny.
“Not the error of all her ways, Logan O’Toole,” Summer said with a wink. Greta was pretty sure she was talking about a porn star.
Greta was delighted to see Jon’s face pale a bit. Did he really think she didn’t tell them literally everything? Oh. Okay, well maybe she had set a precedent for not telling them everything, exactly.
“I’d prefer Ron Jeremy, then, if it’s all the same to you.” He recovered quickly, she’d give him that. Yup, definitely porn. Greta blushed.
“Ew! Why?” Amy said what they were all thinking, as usual. “Logan O’Toole is the cute one.”
“And he loves food,” Summer added dreamily.
“Because Ron Jeremy has been around forever. I’d like to think I have staying power, myself.” He lifted a single brow at Greta as he spoke. Innuendos, again. She kicked him under the table. Missed. Hit Amy. Shrugged at her.
“More margaritas?” she asked, hoping to change the subject from porn and peen and Jon. Hoping even further that at some point she would stop thinking about those things herself. When Summer had texted her this afternoon to ask measurements, Greta was surprised to learn that she was disappointed she didn’t yet have the scoop on Little Jon. Naturally, she’d texted back a gif of zipped lips.
Yet. It was inevitable, even she could see that. Once she had decided they could be fake-dates-plus, it was only a matter of time until she saw him naked. And from what she had felt, it would not disappoint. Now that she knew it was indeed his manhood and not a gun.
Jon signaled the waiter for another round. Her eyes lingered just a moment too long on the shape of his arm in the air, muscles clearly defined beneath his ultra-thin cotton shirt. Amy kicked her beneath the table, evidently thinking it was a “look at him” move. Better than her realizing it was a “shut up already” move, so Greta went with it, winking at her friend.
“Anywho, Mina was bored like three minutes in, so I said we could just go to Ripley’s Believe It Or Not instead. I did not cave on the ice cream though. So, like—half role model? Just the role?” She made a silly face.
“More like just a model,” Jon said, that well-shaped arm suddenly just in front of her and his finger tracing a line down her cheekbone. Greta flushed, and glanced away. Her friends were both looking on approvingly, so she turned back to Jon and favored him with a smile. It was pretty cute. He was good at this.
But that was another thing that bugged her. He didn’t know her well enough to really like-like her, so it had to be acting on his part too. And he pretended it wasn’t. The signs pointed towards a man who wasn’t the gentleman he claimed to be.
Although for the life of her, Greta couldn’t pinpoint a single ungentlemanly trait about the guy. And damn it, she was trying. The first sign of impropriety meant she could stop with this charade.
Okay, maybe she wasn’t trying that hard. They hadn’t gotten to the benefits bit yet, after all. Might as well leave the party with a parting gift.
“I used to get the Ripley’s show on telly back home. I quite liked it, actually. I’d say young boys always gravitate towards the macabre, but really, I think people in general do. It’s just that some people indulge themselves, and then there’s those who pretend they are above it.”
Everyone sort of nodded. For them, it was Greta who embraced it, Summer who secretly did, and Amy who stuck her fingers in her ears and sang ‘lalala’ when anything gross or weird or scary came up.
“So when we moved here, literally the first thing I did was make mum take me to the museum.”
The way he said it was ‘LIT-rah-lee.’ His accent literally obliterated an entire syllable. It made her want to kiss him again. Badly.
Oh, fuck it. Fake date with bennies, right? She cut him off mid-sentence and pressed her lips to his. Amy cooed, and she could even hear Summer do a little “aw”. Mostly, though, all she could focus on was the feel of his soft lips, the way they smirked—she could feel it—when she kissed him, but how quickly he returned it, as if he’d been waiting.
She didn’t quite want to French him in front of her friends, but the chaste lips-together kiss wasn’t enough. What was the 90’s movie thing? Church tongue.
Jon’s mouth opened, and she gave just enough of hers to allow a brush of his tongue against hers. Even though that was supposed to keep things comfortable, it felt like a tease. A tease that made her squirm a little in her chair, longing for more.
“So was it everything you hoped it would be?” Amy asked as they parted.
“And more,” Jon replied, but he was looking at Greta and she had to admit. That Thing he did was growing on her, just a little.
As long as she remembered it was all for her benefit that they kept up the act.
As long as she remembered what happened to girls who fell in love.
When you fall, you eventually hit the rocks at the bottom.
* * *
Jon was being annoying. He could tell, even to himself. His poor friends were waiting at the beer bar they favored, and even Rust had told him not to bother showing until he was done humming to himself and checking his phone endlessly for the messages that weren’t quite coming yet, but were surely forthcoming.
In the space of a few dates and one ill-advised back-alley hook-up, Greta had gone from an interesting bet to be won, to someone he was desperate to win over. Every new thing he learned about her made him crave more.
He hummed some more, something silly from the radio that had been on once when they were in a restaurant, and now was inextricably linked to her in his head. He was going to text her, was what he was going to do.
-Hey you.
He hummed again, this time throwing a few dance moves into the mix. Oh, here was a good idea, he should call Angie and cash in on the beers she owed him. Surely she and Matt were done honeymooning by now? They’d been buddies for a while now, but now they were taking on a whole new sheen as people who knew everything about the girl he liked. He was desperate to hang out with them and talk about her. Since she wasn’t exactly making herself that available and all.
But the fact that she did that—it had been exactly four minutes since his text and there was no response—was something he respected. She had her own life, she didn’t rely on him for things. He sent a group text to her sister and brother-in-law.
-Matt, Ang. When can I collect my beers? I’m ready to get sozzled on your dime, as Greta and I are now an official item.
-Oh, my friend. Good luck to you. Came an immediate response from Matt.
-Not only do we owe you beers, you’re going to need them. How did-nvmd. Toronado in 30. Angie was only marginally more diplomatic. That didn’t matter. Maybe she didn’t understand quite what a catch her little sister was. It can be hard to see family the way everyone else does.
-Is our end of the bet over so fast? We all know “an item” will last like a week. Matt could be very cold.
-We really only put beers on the “can’t trade numbers” thing tho. And he’ll tell us deets soon.
-I know for certain you two are sitting next to each other having this conversation about me in front of me. Call a cab already, I’ll be at the bar. For heaven’s sake. The cute couple thing. He could see how it was annoying, particularly to a man like Rust, but wasn’t it just a tad bit appealing, too? Having someone who sat next to you, had your back, laughed at your stupid jokes. How was that not a thing to aspire to?
It helped, of course, if your intended was a tiny, gorgeous brunette who could paint like a master and kiss like an angel. Jon hummed his way through the Uber summons. It didn’t even matter she hadn’t written back. She was busy. That was cool.
Later, at the bar, Angie and Matt were slightly more specific with their concerns over delicious sour beers. Of which Jon may have had a couple too many, which may have prevented him from truly ingesting what they were trying to say.
“She is an amazing girl, we aren’t arguing that,” Matt had said.
“She’s just not the dating kind of girl, is what we’re getting at,” Angie had chimed in.
“She’s not really into men, is the thing,” Matt started, but Angie hit him.
“She’s not gay!”
“No, no, not gay, but not into men. They don’t have to be the same thing, exactly. How do I explain this?” Matt looked at Angie.
“By saying she had a really difficult time with our father leaving? And then she quickly decided after a few boyfriends that all guys prefer to love and leave. It isn’t that hard to explain. You’re such a typical dude. If she’s not interested in dating, she’s probably into chicks, you think.” Angie hit him again, but this time more gently, and with a soft look in her eye.
Greta might have been sour on men, but this sour beer was definitely affecting Jon. It was so flipping cute to watch his mate and his girl argue gently over his girl. He sighed. So she hadn’t texted back, it didn’t mean they were right. Although, it probably did mean he should text again. After all, if she thought all men loved and left, she was probably just ignoring him because of the hookup. She probably expected him to ignore her back. It made him a little sad.
-Busy tonight? Or tomorrow. We have real dating to do. I am going to date the shit out of you. And by dating, I mean third-dating.
There, that should give no doubt as to his meaning. The alley wasn’t nearly enough. Jon was ready to take his time with her, show her exactly how amazing he found her. He gazed over at his friends, still bickering, and held up his glass for a refill. What a night. What a life! Who knew playing weddings could lead to such an opportunity?
-Nope.
Well, okay, that was an emphatic no. That was fine.
-The next day then. I am going to third-date you like you have never been third-dated before.
Yep. Greta could hardly even handle him. Matt and Angie would be in awe of his lady-skills. Both of them would suspect it was what was in his trousers that had swayed Greta as he had, but neither of them could prove it. He may insinuate they were correct, even, but it was definitely his charm. And his gentlemanly ways. The trousers were merely a bonus. Jon was drunk.
-Nope.
Hard to get it was, then. This called for more beer. He looked down at his glass. Still full. He drained it, and ordered another. This called for another bet, then.
“How much beer do I get for marrying her?” he interrupted. They fell silent and stared.
“Literally every beer,” said Angie, in awe.
“For the rest of your life,” said Matt, in doubt.
Never paying for a beer ever again. Beat drop.
“Wanna shake on it?” He asked.