Redeemed (Dirty Air #4)(37)
“Okay, fine. But it’s a good site for this kind of shit. How else would you know about his dick size?”
“Uhm, by touching it?”
She scoffs. “Please. You wouldn’t remember your way around a dick if an anatomy book hit you in the head.”
“I hate you. Just because it’s been a long time since I had any kind of intimate relationship, doesn’t mean I don’t remember how to please someone else.”
“No, you love that I call you out on the lack of male company lately. If you don’t orgasm on the spot by touching his nine-inch cock, then I’m banishing you from our apartment. Don’t bother coming back.”
A laugh erupts from me. “What has gotten into you?”
“You’re fake dating someone who’s rumored to tongue-fuck pussy like he doesn’t need oxygen to breathe.”
I ignore the way my skin prickles, hoping the rush of blood through my body settles. “Do people truly share that kind of info? About his—” I wince. “That’s such an invasion of privacy.”
“What do you expect? He’s famous. You lose all rights to being considered human the moment TMZ features multiple stories about you.”
“What do I do? I shouldn’t have agreed to dinner tonight with Marko. Shoot, I shouldn’t have agreed to any of this. Fake dating is my worst idea yet.”
“Relax and enjoy it. All you’ve done in your short life is grow up way too fast and work until you drop. I’m telling you to strap on your cowgirl boots and go for a ride. After dinner, that is, because you don’t need to scar the little kid, no matter how tempting the dining table looks for some good fucking.”
“You’re the worst support system. You should tell me this is a terrible idea and I should cancel.”
“It is a terrible idea, which is exactly why you should do it! What’s the harm in faking it in front of his family and yours a couple of times? You both get something out of it.”
“I don’t like using people.” The idea alone makes me feel icky.
“You’re not her.”
Resembling anything close to my mother is the last thing I want in life. I can’t deny how everything spiraling out of control reminds me of her. “Yeah, well, lately it feels like that with the lies piling up.”
“Listen, it’s normal for you to worry about turning out like your mom, but this is different. Santiago is a willing participant.”
“Yeah, but—”
“No buts. Didn’t he agree to hosting a dinner with your dad next week once Marko leaves and things settle down?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Does that sound like someone who is being forced?”
I bite into my bottom lip. “No.”
“Would a normal person agree to be used?”
“Not a sane one.”
“See! It’s mutual then. You help him, he helps you. Now...if you want his help in the bedroom, I’m sure he’d be happy to oblige as well.”
“I can’t anymore with you!”
“Holy shit!” Brooke gasps.
“What?”
“You didn’t tell me his sister is Maya Slade! She’s YouTube famous. I watched her vlog last year when I was manifesting a trip to Switzerland.”
“What?” With every new piece of information that comes to light about Santiago Alatorre, a year is shaved off my life.
“She does a bunch of travel and lifestyle videos. I didn’t connect Santiago’s name and hers when you mentioned him! Oh my God. Noah fucking Slade!” Brooke screams a string of words into the phone. “That’s it, I’m packing my bags. You need a partner-in-crime, and I straight up just need a partner. They have to have some hot, famous friend for little old me.”
I laugh up to the ceiling, loving Brooke for erasing my concerns about seeing Santiago tonight. “If you come here, you’ll never leave.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
16
Chloe
Tonight is nothing like my last visit. For starters, Marko abandons me the moment I step into the house. He sits on the living room couch with his eyes glued to the television. His absence makes Santiago’s presence that much more daunting, like a dark force swallowing me whole. I, for one, am afraid of some unsupervised time with the tall man who checks all my boxes and then some.
He leads me into his luxurious kitchen. The smells coming from the stove and oven have me salivating. It’s nothing I’m used to.
Santiago knowing how to cook completely disarms me in a new kind of way. I lean against the counter, captivated by him cutting up onions like he’s a hot Spanish version of Gordon freaking Ramsey. His arms flex with every movement. The five minutes I spend drooling on the counter solidifies my commitment to binging every cooking show available on TV. Screw Love Island, I’m here for the kitchen island.
Thank God I have him locked down as a fake boyfriend. He shouldn’t be allowed in the dating world with talents like his.
I laugh to myself at my possessiveness over something unreal.
He looks up from the cutting board. “What’s so funny?”
“Oh, nothing,” I say to his straining bicep.