Pretend Girlfriend.

DYLAN

Tasha's slurred purr greeted me good morning, married with her heavy smell of minted cigarettes and tobacco. Even before sunrise, she smoked a Benson. The comfort of the delightful decor and soft king-sized bed wore off the instant she climbed back into bed in a thin black lingerie, astride my languid body, pressing her stiletto heels on either side of the bed. Her focused, sultry eyes of last night were glassy. My gaze fell on the half-full bottle of wine and two glasses on the dresser table whilst she contented herself with stroking my biceps. Tasha let out a low laugh as she sought my mouth. I shied away.

"How much do you want?" My voice came out gruffy. As for my hands, they were already pushing her off me.

"More than you can ever pay me," she pinned me back to the bed.

Was this girl nuts? Who did she think she was, with that lame ass smile that I could not wait to wipe off her face? I pried my right hand out of her iron grip and grabbed the telephone on the bedside table.

"Oh. You might want to think twice before dialing that. You don't want the hotel security to throw out a pregnant woman, do you?"

"Who's pregnant?"

Her stupid smile was spreading. She sat upright on my pelvis and gently rubbed her midsection.

The smile leered at me now, mocking me in broad daylight tearing through the open grey louvres.

"Tasha, I swear to God, if you don't answer me truthfully, I will kill you."

"Okay."

"Are you really pregnant? As in, pregnant pregnant? Crap. The baby isn't mine, right?"

I had never felt that stupid in my entire life. Damn, that was too stupid to be true. How could I, for fuck's sake, not have used a condom? My surprise paved way for regret, then alarm. Hold up, what the hell? Was she joking?

"Relax," she got out of the bed, salvaged what was left of her clothes that I had not torn in the heat of our passion the night before and stripped herself down to everything I now loathed seeing.

I shut my eyes tightly.

"I'm the one carrying the baby. Now quit acting like a pussy or I'll holler rape." The sound of her zipping up the extra short dress was interrupted by my phone ringing on the dresser table.

"Shit, I forgot. They've been calling since 4 o'clock."

"What the fuck?"

"I wanted to let you rest."

"What the fuck, Tasha?"

"Just because I was hoping you'd be in the mood for some morning sex. But clearly..." She gestured at my bed head and contorted face, slapping her palm over her eyes, "You're no good."

"What the actual fuck?"

"Pick the call or I'll throw the phone out of the window," she sighed.

Thinking back to that moment, I can't help but wonder if I would have taken that call if I knew what news was lurking on the other end of the line.

"What the fuck, Dylan!" It was Grace. She hardly cussed and nothing good ever followed her cussing.

"Alright Grace, just talk to me."

I waited with bated breath and my teeth clenched.

"You're all over the news. All over. With some random slut. Oh God, if you wanted to screw around public hotels, did you have to do it with that hoe?"

"Shit. Shit. Shiiiit."

I promised myself to roast his butt over an open fire after I had finished dealing with this load of bad press. That stupid fool with his fine name; Ryan. Tasha smiled when she saw my fingers shaking as I typed Dylan Sanders on Google. God, what was that? Dylan Sanders the celebrity was just everywhere with one prostitute from the trenches smiling anyhow beside him. Crap. This was more than shit. I was in the mud, for reals. My other phone had been ringing off the hook. Heaving one sigh that seemed final, I let the phone slip from my fingers and smash on the floor. Kiera, do you see what you do to me? One second, I had it all together. And now? Now?

"Ah baby," Tasha cooed.

I was tired. She sounded mishy-mushy, mushy-mishy.

"It's gonna be alright, okay?" She rubbed my shoulders as if it was her right from heaven.

She was not supposed to be doing that. Kiera was what I wanted, whom I wanted, dammit!

"This is all your fault. Just go away."

"Okay." Her voice was smaller, subdued.

I heard the bedcovers rustling.

She moved about a little bit then became comfortable.

"I was thinking, we could add a lil twist to this, spice it up a bit."

"We?" I scoffed.

Unbelievable.

I turned, arms akimbo. The stupid bitch even had the guts to lounge on the bed. She rubbed her belly suggestively and puckered her mouth for a pout that I found sexy. Hold up. Cut. This had to stop. Me finding her sexy.

"There's no we, bitch. Now get your clothes and get lost."

"Oh. Is this how you want to play it now? You fuck me till your eyes roll back then you're pissing in your pants because you're ashamed of me?"

"Tell me, Mr High and Mighty, is that it? Huh?"

I was hurt. Sometimes it was easier to say things that simply. She softened and under her sexiness, I saw her insecurity. She seemed really small now and the room was set to Shawn Mendes's "It'll Be Okay".

"I've tried all my life. I try and I keep trying to be something better, y'know, give Ma and my lil bro something better than a fucked up life on the streets. But I can't seem to make the cut." Her eyes filtered tears that she wiped with her long manicured nails. Kiera never had hers manicured.

"Every time, I get close. So close," she drew the index fingers of both hands together, "and then," she sobbed, "It's all gone. Gone! God must want poor black me to never have anything I want, hmm?"

"Come on, I'm black too."

"Yeah, but you're rich." She looked at me accusingly.

"Please, Mr Dylan."

"Please."

"I need this chance. Ma's next chemo is next week."

"She has...?"

"Cancer. Yeah." She resumed another round of crying. When she finished, she mumbled, "I'm broke. There's barely enough money for food everyday. We're all gonna starve if I pay for Ma's chemo."

"I can't... You don't understand..."

"Gimme this one chance, please."

"How do I know you won't blow it up?" I glared at her full-time, hoping and hoping that whatever trash she was about to suggest did not fall into the list of my top ten most hated tropes. I had uploaded the list on my YouTube channel and got almost all of my 1 million+ subscribers to agree.

"I didn't know you were this good at fucking up your chances," I sneered.

"One more chance. That's all I need to get out there, living my dreams," she said firmly.

I threw up my hands hopelessly because there was nothing else to do.

"I was thinking... We..."

I scowled.

"I mean... I could be your girlfriend. As in pretend girlfriend. Since those media guys have no idea that you're in love with Keira..."

"It's Kiera."

"Whatever," she rolled her eyes, "Just make a press statement about how I'm actually your LOML and you're good. Hot gossip will pouring over your name while you put me in the spotlight."

This girl was definitely crazy. Did she not know that, if Kiera heard about the bullshit she was asking me to do, I would lose her forever?

Plus, she was not even my kinda girl. Yeah, sex was great but that was all there was to it. Kiera was different, more.

"Or," she poured herself a glass of wine, holding my gaze, "you shut up, get ruined by bad rumours and pay child support when Dylan Junior is born and your broke ass has been dumped. How about that, huh?"

Shit. I had completely forgotten about the baby. Holy Mary, mother of all that is good and pure, what do I do now?

"How. About. That?" Tasha snarled.

A headache was slowly building somewhere at the back of my head.

"Tasha?"

"Ugh, go to hell, loser!"

The idiot had the liver to leave, slamming the door in my face. I opened it, grabbed her arms and pinned her against the wall before she made it to the elevator, panting.

"Did you plan this?"

"Lemme the fuck alone!"

"Answer me bitch! Did you plan this!"

"Did you fuck me last night?" She scoffed.