The Fake Girlfriend Rules Read online

  The Fake Girlfriend Rules

  Penny Wylder

  Contents

  1. Lyllian

  2. Douglas

  3. Lyllian

  4. Douglas

  5. Lyllian

  6. Douglas

  7. Lyllian

  8. Douglas

  9. Douglas

  10. Lyllian

  11. Douglas

  Epilogue

  Copyright © 2021 Penny Wylder

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or businesses, organizations, or locales, is completely coincidental.

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  1

  Lyllian

  “The best of luck to you, Lyllian, in your future endeavors,” Mr. Brennan says as he places a plastic basket with a giant yellow bow wrapped around the handle in front of me. “I know how much you love blueberry muffins, so for a parting gift, these are for you. Eat up.” He smiles proudly, his back straight and his chin aimed slightly at the ceiling.

  The buttons on his shirt are stretched to their limits as his pot belly attempts to shoot them across the room. The gray hair he has left on his head is pulled back in a thin, straggly ponytail. He probably should have given up on his hair a long time ago, but I guess for some it's hard to do. His pleated tan pants are wrinkled around the ankles and the pockets, like he missed them completely while ironing.

  Broad, blue rimmed glasses frame his beady hazel eyes as he scratches his ear with thick, dry fingers. He reminds me of a teacher I had back in junior high school. Mr. Tasselbeck; he taught math class.

  I smile, pulling the basket in. “Thank you so much, Mr. Brennan, and thank you everyone,” I say as I look around at all the faces I'll never see again.

  I'm not going to miss you.

  I wouldn't be honest if I said I'm not nervous about this next phase of my life. A new job is never easy. But this place has never really made me feel all that welcome. People would bark orders at me, no one ever stopped to have an actual conversation with me.

  Everyone presents their best work smiles as I pull the card off the basket of muffins and open it up. It's a simple card. There's a bouquet of flowers on the front, and the inside is blank except for where everyone signed their names.

  “This is really nice,” I say as I catch a whiff of the fresh blueberries. The muffins smell incredible, but the closer I look at them, I can see it immediately. . .

  These aren't gluten free.

  My stomach sinks, but I force the smile to stay in place, even though I really want to throw the muffins across the room. I could do it, too. I could throw them, stomp on them, and leave them in a mushy smear across the floor as I storm out. Because it doesn't really matter what I do. Today is my last day; it's not like my boss can fire me.

  Five years. Five years of my life I've given to this job, and my boss still doesn't remember that I have a gluten allergy. If I so much as eat a crumb of one of these, I'll be sick for a week.

  I know I've only just been his secretary, but I must have mentioned the fact I have this allergy a gazillion times. Between different parties and functions, it comes up. I even told him two months ago, when he gave me a small cake for my birthday.

  Why does no one pay attention?

  Have I just been a fixture here, like a lamp?

  It's deflating to feel so small and unimportant, especially because I'm one of those people who does pay attention. I know my boss hates onions and tomatoes. I know his favorite food is homemade lasagna, and that he likes to golf on the weekends, and his wife's birthday is June 5th.

  I know Beth and Gary in accounting are both allergic to fish, and that Moreen has a lactose sensitivity. George's daughter sells Girl Scout cookies every year and Miranda's youngest son had his appendix out two years ago.

  I know all of this because I listen.

  Could any of them remember one thing about me? One simple thing that I've articulated every time there's food brought into this office. I'm gluten free. I can't eat it. Did they ever pay attention to me, or am I just the girl at the front desk, who makes copies and takes phone calls?

  My smile aches as I hold it in place while I say goodbye for the last time to these people. Since it's my last day here, I don't want it to end on a bad note. The muffins aren't that big of a deal. Why should I care if I can't eat them?

  It's the thought that counts—right?

  Plus, I really need Mr. Brennan to give me a positive letter as a reference. My new job is basically set in stone, but I'm not taking any chances. Things can always change, and all it takes is one bad review to shut the door in my face.

  So, I keep my fake smile on. Wearing it like a mask that I'm hiding behind as I say my goodbyes and pick up the box of stuff off my desk. It's a little weird to see the new secretary rolling her name plaque into the spot where mine had just been hours ago.

  I spent the last week training her, and as I look over my shoulder before walking out the door for the last time, it almost feels like I was never here to begin with. My spot is already filled. My presence a memory that most of these people will forget in a matter weeks.

  They won't remember me, the girl with the gluten allergy. They'll see the new secretary and my face will just fade away.

  Screw this place, Lyl. You're moving on.

  I slam the door shut on my car and exhale a deep breath as I set the basket down on the passenger seat. My eyes stay on the basket, and all I can do is hope that this new job will be different. That people will notice me, see me as more than just the lady who answers the phones.

  Goodbye Brennan Windows, I think to myself as I pull out of the parking lot and watch the building shrink in my rear view mirror as I drive away.

  Time to move on to bigger and better things.

  I walk inside my apartment and hang my keys on the wooden key holder beside the door. The key holder tilts to one side, so I fix it back straight.

  Setting down the small box of items from my desk on the floor, I sigh loudly. “You know we really should just replace that. Yours is on its way out.”

  “Hey, I made that in wood shop. It isn't going anywhere. How was your last day?” my roommate, and best friend, Doug asks.

  “As good as it could be I guess,” I call back to him as I kick my heels off my feet and walk down the small hall barefoot.

  Our apartment isn't huge, but it's perfect for two people. A two bedroom in this part of the city is hard to find. We lucked out four years ago when he came across it in the paper.

  There's a galley kitchen with a small dining room area that's attached to the living room. Our bedrooms are across from each other, and the bathroom is in the middle between us. We're on the third floor, and as much as I hate the stairs, we'd never be able to find anything better than this for what we can afford.

  Doug is sitting at the kitchen table, looking handsome as always. His hair is a little messy like he just woke up from a nap. His thick black locks fall into his face, slightly blocking his eyes. He jerks his head, tossing them away with one quick flip.

  He always looks so damn good, but I'll never tell him that to his face. One, he'll probably freak out. And two, he's my best friend. That's as far as it's ever gone between us, just friends. Nothing more.

  Has the thought crossed my mind? Absolutely. Have there been temptations in the past? Yes. Have there been moments where I almost crossed over that li
ne and did something I would regret? Also yes.

  But thoughts and actions are two totally different things. I'm not a risk taker in any capacity, and that includes pushing the boundaries with Doug. We've been friends since we were seven. It doesn't matter how hot he is, or how tall, dark, and handsome he is, our friendship is way more important to me. I would never do anything to ruin it.

  The thought of losing him as a friend is too hard to even think about. He's been there for me more than anyone else I know. When my first serious boyfriend at thirteen broke up with me, Doug was there with a pint of ice cream, and let me cry on his shoulder until I fell asleep. When his dog got hit by a car and died, I was the first person he ran to. Parties, road trips, family cookouts and school events, we were always together.

  Our past is intertwined so tightly that the idea of ever doing anything to rip apart the fabric we've weaved together is out of the question.

  He runs his fingers through his hair, then grabs a bottle of wine and lifts it up. “Thirsty?” he asks.

  “Very. I'll take two, bartender.” I place the basket on the table in front of him. “Here's my parting gift, help yourself.”

  “Gluten free?”

  “Try gluten full.” I open my eyes wide and stick my tongue out making a gagging noise. “I'm sick just smelling them.”

  “Really? Even after all this time, they still got you regular muffins?”

  I drop down into the chair across from him and relax back. “It's the thought that counts, or at least that's what my mom says.”

  “Your mom also spells taco with an r. Soooo. . .” He drags out the word and squints his eyes. “Tarco, we never did find tarcos that day at the store.”

  I chuckle and smirk. “Mr. Brennan meant well.”

  “Mr. Brennan's a moron.” Doug pulls the basket closer and rips open the plastic wrapper around the muffins. “For Christ’s sake, you worked there for half a decade, he should know you can't eat gluten at this point.”

  I roll my hand and nod. “Yeah, but who cares at this point. Right?”

  “True,” he says as he pulls out a muffin and starts to peel the wrapper off. “So, when do you start your new job?”

  “Hopefully next week. I should have my start date in a day or two. I think they're just waiting on a couple references.” I nod my head at the wine. “You going to pour me some of that or what?”

  “Oh yeah, a double for the lady.” He pours three glasses of wine and pushes two of them my way. “Cheers to a fresh start,” he says, holding his glass out.

  “Yeah, well, we'll see about that. I'm already a nervous wreck, and I still have some time before I start.”

  “Lucky for you, you have such an awesome friend. Me, I'm talking about me.”

  “I know who you're talking about, Doug,” I say with a giggle.

  “Good, just clarifying. If shit hits the fan, I got your back, that's all you need to remember.”

  “Thanks, Doug,” I say with a soft smile. “Where would I be without you?”

  “I can think of a few places.” He gives me a wink, then takes a long sip of his wine.

  Doug is head of productions for a movie company. He's worked hard to get where he is and deserves every dollar he makes. He's the only reason I'm going out on a limb and taking this new job. If this falls through for some reason, Doug's willing to cover our entire rent until I figure shit out.

  That's the kind of guy he is. He'll carry you when you're down and push you when you need a boost. He's given me the confidence to spread my wings and try something new. Without him, I don't think I'd even attempt a new job. I'd probably still be behind the desk, working for Mr. Brennan, and getting gluten filled food from people who don't listen.

  Doug shrugs his shoulder as he sips his wine. “You can just call me Sugar Daddy.”

  I'm drinking my wine and almost spit it out when the words come out of his mouth. Laughing out loud, I shake my head. “Nope, not a chance in hell. And please, don't ever call yourself that again.”

  “I don't know, I'd like to hear you say it first, see how it sounds.” He tilts the muffin in my direction as he takes a big bite. “I mean, it has a nice ring to it don't you think? Sugar Daddy. . .”

  “I will never call you that, no matter how much you might beg me to.”

  “You say that now, but when I lay those Benjamins down on the table, you'll think differently.” He flashes me a big smile and bounces his brows up and down. “Sugar Daddy,” he says again. “I really like the sound of that.”

  “You're insane.”

  “Insane or a genius?”

  “Insane, I got it right the first time.”

  “Come on now, you're not fooling anyone.” He takes another bite of the muffin, looking me straight in the eyes. “You're just saying that because you want to kiss me right now and you can't because this muffin I'm eating will make you sick as a dog. But if I weren’t eating this, you'd be planting those big lips on mine, and you know it.”

  “In your dreams,” I say.

  He stops moving, his lips turning into a straight line as he gives me a serious look. “How do you know what I've been dreaming about?”

  Has he really had dreams about me? I can feel my cheeks start to blush.

  Doug's lips start to crinkle and move as he's trying to hold back his smile. I know this look, I've seen it before. He's messing with me.

  He can't stay serious for long, and busts out with laughter.

  Fucking smart ass.

  Shaking my head, I glare at him. “I'd never kiss you.”

  He smirks as he stuffs the last bite of muffin in his mouth. “All right, fair enough,” he says, downing the rest of his wine, and standing up. “We'll have to talk about your dreams sometime, though, I'd like to know what goes on in that head of yours, but right now, I have some shopping to do. I need to go find something to wear.”

  “For what?”

  “For this client dinner tomorrow night. Well, hopefully she'll become a client. I need something nice to wear. Hey, why don't you come along? We can grab some dinner after. I'm sure you're hungry. Especially since you can't eat any of these.”

  I think about it for a second. I don't have any plans for tonight, and my stomach is grumbling. “Yeah, okay, I'll come along. You'll need my help anyway because we both know you can't dress yourself for shit.”

  “That's a lie if I ever heard one. I mean, look at me. . .” He pauses and holds his arms out, spinning in a slow circle.

  Damn, he does look good.

  His black t-shirt is tight around his biceps. He flexes his arms, and the fabric thins like it's struggling to stay together. I can see the ripple of muscles in his back and chest, and the hint of his six-pack underneath. His jeans make his ass look amazing, and the light stubble on his sharp jaw is casting a sexy little shadow across his face. His blue eyes pop with his jet-black hair, making them bright as the ocean.

  Fuck. The worst part is he knows he looks good.

  “Yeah, I see you. Which is why I should go.”

  Doug looks down at himself, then flicks his eyes back to me. “You just want to come for the chance to see me naked, don't you?”

  I roll my eyes and giggle. “Yes, Doug, that's it, you caught me. Guilty as charged.”

  He points at me and grins. “I knew it.”

  “Don't get a big head, I'd never want to see you naked. Not ever. Never ever ever.”

  His eyes lock on mine, and for a split second I can feel them invade every inch of my body. My heart skips a beat and my belly tightens. A surge of intense heat floods my cheeks, forcing me to look away.

  “Wow, someone is in denial.” Doug chuckles as he runs open palms up and down the outside of his thighs. “All right, before you lose control of yourself, I'm going to grab my wallet and we can walk downtown. Sound good?”

  The air between us is hot and thick. He can feel it too, I know he can. There are beads of sweat glistening against his hairline, and he nervously runs his hands through his h
air, making it even messier. His eyes keep bouncing around my face. They move from my eyes to my lips, then back again.

  I swallow hard, feeling the lump as it slowly moves down my throat. “Yeah, that sounds good.” My voice is scratchy as I try to hide the desire laced in the tone. I'm doing my best to shut it off altogether. This desire doesn't belong here. It never has.

  Why? Why does it have to be this way? Why can’t we just see where this can go?

  I shake the thought away. The feelings are wrong. Lust is normal to feel, and that's exactly what this is. Doug is a great looking man, and just because we're friends doesn't mean I can't acknowledge it.

  But I can never act on it. Not ever.

  He's my friend. That's the only reason I need to keep this relationship strictly platonic.

  Douglas Myers is my best friend. Period.

  What would it hurt to see if there's anything real between us?

  Doug comes out of his room and stands right next to me. “Would you rather just ride me instead?” he asks as he strokes his jaw.

  “Excuse me?”

  2

  Douglas

  “Instead of walking, you can ride on my back. I'd totally give you a piggy-back ride downtown if you'd rather not walk.” I slap my shoulder and give my head a nod toward my back. “You can ride me like a stallion, baby.”

  “Um no, I appreciate the offer, but I can walk just fine on my own.” She runs the tips of her fingers around her collar, and pulls it away as if she's suffocating because of the heat.

  I love messing with her. I always have. It's fun to bust her balls and get her going. She can take my humor, that's one of the reasons she's so easy to hang out with. Plus, she's easy to read. I know when I've gone too far, or if I've made her mad. She wears her feelings like a bright mask.