Mister Fake Fiance by Nadia Lee

Erin Clare. My assistant with the innocent face of an angel. And a secret ninja assassin who keeps trying to kill me with poisoned cookies and cakes. My fake fiancée for three months with a secret agenda of her own.

It all started when my mom sent me a life-sized portrait of my pregnant cousin to hang in my bedroom, presumably to inspire me to find a wife and baby-mama.

Then my date to the evening’s charity’s auction found her soulmate before the evening even got started.

And then my psycho ex-girlfriend showed up at the auction and clung to me like an octopus.

What’s a guy to do? Easy…get my assistant to stand in as the “love of my life.”

But what was supposed to be a ruse to get me through the night exploded into something much more when the press got involved. I probably shouldn’t have shouted, “She’s mine!” in front of all those rabid-eyed reporters, either.

Now the world thinks Erin and I are engaged. I’m ready to publicly set the record straight…

…until Erin suggests staying “engaged” for three months.

A fake engagement would earn me a break from my mom’s baby-nagging and my cray-cray ex’s machinations for another chance.

But…what’s in it for Erin?

Mister Fake Fiancé Excerpt a.k.a. Things David Does for Erin

I change into a T-shirt and shorts then start toward the Walmart that’s open twenty-four seven. It’ll probably have the biggest selection. Because I’m curious, I also circle the block around my home. No reporters. They probably gave up. Sleep is critically important if they want to write good clickbait.

Sneering, I shake my head. Lazy assholes.

Walmart is quiet, with hardly any shoppers. Which is good, because it’ll make the trip fast. Just grab some things, pay and go. How hard can it be?

I walk around the store until I find the stuff Erin needs, which is stocked next to the condoms and sex-lube options. Really terrible placement, if you ask me. Shouldn’t you stock things people are likely to buy together? Most people aren’t going to buy condoms and tampons at the same time, are they?

I start to reach for a box of tampons, then stop.

Hmm…

Gentle Glide.

Super Plus.

Organic.

Sport.

Fitness.

Security.

Pearl.

Radiant.

Radiant…? What the hell?

The pads are even worse. They not only have similar branding—Security, Radiant again, Ultra-Thin, Infinity Flex Foam—but some seem to have wings.

I pick up a box and stare at it. What the hell is the difference? The wings don’t even look that functional. Just little flaps of paper on the sides.

Probably a marketing gimmick. Like if you use these you’ll feel like you’re flying away…

Then I see some are scented. I pick a bundle that’s supposedly scented, glance around to make sure nobody’s watching, then sniff it, feeling like a freak. Not like any perfume I know. But then what do I know about how women want to smell between their legs during that time of the month?

I study the various options, my arms crossed. There are twenty-seven of them. Then I pull out my phone and start to text Erin until I remember that her phone’s dead.

Damn it.

Okay, time to take charge. It’s late, but I’m texting Cora. It’s for a good cause.

–Me: Hey, what are good tampons or pads for office work and sleep?

A few minutes later, I get a beep.

–Cora: Do you know what time it is in Virginia?

–Me: Just shut up and help me. This is what they got.

I take pictures of all the options and send them to her.

–Cora: Ask the woman you’re buying them for. She must feel comfortable enough with you to ask to buy her tampons.

Well, that part makes me pause because nobody ever asked me, not even Shelly. But whatever pleasure I could be savoring is soon dwarfed by an impending sense of doom. If Cora doesn’t help, I’m going to fail.

And I don’t want to fail Erin.

–Me: Can’t. Long story.

–Cora: What is this, Secret Santa? Isn’t it a little early for that?

I can feel her laughter. This isn’t funny, damn it! She needs to focus on the task at hand.

–Me: No! Come on.

–Cora: I honestly don’t know. I’m particular, so I only like Pearl Active. But most aren’t like me. Just get her a standard one. If she needs them now, she won’t complain no matter what you get. And just in case you make the same mistake all men make, avoid the scented kind. They’re nasty. Now I’m turning my phone off and going to sleep. Good luck!

Okay, that doesn’t help at all. And Cora won’t answer me anymore because she’s basically done her duty as far as she’s concerned.

I sigh and stare at the sea of choices.

“Look like you could use some help,” comes a mildly slurred male voice.

I glance over my shoulder and see a super-skinny guy with curly brown hair and gold-rimmed glasses. The eyes behind them are owlish and slightly bloodshot. “Yeah.”

“The ladies are picky. It’s very personal to them.” He reaches over and grabs a box of Sport tampons.

“Are those the best?” I ask, desperate enough to not care that some random stranger is discussing female hygiene products with me in Walmart after midnight.

“Current lady likes ’em, but the ex sure didn’t.”

Argh.

“If you aren’t sure, just buy one of each.” He gives me a sleepy smile and leaves.

I rub my forehead. He’s right about these products being personal. They go flush against sensitive areas. Would a woman want just any old dick near her lady parts? It’s the same principle.

I start to grab one of each, minus the scented kind. At least Cora helped me narrow the field down a little. Then I realize maybe I need a cart, but I don’t feel like walking back to the front of the store to get one. So I make a huge stack, balancing the lot against my chest.

Satisfied, I make my way carefully to the register. One very large woman sees me and tracks me with her eyes as I walk past. I check myself out, then get two bags so I can carry everything.

When I arrive home and go upstairs, Erin’s door is open. She’s up, waiting for me, with her hands on her arms. She keeps pulling in her lips, then biting the lower one in her typical nervous gesture.

I place the bags on the bed.

Her eyes widen.

I pull the boxes out one by one. “Sport in case you want to exercise. Fitness in case these serve some other, uh, sporty function. Security because hey, with all those reporters around, right? Radiant in case you want to, you know…glow. Pearl for if you want…” I trail off. Pearl? Are these, like, those strings of sex beads? I clear my throat. “Anyway, Pearl for when you feel, uh, smooth and pearly. Pads without wings…and with wings if you need, I don’t know, aerial support. And nine brands of panty liners if you want a secondary defense in case the primary defense fails.”

Erin doesn’t say a word. She just stares at me, eyes wide. Probably impressed with how thorough I am. Hell, I’m impressed. “Hopefully this will have you covered,” I say, confident that it does.

“Wow. Um. Yeah. Thank you. You really didn’t have to buy so many. Let me give you money.”

I wave her ridiculous offer away. “No, no, glad to help.” Her gratitude is more than enough. “Anyway, good night, Erin.”

Shoulders straight and chest out, I return to my room, feeling like Alexander the Great after conquering both Persia and the Gordian Knot.