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“I’m sorry my hands are a little dry. I was working all day,” she added before slipping a warm palm against Libby’s outstretched hand. “You feel great to me,” she replied, immediately cringing at her strange response. “And please, call me Libby.”
“You’re a successful, attractive woman. Why do you need to hire a stranger to pretend to be your partner?”
As the silence crept around them like a slow-moving river, Reagan’s lip twitched into the tiniest smile. “If I’m going to commit to this, I need to understand what you want.” In her life, no one had ever so directly asked her that simple question. What do you want? It was disarming in its weight.
Her expressive brown eyes softened in sympathy. “That’s an incredible amount of pressure you’re under, Libby. I’m sorry you’re in this position.” Heat flooded Libby’s chest and curled around her neck like a wool scarf in the Florida summer. “That’s sweet of you to say, but it’s okay—”
“You don’t have to think something’s okay to endure it. There’s power in expressing what you’re feeling. In being overwhelmed, or scared, or unsure and in that not being okay but moving forward anyway.”
She winked, triggering a rush of warmth to Libby’s cheeks.
“You knew when you were that young?” “What? That I was into the ladies?” Reagan wiggled her eyebrows. “Yeah. I figured it out when I kept begging my parents to rent Mr. and Mrs. Smith for me. One fine day, I realized it wasn’t for Brad Pitt.” After a brief pause, Reagan countered with her own question. “When did you know?” “Oh, I’m not —” She cut herself off before sounding rude. “I’ve never dated a woman.” Reagan smirked but didn’t comment. Libby was curious about what was happening behind the woman’s brilliant brown eyes. They seemed to bore straight to the center of her.
Reagan gripped her chest as if mortally wounded. “We haven’t even gone our first date yet, and you’re already planning for Splitsville?”
“If we’re going to pull this off, you’ll have to be a much better actor than that.” Reagan turned back, her smile wide. “Damn it. Laid it on too thick, huh?” “Just a little,” Libby agreed with a wink. Since when the hell do I wink?
Libby replied with a single shoulder shrug. “It’s been such a long night, I guess I forgot about those.” Taylor’s furrowed brow reflected how rarely Libby put aside the questions. Apart from the YouTube videos and syndicated dating advice column, they were the only part of Cassanova Matchmaking she’d come up with. Getting rid of the curtains didn’t count. “I don’t think they’re necessary,” Libby decided. “Ms. Soto, if you’re interested and would like to review the terms in detail, I’d love to have you as my faux girlfriend.”
Reagan pretended to be scandalized. “Ms. Cassanova, that’s the most romantic proposal I’ve ever gotten.”
As she pulled up to the parking garage, she noticed Reagan waiting in a restored, gleaming orange pickup truck right out of the 1970s. Libby grinned. The cool vehicle suited Reagan perfectly.
Reagan smiled. “Why? Because I’m not a seventy-five-year-old woman with burgundy hair who doesn’t speak English, so why would I ever want to live in a shithole like Hialeah?” The rhetorical question slapped Libby in the face. “Don’t worry.” Reagan winked as she grabbed her bags out of the back of the truck. “I’m sure I’ll get the chance to correct all your preppy little assumptions about my hometown.” Getting called out for her bias would’ve normally triggered a defensive response, but Reagan was so nice in her delivery, it was impossible to be anything but embarrassed by her judgment of a
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“Wow, you look beautiful,” Reagan said as she slipped back into the room. Libby spun around from where she’d been digging in her makeup bag for lip gloss. The compliment warmed her cheeks, and she hoped the blush she’d applied covered most of the flush. “Thanks,” she replied, wanting to tell Reagan that she looked very attractive too, but was unsure how to formulate the words. “You too,” she added hastily. “I didn’t know you had tattoos.”
Chuckling, Reagan pulled up her sleeve to reveal a very nicely toned arm and a colorful rooster surrounded by flowers. The scene circled her arm and disappeared into her shoulder. Resisting the urge to trace the lines of the beautiful design, Libby engaged her other curiosity. “Why a rooster?” “It’s my Chinese horoscope,” she confessed. “What’s yours?”
She wiggled her eyebrows before responding, already knowing they were a good match, at least theoretically. “Dragon.”
“I might have guessed,” she replied before her eyes dipped down to her lips in a way that warmed more than just Libby’s cheeks.
Their meal flew by as they chatted about their work and current events without any lull in the conversation. Despite Libby’s protestations, Reagan bought one of everything to take with them for later.
Libby’s gaze lingered on the curve of her muscular shoulders and the soft tone of her paler abdomen.
“You look good in it,” Reagan said before snapping a picture with her camera. Libby smiled, her cheeks flushed from the heat streaming into the truck and a little something more.
Libby glanced at her dubiously but took her hand along with a gentle push on her lower back. Reagan jumped on with practiced ease. How many girls had she wooed with her style and confidence?
When Reagan parted her denim covered legs, it became obvious where she was supposed to sit. Happy that she was so hot her blush blended in with her already flushed face, Libby spun around before performing a graceful plié and sitting between Reagan’s parted thighs.
After a few snaps with the tell-tale Miami Beach setting behind them, Reagan surprised Libby by kissing her on the cheek. When she flinched, Reagan pulled away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” “No, no, please.” She shook her head, mortified at her reaction. “I just wasn’t expecting it. You surprised me. That’s a good idea. We need some images to sell the romance,” she added in a rush as she fought back the fluster.
Reagan craned her neck to get a better look at her face. “Are you sure? I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable at all. We can skip—” “Please,” she interrupted softly. “I promise.” She smiled, before taking the phone from her hands and snapping her own picture. This time, Libby’s lips were on Reagan’s cheek.
“Let’s do some without the glasses on.” She pulled off her own shades as she spoke. “Let’s make the most of those gorgeous green eyes.” Libby smiled. No one ever noticed her eyes. They were so dark they often looked brown without...
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Starting at her jaw, Reagan placed a series of light kisses down the column of her neck and didn’t stop until she reached her collarbone. Each point of contact made Libby dizzier than the last. She blamed the heat and blinding sunlight. “At least one of us is a good actor,” Reagan said cheerfully.
Shifting, Libby cleared her throat. “What?” “The pics,” she said, turning the screen for Libby to see. “Those are some Oscar-winning heart-eyes you’re channeling.” The sound of Reagan’s laughter restarted her brain. “Yeah, well. I tried,” she lied. She hadn’t tried, she’d barely been in her body. What the hell was that? “I don’t know about you, but I’m hot as hell. Ready to cool off?” Reagan asked before sliding the phone back into her pocket. “Yeah,” she squeaked before clearing her throat again. “Definitely.”
Hanging over the round towel holder next to the pedestal sink was Reagan’s white, linen shirt from the day before. In the middle of her turmoil, Libby smiled. The day spent recreating a months-long relationship was the most fun Libby could remember having. Being in her presence was easier and more comfortable than it had any right to be.
The tiny part of Libby that wanted to run away from the pressure and expectation considered calling Reagan. What would they do with another day spent acting like tourists in their own city?
Libby remembered the sensation of Reagan’s lips on her neck and closed her eyes. It had been so long since she’d been treated with such attention and care. She couldn’t stop to care about how...
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As she held the shirt up to her nose, Libby inhaled the clean scent of detergent mixed with a fresh, earthy smell she guessed was clay. It transported her out of the cold confines of the bathroom and back to Reagan’s truck. Salt spray in the air. The hot sun burning her scalp. Beads of sweat dripping down her back as the waves crashing in the distance promised cool relief. Reagan’s soft lips. Her warm body wrapped around her. Her dimpled smile accompanying her throaty laugh. And those arms. Those strong arms snaked around her belly. The arms that held her together. Held her s...
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“Mija.” She paused before looking at her with tired but kinder eyes. “I don’t care who you love. If I have taught you anything, it is that life is fleeting and one of the only true joys is the love and family we find in a soulmate. How could you believe that something as insignificant as gender could invalidate that?”
“No more surprises,” she said, reasonably certain it was a promise she couldn’t keep.
“I promise that’s not what I’m doing here,” she replied softly. “Libby is a put-together woman who doesn’t need me to complete her. She’s a strong, vibrant, independent person.” Imani nodded. “I hope so.” Me too, she thought, before remembering they weren’t really in a relationship.
woman’s tears and a wide smile, prompting Libby forward to embrace her trembling body. “Thank you so much for sharing that with me.” “It’s taken a long time to understand myself. I’ve been unlearning a lot of bullshit,” she admitted with a laugh as she accepted the tissue Libby offered. As Jennifer talked more about her road to self-discovery, Libby tried hard to suppress feeling like a fraud and just focus on celebrating her prospective client. After nearly two hours spent talking, Libby set out to do the hard work of finding her possible matches.
Libby: What are you doing this Saturday night? Twenty minutes later, while Libby was putting together the ad to attract new, diverse, singles to the agency, Reagan responded. Reagan: I’m guessing doing something with my girlfriend?? Libby grinned as she typed a quick reply. Libby: Are you ready for it? Reagan: Gurrrrrl, I was born ready. Where are we going?
Libby chuckled without moving away. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied softly, holding Reagan in her gaze. “You really did look stunning in that suit.”
“Shit,” Libby cursed as she typed. “I was going to stick around and invite you to lunch but—” “But you have to run?” Reagan guessed. “No worries. Go.” Libby hesitated as she glanced between her phone and Reagan. “I really hate to bail like this. It’s just Taylor…” Reaching out, Reagan placed her hand on Libby’s forearm. “Hey, you don’t have to explain anything to me. I’m glad you made it all the way to Hialeah without bursting into flames.” Libby laughed. “Well, GPS helps.” When her phone buzzed again, her smile disappeared. “I really have to run,” she said with open disappointment before
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In the moments she spent waiting for Reagan to emerge, her palms started sweating and her empty stomach twisted in knots. Her mind raced with worries. What if they weren’t believable as a couple? As she imagined the catastrophe of being confronted by an angry mob and accused of being a fraud, Reagan appeared from behind a huge metal door. The light perspiration in her palms turned into a flood. She knew she should stop staring at the woman striding toward her car, but she couldn’t look away. Instead of the tuxedo shirt she’d worn at the shop, Reagan had ditched the shirt all together. The
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“Sorry,” she said, face flushed with heat as she ran her hand over the controls on the driver’s side door and found the unlock button.
“But I’m not convinced. Mary said they’ll hold, but I can put on the shirt if you don’t think this looks right.” “No! You look amazing,” Libby blurted, her gaze lingering on her cleavage as she stood trapped somewhere between envy and intrigue.
“Now if I can just manage to keep this blood red lipstick from getting on the white dress, we’ll be golden.” Reagan laughed as she stepped into the front passenger seat. “I’ll do my best to keep those red lips where you want them.”
“Then I guess it’s lucky for you I’m better prepared than a Boy Scout,” she replied, opening the glovebox and taking in the clean scent of Reagan’s perfume as she leaned across her body.
Reagan’s eyes drifted from Libby’s hand to her face. Gone was the enviable confidence and easy demeanor. In its place was something akin to regret. Reagan’s hand was warm when it covered Libby’s. The contact was a mild sting that electrified her touch-starved skin.
As Reagan directed her through a maze of side streets toward her destination, Libby tried to ignore the lingering tingle on her skin. She couldn’t.
Libby’s green eyes sparkled when she laughed. “I hate pumpkin, and if you ever put it in a soup, we’re breaking up.”
Her dazzling green eyes darted to the tattoo hidden under white tuxedo fabric. “I think you know,” she replied, swaying just a little.
Reagan pulled the puff pastries from her pocket and handed Libby the stuffed napkin as she stared at a Cupid sculpture. “Eat something.” Libby turned away from the sculpture and stared at the offering in her hand. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of water lapping gently against the pool’s stone walls, the scent of salt from the bay in the air, and Libby’s wide, unreadable eyes.
“You snuck me food in your pocket?” she asked, swaying on her feet gently like the breeze filling the grotto. Reagan couldn’t tell if she was touched or grossed out. Maybe a bit of both. “You were taking that champagne down pretty quickly without eating. I figured you might need a little something so you didn’t crash.” Taking tentative steps forward, Libby closed the gap between them. Instead of making any moves to take the food, she tilted her chin up just a little. The gesture drew Reagan’s attention to Libby’s full lips and sent her heart racing. “That’s the most thoughtful thing anyone has
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“This might be the most fun I’ve had in a long time,” Libby said after neither of them dared move any closer. “Thank you.”
