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The sound of girls cheering pulled Jason’s attention from Bruce’s business talk across the room to the bar, where a familiar head of golden curls was bouncing.
Keeping an eye on Bruce to ensure he wouldn’t try to drag him into any stuffy conversation, he inched closer to the bar, wondering at the hilarity.
He was well aware of Steph’s sunshiny nature and how she often bubbled over with laughter, but she wasn’t usually this hyped up about it.
Ah, the bubbly was infecting her own natural bubbliness. Jason stepped forward as Steph grabbed the glass the bartender slid over to her, clinking the edge with some of the girls’ around her. With a muttered ‘bottoms up’, she downed the entire thing in one smooth gulp, turning 180 degrees with a victory cheer.
“Damn, Blondie, don’t you have any gag reflex?” He leaned on the counter, signalling the bartender for a tumbler of scotch.
Her cheeks flushed even pinker than her Barbie-pink gown. “You saw that?”
“Was hard not to, with your friends cheering you on.” With a wordless ‘cheers’, he sipped his scotch. Ah, Alfred did a good job making sure the bar had the good stuff.
She took her refilled flute from the bartender and rested her arm beside his.
“How about a trade?”
“About what?” he eyed her, shifting his body weight away from her.
She noticed, of course, sidling even closer; so close her body heat burned through his three-piece suit.
Her fingers crawled up his vest’s buttons. “You find out if I have a gag reflex or not and I find out if you’re a good enough actor to be my boyfriend-slash-bodyguard to the seasonal events I attend without a date and spend the whole evening fending off tipsy, insecure, pushy men.”
Jason blinked, taking another sip of his scotch. “You want me to be your boyfriend for Christmas events so you can actually enjoy the time without being hounded by other sad singles and in return you give me sexual favours? That sounds rather suspect, Miss Brown.” It would keep Bruce off my back in one way, although then we’d have to suffer through the relationship inquisition…or I could say it’s fake…
With a huffed glare, she gripped his arm (wow, she was strong) and dragged him to a quiet hallway off-limits to guests.
“Look, I need a date, and I know you’d do a good job of keeping the riff raff away. I can always turn my next flute of champagne into a shot to satisfy your curiosity.”
Jason swallowed his scotch thoughtfully. “Why me?”
“You’re single, you know who I am and can corroborate my excuses if we get pinged for an emergency suit up, you fit my type, and we have some chemistry, if I’m not wrong. Please, will you help me out? I’m getting desperate here. I’ll owe you a favour–no, two favours–of your choosing. Anything is on the table except murder and torture at this point,” she pleaded.
“Hmm…you make a fair case, Miss Brown. Fine. I’ll be your Christmas date.”
“Thank you!” she gushed, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
~~~
Steph tossed the champagne back, ignoring the bubbles threatening to burn her throat as the golden liquid made its way from her glass to her stomach. Good thing she’d stopped at BatBurger on her way here, so she had greasy burgers counteracting the alcohol.
With a victorious cheer, she spun, relishing in proving the society girls ‘befriending’ her wrong. She only hoped none of the men around had seen her little display, so she wouldn’t be hounded to show off her trick again. In private.
“Damn, Blondie, don’t you have any gag reflex?” a low voice to her left drawled. Steph whirled, annoyed with herself at giving in to the girls so easily.
To her surprise, Jason was there, in a black three-piece suit over his festive red shirt (more likely a nod to his alter ego than because it was a traditional Christmas colour). She could feel herself flush as she took in his spruced up appearance.
Heh, spruced up . She was on fire with her seasonal puns.
“You saw that?”
“Was hard not to, with your friends cheering you on.”
An idea slipped into her mind at this golden opportunity.
“How about a trade?”
“About what?” he eyed her suspiciously.
She couldn’t have that.
“You find out if I have a gag reflex or not and I find out if you’re a good enough actor to be my boyfriend-slash-bodyguard to the seasonal events I attend without a date and spend the whole evening fending off tipsy, insecure, pushy men.”
Please say yes please say yes please-
“You want me to be your boyfriend for Christmas events so you can actually enjoy the time without being hounded by other sad singles and in return you give me sexual favours? That sounds rather suspect, Miss Brown.”
Would it really be a hardship? She asked him mentally. Grasping his arm (who let him have biceps wider around than she could grab?) she propelled them to a quiet hallway where they wouldn’t be overheard or disturbed.
“Look, I need a date, and I know you’d do a good job of keeping the riff raff away. I can always turn my next flute of champagne into a shot to satisfy your curiosity.” I’d rather prove it around your d-
“Why me?”
“You’re single, you know who I am and can corroborate my excuses if we get pinged for an emergency suit up, you fit my type, and we have some chemistry, if I’m not wrong. Please, will you help me out? I’m getting desperate here. I’ll owe you a favour–no, two favours–of your choosing. Anything is on the table except murder and torture at this point,” she pleaded. Don’t ask me about my type.
“Hmm…you make a fair case, Miss Brown. Fine. I’ll be your Christmas date.” He acquiesced, thankfully not mentioning her type.
“Thank you!” She tiptoed to kiss his cheek. Ooh he smelled good, all spicy like her favourite gingerbread candle, but less sweet. That was okay; she liked her men to have some spice to them.
“So, your type, huh?” he wiggled his eyebrows.
Aw snap.
“Tall, dark, and handsome,” she blurted. “Don’t you have one?”
He considered that. “Maybe blonde, blue-eyed, and shorter than me?”
Am I…his type?
With one final swig he swallowed the scotch. “So, are we telling the Bats about it?”
Steph groaned. “I’d really rather not. They’re so dramatic about everything.”
“And you aren’t?”
She swatted his arm. “Pot, kettle. There’s no need for an elaborate story, right? You asked me out tonight, we’ve both secretly had a crush on each other for a while, and we’re dating now.”
“You mean: you propositioned me and since I am but a weak man I agreed?”
“Psh, you’re not weak; I felt your biceps. That’s unfair, honestly.”
Jason grinned. “You’re awfully strong yourself, Blondie. You hauled me outta there like I was Cass or maybe Damian’s size.”
“I’ve been going to the gym regularly,” she shrugged. “And Cass had me on a strict training plan.”
“It’s paying off. Good job.”
A warm fuzzy feeling spread throughout her body from her middle. Please just be champagne and not butterflies , she pleaded, crossing her fingers behind her back.
“So, we’re dating now. Want to skip the rest of this party since we’ve been seen by all and sundry and go grab BatBurger or something?” Jason asked.
Startled to attention by his opening statement, she agreed. Batburger twice in one day? Sue her, she didn’t care.
“You’re already climbing the ranks as my favourite boyfriend,” she told him as they climbed into Jason’s car. “Remember: the way to my heart is through my stomach.”
“Noted. Anything else I should know, besides your love being bought with food? And, apparently, your lack of gag reflex?”
“If we’ve just started dating tonight, I don’t see why you’d be expected to know much more than that,” she shrugged. “But if you really want to become my favourite boyfriend, you can turn your Bat training skills to me, and I’ll do the same.”
Wait, did we clarify fake dating? Just dating for the holidays? Should I clarify it and set a breakup date?
“What do you want?” Jason pulled up to the BatBurger drive thru.
Steph rattled off her usual order, deciding to just enjoy one date with Jason, fake or not, before bringing up the breakup. It could wait.