Hire a Boyfriend (Dean Winchester)

The Third Date

It's been two months since my cousin's wedding. Two months since my "date" with Dean. The day after that night, I sent payment to his account through HiBoy and that was it. Our connection severed. It was two weeks after, that my mom asked about him. On a phone call, she asked how my boyfriend was. Of course, I lied. I couldn't tell her that he was not my boyfriend or that we had broken up. It would only lead to more drama. So I said he was fine, and that we were happy. The response, unfortunately, wasn't enough, and she proceeded to ask about his life. I told her what I know about him, and the rest I made up. She was placated enough to stop snooping around. From that moment onwards, my fake boyfriend was never mentioned again. I spent most of my time with my friends anyway, and except for Frida, no one knew about Dean. Life went back to its normal, almost boring pace, until yesterday.

Aunt Penny called and did the most dreaded thing I could possibly imagine... She invited me and my boyfriend Dean over for a barbecue. My whole maternal family is going to be there. And apparently, even though Hillary is my paternal cousin -and everyone at the wedding was paternal family- my other side of the family found out I am dating. Like it's the biggest news ever. It probably is for them. The little town in Kansas that they live in doesn't have much amusement. Or maybe it is because I am thirty and unmarried. The reason doesn't even matter. The problem's that I have to text Dean now and rehire him. I have to go back to see his beautiful face and pretend I don't want to take him to bed.

I swallow my pride and enter the app. I find his profile almost immediately. It's under "previous dates". The fact that his profile still pops up means he hasn't reported me, and he's willing to be rented again. I look up his calendar to see if he's free Sunday (barbecue day) and find out he isn't. He seems to be scheduled for an appointment with another client that day. I know it was a long shot, considering that it's Friday -of course, he'd be busy-. Still, it's no less disappointing. I guess I'll have to tell my family that he had work or something. Nevertheless, that's a conversation I do not desire. The judgmental stares send a shiver down my spine. I open the message tab and start typing.

Hey, it's Ronnie. I don't know if you remember, we went to a wedding.

I put the phone down on the table. He's offline, so it might take him a while to answer. I stand up from the couch and go to the kitchen. I need coffee for this. When I come back to the living room, he has already answered my text.

Hi Ronnie, of course, I remember. How are you? What can I do for you?

I type back.

Dean, my aunt invited me to a barbecue.

She seems to think that you'll go because you told my mother we're steady.

Are you, by any chance, free on Sunday?

I don't mention that I've already checked his calendar. I know that guild-trap him into accepting is a kinda low blow, but I need this to work.

The message bar shows that he's writing, but then it stops. It comes back seconds after.

Can I call you?

To be honest, I wasn't expecting that. HiBoy recommends in its rules that communication with clients should be by text only. However, after two successful dates, the app offers free calls. It's like a little perk for five-star dates. It's not that I've been reading HiBoy's guidelines back and forth...

Sure.

The call connects almost instantly. "Dean W." poops up on the screen. His beautiful green eyes in the profile picture greet me, and I have to look away before I answer.

"Hi, Dean"

"Ronnie," my name rolls off his tongue like butter. It makes my knees weak, what the actual fuck? I need to control myself. "So, you say you need me this Sunday, right?"

"Yeah, my aunt's barbecue... listen, if you're not free I totally get it."

He interrupts me, "No, no, I'm free." His raspy masculine voice almost makes me forget that his calendar said he wasn't, in fact, free. Is he canceling others for me? Or was it his day off? Doubt it, Sundays ought to be the busier days for dates.

"Are you sure?"

He sighs, "don't worry, sweetheart, I'm sure. I'm not busy, and even if I were, I can just cancel for my favorite girl- I mean, client."

The surprise his confession causes doesn't wear off nearly fast enough. Amid the shock, I ask "I am your favorite client?" We've only had two dates, but I don't say that.

He clears his throat, his voice is a little awkward when he answers. "Well, you've been the most amusing date I've had in a while. Tricking families like that," he laughs stiffly, "I've never done that."

Oh, so he only finds me amusing. Wow. That hurt. Never mind, we are not even that close, it shouldn't have hurt.

"Right, if it helps, you've been the best fake boyfriend I've ever had. And the only one." I laugh.

He doesn't seem pleased in the slightness. "Thanks... I guess."

I feel the need to say something, I don't want this conversation to end like this. "I've had time to listen to that Zeppelin song you mentioned. I mean, I've never been a Zeppelin gal, but..."

After that, the conversation moves fluently and effortlessly. We continue talking about music and then even a little bit about ourselves. I can still feel the boundaries of his life-work balance, but they seem to be shifting, erasing. I don't mention it, and he doesn't either. It feels good to talk to him. He must think so too because we spend an hour on the phone.

The atmosphere between us is good. On Sunday, when we go to the barbecue, even my family can notice. My mom pulls me apart to whisper that maybe "he is the one." I only hum with a smile. Maybe she'll be the broken-hearted one when Dean and I 'break up' next month. I need to end this, fast. I cannot continue to pretend at every gathering. Eventually, they'll ask about marriage or kids.

Dean must notice I'm stressing out. His arm snakes around my waist, and he pulls me away from my vulture of a mother to tell me a funny story. I don't concentrate on the story, but I appreciate the gesture. When it's time to leave, I've forgotten about the incident. Dean offers me a ride home. It's not like I'm craving more time with him, he claims he brought me here, he has to return me safe and sound. I pretend to think it over, and then I accept. As he parks outside my house, he hands me a piece of paper.

"What's this?" I ask.

"My number," the response is simple, yet my stomach twists weirdly, what's happening to me? Before I can question him, he explains. "That way you can call me to book me easily... You know, in case you need me for another last-minute date. It's faster this way."

Right, just for the fake-dating scenario. I try not to show much disappointment as I mutter: "Thanks."

Awkward silence stretches for a bit, but I don't want this date to end like this. It seems that neither does he.

"I had a good time." He grins at me. His smile is sincere, not flirty or polite. He's genuinely happy, and so am I. It was like hanging out with a friend. With a friend you feel attracted to.

"Me too." I take his hand and squeeze it. He squeezes back. "Goodnight, Dean."

I get out of his car and walk towards my door. It's until after I close it behind me that I hear the Impala roar back to life. Hours later, in my bed and after a shower, my hand still tingles from the touch.