Hire a Boyfriend (Dean Winchester)

The Break

The TV showcases a cooking show I'm no longer paying attention to. I turned it on in favor of distracting myself from the constant need to reach out to my phone sitting atop the coffee table. I've been feeling this way for a few days now, but I always manage to control myself. Right now, my eyes wander towards the mobile device. My hand starts to lift, but I stop it on time. I force myself to look back at the screen and listen to the boring recipe.

It's been two weeks since my last date with Dean. Ever since then, we've been talking nonstop through text messages. That is, until a few days ago, when I ceased responding. It started out as a simple "Hey, did you arrive home safe?" on my part. Then it escalated to long talks about our favorite food, music, shows, and even funny anecdotes about our lives. I remember how stunned I was when he mentioned his brother for the first time. His name was Sam, apparently. He had never before said anything about his family, but that day he let slip his love for his brother. That small gesture made me more comfortable confiding in him about my own family. I didn't say anything deeply personal, but I did say things that I would to a friend. Surprisingly, he did the same.

Thus, he told me about how my love life resembled his. He said that he never truly had a stable relationship in his life. All of his previous hookups were simply that, one-night stands. He also said that his mother wanted him to find a woman to settle down with. Apparently, he was getting old, and his mother wanted grandsons. The fact that his younger brother found a match did not help. Sam had been married for two years and had a baby on the way. So that only left him, the eldest, as a left behind. Of course, he commented that he did not care as much as I did about finding a partner. It was then that he made a joke about hiring a girlfriend to pretend as I did. That was the first and only mention of the HiBoy app. We were both ignoring the fact that our contact was trespassing the limits of professionalism.

Nevertheless, that fact could not be completely forgotten. Our building friendship came to a halt two days ago. I was going through some of my social media when I decided to open the HiBoy app again. I wasn't sure what prompted me to do it, perhaps the constant texting with Dean. I went to check out his profile, even though I knew it was a bad idea.

HiBoy app has a feature that allows you to read previous comments of past clients. It's mainly to decide whether that boyfriend is of your choice. One of Dean's most recent reviews was of a girl that said he canceled their date two days before. They were supposed to go out on a Sunday, and she received a cancellation Friday night. He told her that he had a family emergency, but later on, the app showed that he was booked with someone else. That wasn't so alarming hadn't it been for the fact that I recognized the dates she was mentioning. Furthermore, the story seemed to match that of barbecue day. I had asked Dean out that day when I knew he was busy. He had canceled for me. That's when I realized that our relationship, whatever it is, was getting out of hand. Catching feelings for my fake boyfriend is way too cliché for me. This isn't a rom-com, so that's when I stopped answering his texts. Still, that didn't mean that I didn't feel the need to do so.

The chef on the screen shows his finished dish. My stomach grumbles in hunger, and yet my eyes wander back to my phone. That's it! I need a break. I look up to the clock in the wall, it's 10 PM, it's still early. My hunger and my need for a distraction are enough to drag me out of the couch. I turn off the TV and head to my room. I plan to search for the sluttiest outfit I can find and go to a nightclub. It's been a while since I last slept with someone, and I'm sure sex will be enough to get Dean out of my head.

It doesn't take me long to choose what to wear. It's a tight red dress and high stilettos. I apply some makeup, and then I know I am ready to take over the world... or bring a handsome man home.

I go to a club that I frequent. It has a dumb name, but the drinks are cheap, and the music is good. When I arrive, people are already dancing and drinking. In a corner, a group of women is shouting 'shot, shot' to a woman dressed in pink. It appears to be a bachelorette party. I approach the bar to order a light cocktail. I don't want to get hammered tonight, just distract myself with some pretty eyes. The bartender smirks at me when he hands me my drink, and I smile noncommittally. I pray to whoever's listening to help me forget about Dean Winchester. Luck seems to be on my side because it hasn't even been 10 minutes when a tall man sits beside me at the bar.

"Hey," he shouts over the music. Then he proceeds to tell me his name. I barely pay attention to it.

"I'm Ronnie, nice to meet you." I have no time for small talk, but it's never good to bring home a psycho. So I indulge in flirting.

Soon enough, I notice he is dull. Sure, his masculine features are pleasant to look at, yet every time he opens his mouth I feel like yawning. He is very egotistical, and his favorite subject seems to be his travels around the world. Apparently, he's from California, and it's only on the passing.

The conversation is one-sided. I nod if I have to, but he doesn't even notice my lack of interest. The chat consists mostly of his monologue and a few grunts from my part. His hair falls on his forehead prettily. I cannot decipher the color very well in the dim light of the club, but it seems to be a bright blond. Too light for my liking. His eyes are a dark shade, and it's really disturbing when he looks at me for long periods of time.

He's about to start a new story about his trip to Montreal when I interrupt him. "I want to dance, do you want to dance?" I don't give him time to answer. I take his hand and make him stand with me.

The dance floor is buzzing with activity. Bodies against bodies and sweat glistening down their desire. My arms find their way around the blond's neck. I move alongside the music and he follows. He is a good dancer, I'll give him that. He smiles at me. I don't return the smile, instead, I turn around. With my back against his chest, I close my eyes. I don't want to think about his stupid smirk and compare it to someone else's. I don't want to look at his eyes and prefer green ones. That's stupid. I'm acting stupid. I want to wander off and lose myself. I concentrate on my moves. For a moment, I achieve my purpose. Dean is no longer in my head as music invades my senses. His hands roam through my body and I let him. His hands are rough, and they ignite a fire inside me. The desire that I've been waiting all night.

I turn back around and, without opening my eyes, my hands escalate from his chest to his face. Once there, I attract him to me and kiss him hard. The contact is thirsty yet lifeless. Like kissing the picture of my favorite actor as a teenager. It brings pleasure, but not fulfillment. Still, I don't stop, I add my tongue into his mouth, and he makes a weird sound. A sound that makes my stomach twist in disgust. I step away. He tries to follow my lips, but I don't let him. I turn my back to him and continue dancing. His hands find my hips again.

I ponder my options. I could take him home. He won't be the best lay I'll have, but... But what? I'm not supposed to feel disgusted when kissing someone. Maybe I just wasn't into him, maybe I could try someone else, and then... Close my eyes and see Dean's face while a nameless guy fucks me? That wouldn't help either. Maybe I'm just not in the mood tonight. Or the weeks before because it's been a while since I last had sex. I'm stressed, needy, and my phone weighs a ton in my pocket.

Without explanation whatsoever, I walk out of the blond's embrace and out of the club. The night is chilly when I walk to my car. I'm not drunk enough not to drive. I barely had a few sips of the cocktail. Apparently, I'm not even in the mood for drinking. What's happening to me?

The way home is silent. My house feels lonely when I arrive. I throw my dress on the couch and kick off my high heels. Then I go to my room for a blanket that I drop over my naked shoulders. In the pantry, I pull out some chips and juice. I didn't even have time to eat. Tiredly, I lay on the couch. My phone breaks the silence with a new message I haven't read. It arrived while I was at the club. I didn't notice. I pick up my phone. It's Dean.

Hey! Are you ok? You've gone MIA.

I sigh, defeated, and start typing. Those are the first texts of the night that Dean and I exchange. I don't go to bed until 4 AM.