The beautiful blonde smiles innocently, reading my expression.
“Ahh, there it is. I knew you’d remember. Now do me a favor and bring in my things, Troy-boy.”
To my horror, I look out the open door and see three huge Louis Vuitton suitcases sitting in the hallway. If you ask me, that’s an awful lot of luggage for just ninety days.
“You don’t have another place to stay?” I demand.
She yawns and examines her nails.
“No, I’m staying with you. Why, would you rather I stay in a hotel?”
“Yes, I would rather,” I grit through my teeth. “You don’t belong here.”
Mikayla merely lets out a trill of laughter while beginning to undo her dress again.
“But Troy-boy, we could have so much fun together,” she breathes, popping her tits out once more. I look away, disgusted. The woman must have gotten another round of plastic surgery because her breasts resemble flotation devices with their hard, rubbery movements.
But she merely giggles, unable or unwilling to sense my disdain. “It’ll be fine, Troy-boy. Now just get my stuff and put it in your room. I need to take a shower. It was a long flight.”
I stare with dismay at her departing back. Then, to my horror, the blonde peeps into the master bedroom, steps inside, and then there’s the sound of running water from the en suite. Oh shit. I need to get this sorted out, and the thing is, I have no choice but to give into her wishes right now. After all, it is my signature on that fiancée application. Fuck.
As the shower gushes, I wheel the suitcases into my bedroom.
“You can have my room for the night,” I call out loudly. “I’ll leave your things here.”
“You’re not going to join me?” Mikayla asks, popping her head out of the en suite. She’s buck naked now, but I look away.
I snort. “No, I’m not.”
She shrugs.
“Suit yourself, big boy. You’re different than I remember because before, you could hardly get me into bed fast enough. But whatever, I’m tired from the flight anyways. I’ll see you in the morning!” she sings. “Unless you change your mind, in which case, you know where to find me.”
Mikayla winks as she closes the bathroom door. Fuck my life.
Meanwhile, I go back into the living room and throw myself on the couch. My phone sits on the table in front of me, and I desperately want to call Cammie to explain, but what would I say? Unfortunately, this woman really is my fiancée, at least according to U.S. Immigration. And yes, I’m a fraudster because I signed the application declaring that fact to be true. It was under duress, but still.
My mouth feels sour, and my hands turn into fists in my lap. I’ll call later. Besides, Cammie needs a minute to cool down, so it’ll be better if I wait a bit while formulating my approach.
Besides, things will be improve tomorrow. I’ll put Mikayla in a hotel. No, better yet, I’ll put her on a plane to another city: Boston, New York, Los Angeles, or really, anywhere she wants to go. I just need to get this drat woman out of my hair so that I can focus on the woman who really matters.
I cover my face with my hands, slumping into the comfort of the couch while thinking of Cammie. Things were going so well, but now, I’ve really put my foot in it. The question is: can I get myself out? Will she forgive me? Will she even listen to my explanation? Or this time, have I gone too deep?
9
Troy
* * *
“You have some nerve calling me right now,” Cammie spits into the phone.
I didn’t expect a warm greeting exactly, but I didn’t expect level ten hatred, either. Shit, this is going to be harder than I thought.
“Please, let me explain,” I begin.
But the curvy girl’s not having it.
“Explain what? You just sat there like a fish, dumb and silent, while that woman waltzed into your apartment. Why should I listen to you now?”
I take a deep breath.
“It’s more complicated than Mikayla made it seem.”
“Leave me alone, Troy. Anything you say is going to be complete bullshit anyways.”
I sigh heavily. I hoped two hours would be enough time for Cammie to cool off, but maybe I should’ve waited until morning to talk to her. I barrel on ahead, since I’ve got her on the line.
“I’m not engaged to Mikayla. At least, not really.”
Cammie snorts.
“Then why did she show up claiming to be your fiancée?”
Here’s the hard part, and I take another deep breath to brace myself.
“Because ages ago, before I met you, Mikayla and I used to be something. Not a couple, but more of a fuck buddy situation. I would meet up with her whenever I was in Malaysia for stopovers and we’d fuck.”
“Oh really,” Cammie’s voice drips with sarcasm. “A fuck buddy, huh? So why does she think she’s your fiancée then? That’s a long ways from a friend with benefits if you ask me.”