Faking with Benefits : Chapter 9

“Relax,” I tell Josh for the fifth time. “She’s coming. You’re not getting stood up.”

Josh glares at me, tapping the side of his pint glass impatiently.

It’s been a day since our recording session with Layla. The episode only went live about half an hour ago, so I’m not sure how it’s being received — I’ve turned off my phone notifications so I can focus on the task at hand.

Tonight, we’re having our first official date. I decided to pick familiar ground, and texted her to meet us at the pub opposite our apartment block at nine PM. Josh and I have been sat at a quiet corner booth for a few minutes now. Layla’s running late, and it’s driving Josh up the wall.

“I’m relaxed,” he insists, tugging at his collar. He’s dressed up for the occasion, in jeans and a black shirt I could swear is new. He’s done something to his hair, and judging by the minty smell drifting across the table, he’s doused himself in cologne as well.

Interesting.

I clear my throat. “You’re gonna break that glass, mate.”

Josh pulls his hand away from his water like it’s burned him, looking up as the door swings open again. His shoulders ease. “She’s here,” he breathes.

I catch Layla’s eye and wave her over. She said she was coming straight from the warehouse, but she still looks stunning, in a pair of tight black leather pants and a red jacket. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and her eyes are made up smokey and black. It’s hot as Hell.

“Hi,” she says breathlessly, sitting down next to me. “Sorry I’m late. They evacuated the Tube after a drunk guy puked on the seats.” She sets her handbag on the table, then glances between the two of us. Her cheeks are pink. “There’s two of you.”

“Is that a problem?” Josh asks. “One of us could leave, if you don’t want to be seen with us both in public—”

“No!” She says quickly. “No, no. I, um, don’t have a problem with that. I just didn’t expect it. But I guess it’s better, actually, right? I get like, two perspectives. Two fake boyfriends. Yes, that’s good.” She clears her throat, then reaches for Josh’s water glass. “You guys look nice,” she babbles. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to change. I’d normally get my tits out on a bar date.”

Josh looks like he’s swallowed his own tongue. “You look fine,” he manages.

Layla blushes deeper, her eyes flashing between us again. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so flustered before. “You alright, sugar?”

She squirms a bit under my gaze. “Yep. So, um. Do we just start now?” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a small notebook labelled ‘DATE LOG’ and a pink fluffy pen. “I brought this to take notes.”

I try not to smile. “You won’t be needing that, pet. Josh and I had a chat, and we decided that before we get started with the date, we want to set up a baseline. We gotta see what we’re working with. This is an experiment, after all.”

She nods, business-like. “Okay. How are we going to do that?”

“I wanna see you in action,” I decide. “Go find someone to flirt with. We’ll watch and analyse your skills.”

Josh kicks me hard under the table. “Only if you’re comfortable,” he starts to say, but Layla just nods.

“Good idea. Do you have a scoring system in place? Hang on, I already wrote one.” Flipping through her notebook, she finds a page. “Here.” She twists the book around to show us. She’s drawn up a table with six categories, and boxes to score them out of ten. I read through them, trying not to laugh.

DATE SUCCESS INDEX:

Josh makes a choking sound, covering his face with his hand. “Jesus, Layla.”

“You won’t be able to answer all of them, I guess,” she says seriously. “Conversational flow and humour are hard to tell from a distance. I suppose you can judge by how involved I seem to be in the conversation. Or how much I’m laughing.”

Josh closes his eyes.

I pull the notepad towards me. “Wow, you’re so bizarre. Okay.” I pick up her pen, waving the fluffy end at her. “Scoot. Go woo someone. You want me to pick a guy out?”

“Ew, no.” She looks around, scanning the bar, then points at a tall man standing by the fruit machines. “I want him.” She stands up, brushing down her pants.

“Nope,” I pull her back down patiently. She squawks when she lands in my lap. “He’s wearing a ring.”

She squints. “Oh. Right.” She shuffles back on my thighs and glances around, pointing to a couple of guys leaning over the pool table. “What about the guy in the hat?”

“In a relationship.”

“With who?”

I frown. “Um, with the guy who’s currently groping his bum? Jesus, you really are bad at this. I didn’t think I’d have to teach you how to identify single straight men.”

“Oh.” She slumps a little, surveying the rest of the room. Her eyes alight on the bar, focussing on a tall, skinny guy sitting alone, staring at his phone. “Him?”

I wrinkle my nose. The guy looks like a twat. “You think he’s hot?”

“Sure.”

I shrug. Who am I to judge if she has terrible taste? “Then go for it, pet. Go over there, see if you can get his number. We’ll be watching.”

She nods once, then stands back up and heads right over to the bar, little white ponytail bobbing. Josh and I both watch as she struts over to her target and taps him on the shoulder. The guy jumps and turns to look at her. His eyes flick up and down her body, sparking with interest.

She sticks out her hand for him to shake. “I’m Layla,” I hear faintly over the pub chatter. “Are you single?”

“Well, at least she gets straight to the point,” I mutter, making a mark in the ‘eye contact’ column. “Do you reckon she always shakes peoples’ hands in a bar? God, she’s such a little weirdo.”

Josh shifts. “Did we really have to do this?” He asks, watching as the guy pulls out the bar seat next to him.

I raise an eyebrow. “You know, maybe you shouldn’t have signed up for this if you can’t stand to see her flirting with other men. Whole point of the segment is to help her find a boyfriend, after all.” Josh grunts, and I glance across at him. “Seriously, man. Are you actually down to fake-date her? Don’t you think it might, like, hurt too much?”

Josh is silent for a moment, then picks up his drink. “What do you mean?” He asks coolly.

“You know what I mean, Josh. You like her.”

“So do you.”

“I think she’s hot and funny and kind. I don’t have a crush on her. You do.” We both watch as the guy at the bar waves over the bartender, saying something to Layla. Looks like he’s buying her a drink. So far, so good. “I don’t suppose you’ve told her, have you?”

“Why would I?” Josh says quietly. “It doesn’t matter.”

I stare at him. “What the Hell do you mean, it doesn’t matter? You think she would’ve agreed to this if she knew how you feel about her? You heard her — she said she didn’t want anything to get between us.”

“And it won’t.” Josh takes a deep breath. “This is about her, not me. She’s my friend. I’ll help her in any way I can.”

“She won’t want to see you get hurt—” I start.

“Well, I don’t want to see her crying on my couch,” Josh bites out. “Zack. Seriously. It’s not a big deal. Yes, I like her, but it’s not that deep. I can look past my feelings to help a friend.”

I study him. I’ve been best mates with Josh since we were both little four-year-olds in reception. Even back then, he was toddling around, handing out his sandwiches to the kid who’d forgotten his lunch, giving away his toys to the girl crying at playtime.

“That’s the problem with you,” I tell him. “You’re way too selfless. You put everyone else before yourself. Even if they don’t even want you to. You gotta grow out of it, man, it’s not good.”

Josh doesn’t say anything, running his finger along the rim of his glass.

I sigh and clap him on the back. “Look, I get it. You wanna help her. But if it gets too much, just bow out. I’ll take over for you.”

He shrugs my hand off him, his eyes narrowing on Layla. “She looks miserable.”

I follow his gaze and wince. I gotta admit, her body language is terrible. She’s sitting right on the edge of the barstool like she wants to escape. Her arms are crossed protectively over her chest, and she’s avoiding the guy’s gaze, staring at the menu on the wall behind the bar.

“Maybe she doesn’t like him?” I guess.

“She doesn’t have to like him,” Josh points out. “Just sit and flirt with him for a few minutes.”

We both watch as the guy asks her a question. She gives him a tight smile and a short response, then they’re both silent. She sips her wine. Frowning, the man leans forward and tries again, asking her another question. She just nods, looking down at the bar. His face flushes with annoyance.

“Christ,” I say, drawing a zero in the ‘body language’ category. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such shitty chemistry. Maybe he’s a total douche?”

We watch as the guy tries to ask another question and gets ignored again. Frustrated, he slams his drink on the bar and stands.

“I know what this is,” he announces, raising his voice so we can both hear. “You’re one of those girls who just flirts with guys to get free drinks, aren’t you?”

Josh starts to rise out of his seat, but I tug him back down. “She’s a big girl,” I remind him. “She can handle it.”

“I want to know what they’re saying.”

I consider, then gather up our drinks and hop along to the next booth so we can hear better.

Layla looks confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Sure,” the guy blusters. “You’ll sit and talk with me until I’ve got my credit card out, and now you just want to leave? Here’s a tip: next time you come out for a drink, bring your own damn cash.”

Layla stares at him. “Okay,” she says loudly. “For your information, I am perfectly capable of buying my own drinks. I was legitimately interested in you. But I’m sure as hell not anymore.” She stands, shoving the glass at him. “Here. Keep your drink, if you care about it that much.”

“I can’t drink wine, I’m a guy,” the man sputters.

The look Layla gives him could dissolve glass. Snapping open her clutch, she pulls out a crisp ten-pound note and drops it on the bar. “There. Enjoy. Prick.”

She tosses her hair over her shoulder, turns on her heel, and saunters back to our table. When she reaches us, she crosses her arms, looking between us. “Well? How did I do?” She drawls.

Josh and I exchange a look. I pat the empty seat at my side. “Sit,” I say slowly. “We’ve got a lot to discuss.”