Mistletoe and a Man for Christmas: Fake It Till You Make It, #8

By L. Loryn

What happens when fourteen days of pretending to be in a relationship produces real feelings?

 

One innocent doctor paired with one seasoned escort for fourteen days of a fake relationship back on the family farm. It's cold outside, but the brewing passion between these two men who are opposites in every way is scorching.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L. Loryn
• Release date: Nov 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393713999

Book preview

Chapter 1

Reed McAllister dipped into his office as he finished with his last patient of the day, slumping down behind his desk and unloading as many notes as he could remember about each patient. He was one of four residents at the top children’s hospital in the state, and he and his other three colleagues had a working system, which included writing thorough notes about each patient in case they weren’t able to schedule an appointment with the same doctor later, in case there was an emergency, in case one of them actually took a vacation, for a change.

He was due for one. It had been months since he’d taken any time off, but it was common. Out of the four doctors, he was the only one without a partner or children, and he was in slim company. There were a few nurses, still young and more focused on their career over their personal lives, but the ultrasound technicians, the x-ray technicians, and even the janitors had long since settled down with others and started a family.

Normally he didn’t care, but it was just shy of three weeks before Christmas, and he could only avoid his mother’s prying phone calls for so long. For the last two years, he worked through the holidays, happily taking call for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's, but he missed his family. He missed his mother’s home cooking and his father’s dinnertime stories, and after everything they had given him, the least he could do was take two weeks off every so often to spend the holidays on a farm with a scenic mountain backdrop.

His fingers danced over the keys as he added bits of information to his patients’ files. He had remembered more than he thought, and glimpsing the ultrasounds and x-rays attached to their information jogged his memory.

As he sat back in his chair, his cell phone chimed in his breast pocket, and he combed his fingers through his micro-locs. He dug it out, scanning the number before smiling gently and answering the call.

It was his mother, and her sweet alto voice filled the receiver after he issued her a utilitarian greeting.

Hey, Mom. How are you?

Your father and I are doing well. We are trying to make plans for this Christmas.

Right, right. Christmas is coming, isn’t it? Reed feigned ignorance as he straightened up in his black leather office chair, grabbing a pad from the corner of his mahogany desk and sliding a chipped coffee mug full of pens closer.

It’s in about three weeks, she confirmed.

He nestled the cell phone in the crook of his shoulder. Is it? The holidays always fly by. Just yesterday it was Thanksgiving.

Several weeks ago, but yes. Are you working yourself too hard again? When is the last time you took some time for yourself?

The exposed page of the little pad was full of scrawled notes in what his father called doctor’s handwriting, or what he considered the quickest shorthand he could muster. It bordered on illegible, but his nurses and specialty technicians read it just fine. He balled the page up and tossed it in the trashcan before uncapping a ballpoint pen and scribbling against the fresh page.

The pen was dry, and he tossed it in the trashcan, too.

Yes, Mom, Reed groaned, I’m taking care of myself.

Did you get the package I sent you last? The one with all the canned goods?

Yes, I got it. I shared the red pepper jelly with some of my colleagues, though. I kind of figured even if I ate it in droves, it wouldn’t give me a boost of vitamins. The rest I kept, though.

Mmhm. I made your favorite chili-ginger dill pickles.

I saw. They’re good, as always.

Good. His mother paused, and he flicked his gaze up, glancing at the time on his computer screen before continuing through the collection of pens, testing the next one and chunking it after finding it dry, too. So, you know why I’m calling.

She was luring him.

You’re calling because you wanted to hear your lovely child’s voice, right? I can’t imagine any other reason why a mother would call her child.

She laughed. Yes, but I am also calling to see your plans for the holidays. It’s been two years, and we would all love to see you this year. How about you take some time off and spend Christmas and New Year’s on the farm?

There it was, the true reason for the call.

Reed sucked in his breath. I’ll think about it. He tossed another pen with a scowl. It twirled, smacked against the side of the metal trash can and clattered across the tile floor.

His scowl deepened.

Everyone is coming this year. Aiden is back from his tour overseas, so he’s bringing his wife and children. She had the baby, and it was born with a full head of curly hair. Did you see the pictures we sent?

I saw them. Did he get my gift?

A year’s worth of diapers, yes, but he would’ve rather you had called instead, she snapped, but before Reed responded, she continued her previous train of thought. Brenda and the young man she met in art school are coming, too. They’ll be in town until the New Year, then they’re starting a year of living in a van.

She’s really doing the van-life thing?

Oh, they have purchased a van and everything. Your father is going to help them build it out while they’re here. We wouldn’t mind an extra hand with it.

So, you’re going to ask Aiden to help, then? I’m a doctor, Mom. I’m absolutely no help with outdoorsy things.

We were thinking of doing it as a family. Maybe you are not so good with the hands-on part, but I’m sure you can help with the aesthetics.

Reed chuckled. We’ll see. I may need to stay in town, though. If I have to be on call, then I won’t be able to come.

I am sure someone else can take your call for you. You take theirs all the time.

I do, but still. I don’t want to ruin someone else’s Christmas holiday.

What about yours, Reed? You deserve to see your family, and we deserve to see you.

I know. Look, I promise I’ll do my best to get up there this year. I love y’all.

We love you, too. There was another little pause. Should we prepare for an extra person, or just you?

Uh… He pinched the bridge of his nose. Mom.

I just want to know! Her response was shrill. Feigned innocence even though it was nothing but. She was prying even though there was nothing to pry about.

Mom, Reed sighed, abandoning his task and pushing the container of pens away from him, I’ve got to go. I’m still at work, and one of my specialty techs needs me.

Okay, but call me back and let me know what we can expect! I wouldn’t want to have a friend of yours over and not be prepared to feed and entertain them.

Right, right. I’ll call you back. Okay, bye. Reed ended the call. He had gotten too skilled at faking emergencies, but he knew it was the only way to weasel his way out of an awkward conversation, and he wasn’t above the attempt.

The only problem was as soon as he ended the call, he did end up with an emergency. One of the babies he had looked at earlier had gone into cardiac arrest, and he didn’t get halfway down the hall before the little one was pronounced dead.

He still went to the room, comforting the parents of the child. He stayed with them for as long as they allowed, standing vigil, holding light conversation.

Medical school had been one of the hardest things he had ever done in his life. The book-learning was endless, along with all of the interning. However, one thing book-learning doesn’t teach is bedside manner. There are no classes on how to comfort new parents losing their first child, no lectures on the right things to say, and the first time it happened, Reed had fumbled through it with awkward, stilted conversation.

He’d gotten better over the years, but some questions still caught him off-guard. Many parents asked if he had kids or a partner or even a dog, and he shook his head to all three. He had nothing except an over-priced apartment and a bookshelf full of reference books. His bank account was padded with years of hard work, but he had no one to share it with. Watching the couple mourn their child, watching the man comfort his distraught wife, the desire for a relationship surged in him.

One day, he wanted someone to look at him like this man looked on his wife. It was pure adoration, pure love. They were in it together, as a team, and their child’s death wasn’t going to destroy their relationship as it did so many others.

The couple cradled their baby, rocking it in the provided chair and smoothing lank hair on its cold forehead. Reed was merely company, nothing more or less, and when they were finally ready to leave, he walked them to the exit. Silent, still.

Leaning against the door frame, he watched the couple walk to their car until they had disappeared in the crowded parking lot, hand-in-hand, battling their trauma together.

Maybe it was time. He deserved the purest forms of love, too.

Ay, McAllister. You getting a drink with me at the pub? An older gentleman wearing star-patterned scrubs clapped him on the shoulder, and he tipped his head to the side. His daughter had picked those scrubs for him for his forty-fifth birthday.

Hey, Peterson. You know what? Yeah, yeah. I’m going to come with you. It’s been a long day, and I need something to take the edge off.

I feel you. The man combed his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair. I heard about your patient. It’s always tough when they’re on an upswing and then take a turn for the worst.

It is. Reed pursed his lips, folding his arms across his chest as he turned back to the parking lot. Anyway, I’m on my way out now, so I’ll meet you over there?

Sure thing. He clapped his shoulder again. One day at a time, man. One day at a time.

The same thing I told you during your divorce two years ago.

It sure is, and you were right. One day at a time, and one foot in front of the other. It’s all we got.

Yeah. Thanks for the pep talk. Reed knit his eyebrows together. I’ll meet you at the pub.

Yup. Peterson massaged his shoulder before they parted ways. Reed stepped out the front doors, catching a shuttle bus to the employee parking lot and walking through the chilled winter temperatures to his vehicle, sitting inside until his luxury sports car had warmed.

The pub around the corner was the local hang out for seasoned medical professionals and interns alike. The place was already crowded when Reed arrived, but he weaved through the interior, finding a secluded seat in the back. He checked his cell phone as he waited for his colleague.

Not five minutes after he’d sat down, a server came around with his usual, dropping an uncapped beer in front of him with a smile. Rough day? the woman prompted.

One of the worst. How’d you figure?

"It’s written all over your face, and because you seem like the type of guy to have a rough time during the holidays. I don’t mean to get in your business or anything, but you were here Christmas Eve and New Year’s Eve last year."

Reed winced. I was, wasn’t I?

Yup, the woman chuckled. Anyway, it’s a busy night for me. Holler if you need anything, all right?

I will. He picked up his beer, toasting it towards her. Thanks.

Once he had downed half of his drink, his colleague slumped into the seat across from him.

Getting a head start?

Long day, Reed hissed, and not just because of my patient.

Yeah? Peterson gave an upnod to the closest server.

Yeah. My mother wants me to come visit for the holidays.

Your real mom or your adopted mom?

Adopted mom, thankfully. Real mom hasn’t contacted me since we had the awkward family-reunion-type dinner half a decade ago, and I can’t say I’m too sad about it. He sipped his drink again, picking at the label as he placed it on the table.

Huh. Well, what’s so bad about going home for a little Christmas cheer?

She’s going to ask me about boyfriends the entire time.

Tell her you’re off relationships and you’re focusing on your work.

I have been saying something similar for forever. I believe she’s starting to get suspicious.

Okay so you need a date for your Christmas festivities. Hire someone.

A server breezed past their booth, dropping a second beer for Reed and a fresh beer for Peterson.

Excuse me? Reed blinked.

Hire someone. You think you’re the only person on the planet with a prying, nosy family? You’re not, and there are people who make a living off of being a stand-in partner for holidays and events.

Insane.

Not at all. It’s a service, and you need it, clearly.

Okay, I concede. I do need this service, but how do you even go about finding this mysterious man for hire?

Rent-a-man dot com.

You’re kidding me. How do you know this?

My ex-wife hired a man from there at the last family reunion. It was easier to hire someone than it was to explain the nuances of our new arrangement to everyone.

Right. Frowning and sipping his beer, Reed pulled up the website on his cell phone. To his surprise, the website existed and it was well put together. It was designed in a sleek pink-and-white, clearly catering to women, but there were dozens of different selections, including body type, highest degree completed, and age range.

It pull up for you? Peterson sat back in his seat, nursing his beer.

Yeah, it’s up. Reed finished his second beer and pinched the bridge of his nose. I can’t believe I’m considering hiring someone to pretend to be my boyfriend for the holidays.

You’d be surprised how liberating it is.

Hmf, he grunted, pushing his second beer away as he selected his settings. For all of the physical details, he was completely open, but he did select an age range of ten years on either direction of his age and he wanted his potential fake man to have a master’s degree.

The master’s degree narrowed the options to seven, and out of those seven, two were at the top end of his age range, two were at the very low end, fresh out of college with political science degrees, and three were in the middle, more aligned with Reed’s non-existent preferences.

One was short, one was round at the middle, and the third was…

Phoenix.

There was no last name, just a picture of a man with a mop of damp black curls, murky green eyes, and a lopsided smile. Many of the other men had tag lines, selling points about what they had to offer, but Phoenix didn’t.

He did, however, have dozens of five-star reviews and a collection of photographs which Reed browsed through. The photographs were a mix of professional shots and amateur shots, and the amateur ones were Reed’s favorites.

His eyes drew him in, and his easy-going smile relaxed Reed, and his thumb hovered over the call button.

Do it. You’ll be happier afterwards. Anyway, I need to get going. Peterson finished his beer. I gotta get the kid from soccer practice. I’ll see ya tomorrow.

Have a good one, Reed replied automatically, attention fixed on Phoenix. He wet his lips, drew his locs all to one side, and pressed the call button as he strolled outside of the bar.

The familiar trill of an incoming phone call tickled his ear, and his heart jumped into his throat. One ring.

Two.

Three.

Then the call connected.

This is Phoenix, a sultry, deep baritone voice filled the receiver.

Reed’s legs went weak, and he braced himself against the wall. Hi, Phoenix, he gasped, I-I am calling about your services.

***

Chapter 2

My services? Phoenix couldn’t help but chuckle at the stammer in the other man’s tenor voice. You have to be a little more specific, Sweetheart. He sat up in the bed, throwing hotel sheets off of him and swinging his legs off the side. Toes curled in the aged carpet as he stood up.

His current John was in the shower, washing off the evidence of their coupling, so he could hurry on home to his wife and three kids. The sex itself was underwhelming, but the man paid well for the experience and the discretion, and Phoenix had bills.

Medical bills, student loan bills, a mountain of credit card debt.

He had bills and he liked money, so he didn’t mind being face down and ass up for the five minutes it took the other man to get off.

R-right. Well, I found you on a website called Rent-a-Man?

Yeah? He chuckled again. So, I’m guessing you want to rent a man then, do you?

I do. I-I have never done this before, but I was wondering if you would be available for a two week Christmas and New Year’s vacation.

Phoenix’s eyebrows shot up. "Uh. Well. I’m available, yeah, but it won’t come cheap. Two weeks is fourteen days."

I’m aware of the amount of days two weeks is.

Over night, I’m assuming. Also, what kind of situation are you looking for? New boyfriend? Established relationship? The full package?

I haven’t thought this far. I shouldn’t have called. I’m-I’m just going to go.

Hey hey, wait a second there, Phoenix replied. Plenty of potential Johns ended the call before they got to what they wanted, and normally Phoenix let them, but there was something about this potential client that intrigued him. He dug a pack of cigarettes from his jeans, lifting the hotel room window before he struck his lighter and hovered it at the end of the rolled stick.

The end bloomed orange, and Phoenix took a long drag. He didn’t smoke often, but nothing beat a menthol cigarette after sex.

What? The man was breathless.

Let’s start at the beginning. You found me on the website, and my green eyes and smile turned you on, so you called-

Partly. It says you have a master’s degree, too?

I do, yup. I didn’t figure the master’s degree was going to be a selling point, but hey, there’s a first for everything.

Right, the other man paused, well, every year my mother begs me to come home for the holidays, but it’s always days of awkward family time with both of my parents all but begging me to settle down.

Not a story I haven’t heard before. Phoenix took a long drag on his cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs before exhaling out the window. Do you want me to be over the top in love with you or settled into my feelings for you?

I have a choice?

Yeah. It’s a job, Sweetheart, and you’re my client, so everything is your choice, down to the clothes I wear if you want.

"There are clients who pick clothes?" The disbelief in his voice was charming. He wasn’t the usual type of client, Phoenix could tell. He wasn’t a closeted man who had already started a life with a woman, nor was he the ultra-straight former-football type who wanted to be dicked down in an attempt to force out the deep-rooted shame of being interested in men.

Yup. You know, if it’s for an event or something. Anyway, I’ll give you a quote, but I have to know one thing first.

What do you have to know?

Are you expecting boyfriend sex or not?

Oh! No-no sex. Just the company. No sex, please.

If you change your mind on the sex, I’m going to have to charge you extra. It’s a lot easier to tack on the sex now if you’re not sure rather than add it later.

No. No sex. Thank you. The man’s voice was firm.

All right. I mean I’ve got tons of five star reviews, but if you’re that kind of guy then it’s fine. He put the cigarette to his lips as he rolled his eyes to the ceiling, contemplating what sort of price he wanted to quote the stranger.

New clients had a higher price along with clients who pissed him off during the initial conversation, but this person sounded sweet, almost shy, and Phoenix was almost tempted to knock some off the price because of it.

Almost. Then he remembered the suffocating amount of debt he was in, and the idea trickled out of the window with the smoke from his