Her Pretend Christmas Date: A Lesbian Christmas Romance Read online

  Chelsea gasped. “But that was two years ago. How can you be sure?”

  “I’m sure.” Morgun clicked on the name at the top of the profile.

  Starrynightsky187.

  What a stupid name. Is that the best she could do?

  “I had no idea she was a lesbian.”

  “Well, judging from the fact that she’s in the women looking for women category, I’d say she must be.”

  Morgun grunted at Chelsea’s dry response. She knew she should just keep right on scrolling, but before she could go past the profile, Chelsea clicked on it and they were both faced with a brief write up and that same grainy photo.

  “Oooh! It says that she’s really just looking to meet someone to go to a wedding with her and then wants to see where things go!” Chelsea exclaimed giddily.

  “That’s insane. Who would advertise for that kind of thing on a site like this? She’s just asking for disaster.” Disaster which Morgun hoped would befall her. She wasn’t a mean-spirited person. She was generally way too nice by nature. But Laney Sterling was another matter altogether. For Laney Sterling, disaster was probably too good.

  “Jesus, for someone who takes pictures for a living, she sure has a shitty profile picture, and there aren’t any other pictures on here either.”

  “I think that’s intentional. She probably doesn’t want people to know she’s basically trying to solicit a date just for a wedding. That’s pathetic. Although, I can see how it would come down to that. She’s not a very nice person. She probably can’t get a date any other way.”

  “Why? I mean, I know she got your dream job, but she didn’t do anything cut-throat to get it, did she? How do you know she’s not nice?”

  Morgun turned away, suddenly flustered, caught up in her own bitterness, like getting called out for lying online where everyone could see. “No, I guess not. They said that they went with her even though my portfolio was better because she had more experience. I don’t know what that had to do with anything.”

  “Do you think she did something to get the job?” Chelsea wiggled her brows. “Like…”

  “No! Dear God. I mean, I don’t think so. I don’t know her, but I never thought that.”

  “Those assholes missed out on you. It’s their problem. Just because she’s basically a famous photographer now, that doesn’t mean anything. You own your own business! You’re your own boss.”

  “She takes photos for magazines that are seen by millions of people. I might be my own boss and it might pay the bills, but it’s never going to make me rich. She probably drives a brand new car every year and lives in a penthouse condo with a pool on the roof that only she gets to use.”

  “Does she have a purse doggie too?”

  Morgun bit down on her lip to keep a laugh in. “That’s too far. This is Anaheim, not LA. And that would be saying that Laney Sterling is an animal person. She doesn’t look like an animal person. She looks like the kind of lady dogs would growl at and try to bite her ankles, and she’d kick at them and yell for someone to get that mangy mutt away from her.”

  Chelsea giggled, getting into the spirit. “Does she wear designer clothes, but only in shades of pink that don’t really go with her skin tone?”

  “She’s got an olive undertone. Her hair and eyes are dark. Every shade of pink would work on her.”

  Chelsea leaned in a little further across the desk. “You can tell all that from that photo?” She was clearly impressed.

  “Yeah,” Morgun said nonchalantly. She didn’t want Chelsea to think that she remembered any details about Laney’s face from that day at the interview or anything.

  Because she had noticed a few things. Laney was the kind of beautiful that people liked to stare at. That people definitely noticed. That people liked to photograph. It was almost an injustice to the world that she liked to be on the other side of the lens. Morgun did indeed remember every one of those details, like they were burned into her brain like everlasting photos.

  “I know!” Chelsea said suddenly, making Morgun jump. “Do you think she’d remember you?”

  “No,” Morgun rasped. “No, of course she wouldn’t. She probably doesn’t remember any of the people she’s stepped all over to get where she is.”

  Chelsea ignored the bite in Morgun’s tone. “You should totally message her.”

  “What? Why?” Morgun shifted in her seat uncomfortably. She was sure the temperature hadn’t changed in the past few seconds, but suddenly she was sweating. Could Chelsea possibly know what she’d been thinking? Probably. They had been friends for years.

  “Well, it’s obvious. She took your dream job. You should go as her date to the wedding and sabotage everything.”

  “I couldn’t do that! Why would you even think that!”

  “Because payback’s a bitch.”

  “No! Chelsea! God! How could you even think of that? And how does one sabotage someone at a wedding exactly?”

  “Well, she’s probably a high-ranking guest or even in the wedding if she’s not doing the photos.”

  “She shoots for magazines,” Morgun stated dryly. “Only I ever get roped into doing weddings.”

  She hated photographing weddings. Everyone was always stressed out and that made her job much harder. Somehow, she always got stuck doing the bridezilla, mother of the bridezilla, groomzilla, maid of honorzilla, or randomzilla wedding. It made Morgun vow each and every time that she’d never do another wedding again. Somehow, she always got roped into doing yet another and another. Her problem was that she couldn’t say no. Or she needed a big bump in revenue.

  “You should still go. She probably doesn’t even remember who you are! You could go undercover and see what her life is like now. Maybe she needs another assistant. Then you could work for her and learn all her trade secrets and then steal her contacts.”

  “Hmm. That’s not a bad idea.” Morgun shook her head. “I mean, yes it is. It’s a very bad idea. I couldn’t do that! I’m not mean enough for that! She’d see through me right away. And I have my own business. I couldn’t just drop that and start working for someone else.”

  “Well, your choice. But I say you go as her date and stick it to her. The idea will probably come to you. Embarrass her somehow. It’s not that hard to think of mean things to do if you put your mind to it.”

  Good lord, am I really sitting here having this conversation right now?

  Just considering the idea made Morgun feel creepy and evil. She didn’t like the feeling. She didn’t like it when she turned to stare at the grainy profile photo again and a shiver traced down her back. Laney Sterling was too beautiful for her own good.

  “Please?” Chelsea begged. “At least message her. I want to see what she does. If she remembers you. If not, then she deserves to have some kind of punishment. She stole your job. She ruined your life.”

  “Thanks. I thought you said I’m doing just fine.”

  “But you could have been famous! You could have, like, made it made it. You are doing fine. But she’s riding on the top of the world. Come on. Just a little bit evil. You could steal a few of her clients or get a name from someone who would help you break into the industry. Get your foot in the door. Not abandon your business, but try to get her to give up some information. This is what you want to be doing. You are doing fine, but you’re way too talented. Seriously. I think that if you have a chance, you should take it. Or sabotage her speech if she has to make one. Perform a wardrobe malfunction on her. Smush cake in her face. It’s probably a ritzy ass wedding with expensive food and lots of free drinks. Steal a wedding gift and blame it on her. I don’t know. It will come to you.”

  “I don’t know, Chelsea. I don’t believe that everything’s connected to the nth degree like you do. I don’t believe everything happens for a reason. I didn’t stumble across her profile just to make my life better by ruining hers.”

  “Well, I think there’s a lot to be said for fate,” Chelsea declared stubbornly. “I think we must have co
me across her profile for a reason. And I also think it’s your personal mission to figure out why.”

  “It’s obvious why. It’s so I can point out what a bitch life is, how lucky she is, how I got screwed over, vent a little, pity myself a little, and then keep scrolling.”

  “No!”

  Before she could stop Chelsea, her friend leaned over and stole the laptop. Morgun squirmed out of her chair and went running down the hall after her. A second later, the bathroom door slammed.

  “Chelsea!” Morgun yelled, banging on the door.

  “I’m sending her a message. You can’t stop me. I’m putting things in motion. Things do happen for a reason! I’m proving to you that fate is a thing!”

  “Please don’t!”

  She was silent for a minute, then Chelsea’s voice, high and giddy, drifted out. “It’s too late. I already did.”

  “Fine. I’ll just ignore her message if she sends one back.”

  “No, you won’t!”

  Chelsea sounded far from resolute. Her voice was more playful than forceful, but Morgun had a feeling her best friend was right. If Laney messaged back, she probably wouldn’t be able to resist.

  Chapter 3

  Laney

  It wasn’t like Laney was desperate or anything. She wasn’t logging into the account she’d made for herself on a huge dating website—she figured there would be more anonymity in a massive database—with dwindling hopes or sweaty palms or a lump in her throat. No, she wasn’t desperate. She certainly didn’t have high hopes for a dating site, fake date or otherwise. She hadn’t lost sleep or anything. She wasn’t distracted at work.

  It just happened to be midnight, and Laney found herself logging into the account she’d unfortunately created. She’d chosen not to pay for a premium account, seeing as she planned on using the site only once and then forgetting she’d ever been put in that position.

  She wasn’t sure anyone would actually send her a message. How many women would there be on the site, however large it was, looking for other women? How many would respond to her barely discernable photo? Would there be anyone who recognized who she was?

  Dear God, I hope not.

  As soon as Laney logged on, she was surprised to see three notifications and the messages icon lit up with the number twenty-one. Twenty-one messages in a day and a half? Was that possible? How many of them were serious? Was she doing this just for some peace? Would her mom even hold up her end of the deal?

  Yes. At least she knew that much for certain. Her mom didn’t go back on her word. Ever. Even if she suspected that her date wasn’t legit, Laney could argue her way into not being badgered about dating and kids for a good while.

  So, yes, she really was doing this.

  Laney’s finger hovered over her tablet. This is stupid. I’ve never had a problem reading criticism of my work or even getting angry emails. I’ve never had a problem diffusing a situation. I can get along with anyone, even all the assholes out there in the industry. I can smile and nod and sell the shit out of myself. Why the heck can’t I read through a few messages that I don’t even have to respond to?

  Finally, she forced herself to stab at the envelope icon. The inbox looked just like any other email inbox she’d ever used. Messages. Subjects. Ordered with time and date. Profile names.

  Laney pressed the first message. All it said was, Hi.

  Who sent a meaningless, one-word message? Disgusted, she deleted it instantly.

  The next two weren’t much better. They might have had more words, but they meant pretty much the same thing. Most were little more than a, Hey, how’s it going? No information about themselves, no invite to check out their profile, nothing. Laney didn’t think it was possible for people who were less serious about dating than herself to be on the site, but apparently it was full of people who weren’t really even looking if the level of work put into these messages was anything to go by.

  Laney went through the inbox, deleting message after message. She did click on a few profiles, but those women struck her as the hopeless romantic types, not the kind who would meet up with her and let her explain what she was really looking for. She couldn’t very well write in her profile that she was looking for a one-off appearance, totally faked, and she was willing to pay. That just sounded bad. Even in person, it would probably sound bad, but at least she could test the waters and explain in a way that someone would maybe understand.

  I should have tried the bar. That conversation would go over much better when both people are tanked.

  A horrible sensation crept up on her with every single message she deleted. Despair. Maybe even panic. There wasn’t a single appropriate response out of the sixteen she’d read so far. She assumed her profile would get more attention the day it was posted. It was already Saturday night. Too late to go out to the bar and find someone. Her brother’s wedding was next Saturday. She couldn’t just go out on Friday night and try to bring someone to it the next day. She knew she’d be required to participate in the family dinner and the get-together the night before the wedding. She needed someone now.

  She knew she should just up and tell her mom to quit bothering her, but she’d done that a thousand times, in a thousand ways, and nothing worked. This was the olive branch, of sorts, that she’d been waiting for, and she’d grasp at it like it was her last hope in the world. And it might be.

  Laney deleted two more messages, then clicked on one of the remaining three. It was from Unicornspooprainbowsandsprinkles498 and was surprisingly lengthy and thorough, compared to the other ones she’d received.

  Hi,

  Everyone probably starts with hi. Sorry. I don’t really know how else to initiate a message on this rather awkward platform. So, I’ll start with hi, but I won’t end with it. I read through your profile. I have to admit, I’m intrigued. I’m not one of those die-hard romantics, but even I have to admit that I like a good wedding once in a while to remind me that there is indeed hope for humanity, or the heart, at least. I’m not really into making promises I can’t keep so I like that you said you’d see where it goes. No pressure. I guess that’s why people do the online dating thing in the first place. Or at least why they choose to meet people that way. No pressure. Pressure ruins everything. Things are awkward enough. Everything is hard. Meeting people. Relationships. Feelings. I guess the online stuff is supposed to break the ice in a way that both people can stand instead of floundering and gasping for breath in the cold, cold waters of making an acquaintance. If you’d like to go for coffee one day, even if it’s at night, since coffee seems more harmless, while dinner and drinks can turn into disaster, then I’d be up for it. Let me know.

  What kind of a name was Unicornspooprainbowsandsprinkles498? She was surprised that it even got past the team who approved names on the site. Maybe they figured it was cute and trendy and not at all offensive. Because if unicorns were real, they probably did poop rainbows and sprinkles. No one could prove otherwise.

  Laney considered responding. She gave it a few minutes of thought then exited out and read the other messages. She ended up deleting both of them. She was left with just the one.

  She finally clicked on the profile. The only two photos of the woman, who she guessed to be about twenty-five or twenty-six, were selfies. Laney detested selfies. Even the word was stupid. The woman though? Miss Unicornspooprainbowsandsprinkles498 was beautiful. It was hard for Laney not to look at her with an experienced photographer’s eye.

  She knew she could make this lady look phenomenal in photos. She had the delicate bone structure and pixie face that would come out perfect in black-and-white shots. Her long, ash blonde hair would frame her face, no fan or sticky hairspray needed. No makeup either, for that matter. Laney would make those small, nearly imperceptible freckles pop right out. She’d make those green eyes come alive, even in black and white. Or maybe she would go with color. Bring out the golden flecks in those jade greens. Laney was sure that either way, this woman would be a natural. She was gorge
ous. It was entirely beyond her why she needed to be looking for a match online when both men and women probably lusted after her regularly.

  Maybe she’s shy. It’s hard to meet people nowadays. Maybe she doesn’t like being lusted over. Maybe she finds that as annoying as I do when Mom bugs me about popping out grandchildren like I’m a freaking gumball machine. Insert a quarter, and out rolls a baby. Ha. If only it was that easy. No. Even if it was, I still wouldn’t be on board.

  The more Laney studied the selfies, the more she was certain that this woman looked familiar. Then again, everyone looked slightly familiar. Laney met a ton of people through work. She had a fairly active social life. She very well could have run into her in the past. It wouldn’t surprise her.

  Laney read through the profile quickly, which was quite abstract. No one could learn anything about anyone by reading one of those anyway, no matter how poorly or well written it was. It wasn’t like it mattered if they had common interests or not. She exited out of the profile and found herself back at the message.

  She chewed on her thumbnail, which she never usually did. She stared down her fridge, which had begun to make a strange buzzing noise a few weeks ago and hadn’t really stopped. She made mental notes about the work she’d done that afternoon and about the editing waiting for her tomorrow. She itched a spot on her forehead, then ran her fingers through her long hair, combing it out until it felt slightly oily at the roots from being touched so much.

  She picked at a pilly bit on the afghan covering her lap, which was knitted, or maybe crocheted – she couldn’t tell the difference – that her brother’s fiancé, Natasha had given her for Christmas the year before. She dented in the top couch cushion with her head a little bit harder. She imagined what total, utter, radio silence on the subject of her ovaries, or anyone else’s ovaries, would sound like coming from her mom’s end.