Play Me
By Zoe Ashton
3.5/5
()
About this ebook
All I wanted was to make my family happy and fend off their nagging and questions. So, while I still continued to lead a life as a raging workaholic in New York with close to no social life, I invented a boyfriend.
To my family, I fed stories about a heroic, charming and loving boyfriend … and this lie continued for two years. I constantly came up with excuses to not introduce him till my family put their foot down. They demanded to meet this new “love of my life” or else …
I should never have lied in the first place, but now I had no option but to come up with a plan. Dizzy with desperation, I asked the first guy I saw.
Damien went to the same gym as I did and even though we had never spoken to each other before, I invited him for an all-expense paid trip to Napa Valley to pretend to be my boyfriend.
Shockingly, he agreed, and now I wondered if this, too, was another one of my failed plans.
How am I going to get out of this without hurting my family? I invited a complete stranger to our home, and now it seems like he is out to prove himself to be the perfect boyfriend.
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Play Me - Zoe Ashton
Chapter 1
Mabel
I stared at my phone screen for a few minutes; the text message from my mom wasn’t going anywhere. I couldn’t just magically make it disappear. In fact, the longer I stared at it, the clearer it became.
I can’t wait to see you, honey, and bring your boyfriend this time. No excuses.
I read it again, just for good measure. Nope. Still said the same thing. I’d made him up a couple of years ago—two years to be precise—and I found that having an imaginary boyfriend got me out of a lot of scrapes. For instance, the time my mom insisted that I attend my step father’s dad’s funeral. I sent her a quick text to tell her that my boyfriend broke his leg playing football and that I had to stay home and take care of him. I know that sounds insensitive, and I should have been there to pay my respects. But, the man was ninety-six years old, and funerals always made me laugh uncontrollably, no matter how sad I was feeling.
Over the past two years, I used the boyfriend excuse over and over again with my family. So much so that they assumed that things were going really well, that I had finally settled down and found myself a caring, kind man who I was very much in love with.
The truth, however, was that I was still living by myself in a studio apartment in Brooklyn, watering my plants before going to bed, piling up my laundry to the point of running out of clothes and I hadn’t had a second date in three years. Not to mention that I was still working fifty hours a week as Chloe Lopez’ assistant at her fashion magazine, and had close to no social life other than checking my social media feed over a bowl of popcorn and a third glass of wine.
So yeah, when my mom sent me that message, my head was in a tizzy. Not a big deal, I figured. I’d just make up another excuse about why he couldn’t make it. It’s only their anniversary. I hadn’t brought him home for Christmas last year, so surely they wouldn’t make a big deal out of an anniversary.
I was half dressed, and so I walked over to the mirror in my bedroom, and fit my cell phone between my ear and shoulder. The phone was ringing, and my mom answered promptly.
Hi, honey, did you get my message?
were her first words.
Of course I got your message, mom. I’m calling you now because I got your message,
I said indulgently, while I slid a pair of high waisted black pants up my legs.
That’s right. Anyway, so you’re going to bring the boyfriend?
she asked excitedly, and I bit down on my lip. I had to fine tune my voice so that she wouldn’t detect I was lying.
I really want to, mom, but he has a meeting in Florida that he absolutely has to attend. He wishes he could come, though,
I said, squinting at the same time.
It’s been two years, and none of us have met him, Mabel,
mom said, and I sighed.
I know, I know, mom. It sucks. I’m hoping he can make it for Christmas this year, but you know how I explained that his family is really traditional and they want him there for family holidays,
I said, while I tucked in a floral silk blouse into my pants.
Well, then he’ll just have to cancel his meeting in Florida,
I heard her say. I gulped and straightened myself, gripping the phone tighter in my hand.
No, mom, you don’t understand. He can’t skip this meeting,
I said, and I realized that my voice was beginning to sound a little screechy.
"No, you don’t understand, honey. I want to meet him. You’ve been with him for so long, but you refuse to let us see him. I’m starting to think that there’s something wrong with him. Or you’re just embarrassed of us," she said, and I rolled my eyes. This could not be happening! At eight in the morning on a Sunday.
Mom, I’m going to try, but I don’t think he’ll be able to get away. And also, there’s nothing wrong with him, and I’m not embarrassed of my family,
I said with a huff.
Then bring him. Let us judge him for ourselves. It’ll be fun. It’s only a small family affair. Your sisters are bringing the whole family, so he’ll get to spend some time with your nieces and nephews too,
she said, and I remained silent. My brain was already working on overdrive. If there were ever the opportunity to say it, now would be the time. I could get away with just telling her that we’d broken up. Or admitting that the whole thing was a lie. Maybe he died? My mind was racing with ridiculous ideas, while my mom continued to talk.
So, you’re bringing him?
she said, and those words snapped me out of my thoughts.
I’m going to try. He’s going to try. We’re going to try,
I said stupidly, and I could hear mom smiling through the phone. There was a change in her voice, and she sounded delighted.
That’s great, honey. We’ve been so worried about you lately. We hadn’t heard much about him lately, and we were hoping you two hadn’t broken up,
she said, and I bit down on my lip.
Gotta go, mom,
I said, beginning to pull the phone away from my ear.
Oh, honey, wait. What is his name? You’ve told us so little about him,
she said, but I ignored her.
Gotta go now, bye. I’ll see you on Saturday,
I said and cut the call.
My shoulders were heaving by the time I flung the phone on my bed and turned to look at myself in the mirror. I shook my head absent-mindedly, thinking over and over again that I was now totally screwed.