Page 8 of Popular (Private: The Extended Edition #5)

J.T.

I can do this.

I can have a real date with my fake girlfriend.

I can have a real date with my fake girlfriend all by myself.

Nervousness suddenly begins to swell around my neck like a noose prompting me to tug at the collar of my navy, “Spock It Like It’s Hot” tank top.

Shit, I don’t think I’ve felt this anxious about going on a solo date since I attended my first “face of Wilcox” event over a decade ago.

Then, I was worried about embarrassing my best friend.

His deceased parents.

Their legacy.

Now, I’m concerned that I may say the wrong shit and the woman of my dreams will decide it’s best we stay playing pretend rather than ever make anything real.

Post casually giving Singh the two finger signal to fall back, I finish my trek along the sandy shore to the palm tree we agreed to meet at.

It’s apparently the one she hid behind right before deciding to pick me to play the role of her boyfriend.

Guess it’s kind of sentimental that this is where we’re meeting today.

The first day we’ve actively planned to be alone versus our vacation partners flaking off for various reasons.

Huh.

What if this all goes to shit?

What if we both needed the backup file of having someone we could ultimately call on if things got weird or uncomfortable or too incompatible?

Was doing this mission solo a mistake?

Am I really prepared for this shit?

Fuckme, why do I wish Wes was around to give me a Batman themed talk like I did for him when he finally decided to get back onto the dating deck?

Not that I haven’t been dating.

They just didn’t mean anything.

Unlike Janae Boucher.

Who means everything to me .

Spotting most of her curvy figure blocked by the trunk of the tree is what leads to me gripping the back side and playfully swinging my face around to cheekily greet, “ Beloved. ”

The sight of her smile instantly appearing gets my heart pounding, demanding to be in the palm of her hand. “ Imzadi. ”

“ God, I love it when you call me that ,” slips loose prior to my hand savagely gripping the nape of her neck to aid in yanking her mouth to mine.

Our lips crash first.

Our tongues next.

Light presses waste no time transitioning into wild whirl after whirl after whirl, building up so much speed and intensity on each passing lash that I have to hasten my hold in order to keep my woman upright.

She whimpers in what I assume is gratitude, which spurs my thumb to gently stroke the skin underneath it, wanting to reassure her that I have her.

That I’ll always have her.

That I’ll never let her fall.

The unspoken promise prompts me to pull back and say it, to say everything I’ve been thinking, to insist we stop pretending to be a couple and actually become one, yet she speaks first, “Real fake kisses are my new favorite thing.” Girlish giggles precede my hand falling away.

“That and the Gespar we had for breakfast.”

I do my best to swallow my bruised pride over the backhanded compliment.

“Did you and Bryn have it too?”

“We opted for the room service pancake project,” I reply in tandem with relocating myself to stand in front of her.

“I had some work calls that needed my attention, plus, she’s not exactly a morning person.

” Sliding my palms into my white boardshorts occurs between statements.

“And being away from my nephew has reminded her of that truth.”

Warm snickers are attached to her asking, “How old is he?”

“Few months.”

“Pics?”

“When I get my phone back from Singh.”

Excitement threatens to overwhelm her expression. “You really don’t have it on you?”

“No.” Adoration floods my hazel gaze. “I wanted to make sure you had all my attention.” Our eyes linger in one another’s for a moment longer. “That our relationship came first.”

An almost bashful beam momentarily pushes her stare elsewhere leaving me a moment to finally admire the heart stopping view of her in a neon green bikini.

Boneshavemercy , I think I might need a fucking brain scan after this.

How am I supposed to function during a conversation let alone an active activity while she’s dressed like a roleplaying fantasy I didn’t even know I had!

And now I do have it.

And I want her to be Gaila.

And I want to be Kirk who hides under her bed.

Stopping my eyes from admiring her palm full of perky tits would be impossible if it weren’t for the tiny words scribbled in script across each set of her ribs and the original Starfleet Delta barely being blocked by the string of her bottoms.

I love that we love the same shit.

I would love even more if she got “Beloved” tattooed on the other hip.

“ See something you like , Imzadi? ” she saucily teases, pulling a guilty chuckle out of me.

“ I like everything I see, Beloved. ”

Heat flashes through her eyes – tempting me to suggest we bail on the planned adventure for a dirtier one – only to – unfortunately – be cut short by the sound of an event host shouting instructions. “The next round of Phaser 10 is now available for sign up!”

Nae flicks a loose ponytail lock away from her forehead and segues, “Shall we?”

I bend my arm in a chivalrous fashion for the taking. “We shall.”

Once we’re linked, we nonchalantly make our way over to the line, passing my security guard – who is doing his best to be inconspicuous as he drinks what I know is not a virgin Mai Tai – and the one she shares with her brother – who is currently doing what he was doing last night when he ditched Bryn except with a Puerto Rican Cardassian instead.

“Your twin’s really… making his way around… the convention, huh?” I mirthfully inquire upon our arrival behind another couple.

You know.

A real couple.

The thing she’s made very clear we’re not despite how much I mentally wish we were.

“He’s really into the whole chicks digging him because he’s a hot nerd versus a stupid rich NBA player.”

“I get it,” thoughtlessly escapes on a small shrug. “I like that feeling too.” Her curious gaze gradually shifts over to me. “I like that you’re into nerdy me rather than board member of a billion-dollar enterprise me.”

“I get the impression I’d be into him too,” she flirts at the same time she curls her frame against me even tighter.

This time it’s me that blushes.

Briefly drops my stare to my navy and white boat shoes.

These have thin brown laces instead of tassels; although, Bryn did call them g-strings.

Pretty sure she is incapable of not insulting my wardrobe.

“From what I’ve seen,” Nae begins again, recollecting my attention, “the activity is basically like paintball but with water guns instead. The point is to stay as dry as possible. Whichever team has the dryer team wins.”

“Sounds simple enough.”

“Ever been paintballing?”

“No.” We inch forward in the line. “You?”

“Champ.”

“ Whaaaatttttt?! ” I airily chuckle out.

“Twins…means twin birthday parties…”

“Of course.”

“So, to keep things balanced, Gammie had us take turns choosing the activity from year to year. Jer always chose paintballing…even now.” The corner of her lip kicks up towards the crystal blue sky.

“And for the service record? There’s nothing more fucking hilarious than watching NBA, NFL, and NHL players whine about being taken out during a sesh by a dancer/cheerleader. ”

Laughter shakes my entire frame to the point that even my head snaps backwards. “You are a force to be flown with, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Alright,” amusement gets dialed down a notch to ask, “what is one thing you’ve never gotten to do for your birthday but want to?”

“Paragliding along a Doctenn beach.”

“Wow,” is quickly thrown back into the conversation, “you’ve clearly thought about that more than once.”

“Every year since I was nineteen.”

“Why haven’t you?”

“Athletes – which includes dancers – are typically contractually not permitted to do high risk activities that could result in career delaying injuries.”

Nodding my head is accompanied by us moving forward again. “Meaning we can go now that you’re retired.”

A small bite of her bottom lip precedes her inquiring, “ We? ”

“I’ve never been paragliding before.”

“No?”

“I’ve never wanted to go paragliding before.” I lean in a bit closer when I add, “ But you could convince me to change my mind. ”

Which would be easy to do if it means making her smile.

I like the idea of being the one who can do that.

I like the idea of being the one willing to always do that.

Besides, there’s something about her wild child style that calls to me to find my own.

Maybe it’s because I’ve spent most of my life being responsible.

Poised.

Precise.

I like the idea of being more chaotic.

Unpredictable.

Especially with Janae.

“You think you can keep up with me?” she inquires after a silent beat. “Stay on my six?”

“Of course,” is emphasized with cocky pop of my tank top collar as we advance, but unfavorably for me, I trip over uneven sand instantly degrading the arrogance. Talking over her giggles becomes necessary to save any sort of face. “I do work out, ya know.”

Her head falls to one side in a sarcastic fashion.

“I do!”

The lifting of her eyebrows simply reiterates her disbelief.

“I really do!”

Mirth works its way through her expression during her declaration, “You better be ready to become The Little Tech Mogul Who Could out here. We are not going to be the reason Starfleet loses.”

I opt out of acknowledging her lack of belief in my athleticism to praise, “I like that you called me a tech mogul.”

“What else do you call someone brilliant enough to design – and launch – a worldwide app that allows consumers to not only be able to rate and rank their personal Wilcox preferences – both booze and beers – but also track where they’re socially available as well as commercially?”

Speechlessness stumbles me verbally, along with physically.

No one’s ever singled out my accomplishments like this.

It’s typically done like an afterthought or footnote to whatever the Wilcox brand itself has achieved.

I’m rarely acknowledged on my own.

I like it.

I love it.