InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 9: Subterfuge ❯ Borrowed Girlfriend ( Chapter 23 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

"See, it's like this . . ."

No doubt about it, she definitely looked nervous.  "What's like what?"

Evan tamped down the surge of guilt that he really was about to suggest what he was thinking.  "You have to understand that my mama—my wonderful, lovely, brilliant, gorgeous mama—Well, she has a problem."

Valerie shook her head.  "A problem?" she echoed.  "What kind of problem?"

Evan shrugged and dumped a half of a bottle of buttermilk into the biscuit dough he was making.  "Not so much a problem as an . . . unhealthy preoccupation, if you will . . ."

"Cut to the chase, Roka," she demanded.  "And how do you get 'Zel Roka' out of 'Evan Zelig', anyway?"

He grinned at her.  "Evan . . . Roka . . . Zelig," he told her.

She shook her head.  "What?  Did your parents want to make you into a rock star before you were even born?"

He laughed.  "Roka is Japanese.  It means 'white crest of the wave'."

"Japanese," she repeated.

He nodded.  "Mama's Japanese, not that you could really tell, right?"

Valerie sighed and shook her head then waved her hand quickly.  "Never mind that.  Just tell me what kind of favor you want."

He smiled to himself, unable to hide his amusement at Valerie's impatience.  "Oh, yeah, that . . . See, Mama likes to visit, and, while I love her visits, she has a rather bad habit of regaling me with the current list of eligible bachelorettes she knows, and I . . . Well, I'm not ready to be tied down just yet, right?  But I hate to hurt her feelings . . ."

Valerie was either trying not to understand or just really didn't get it.  Either way, she shook her head and frowned in confusion.  "And . . .?" she prompted when he trailed off.

He chuckled.  "And so it would help me out a lot if you were to—I don't know—be my girlfriend for the day."

She blinked and stared at him for about thirty seconds before her hazel eyes took on an entirely suspect glow, and she shook her head.  "Your . . .? Oh, no . . . That is such a bad idea . . ."

Evan shrugged.  "Yeah, you're right . . . Besides, I already told you that it doesn't matter, didn't I?  Don't worry about it."

She stiffened.  He could feel it, and he could appreciate her dilemma, even if he didn't rescind the offer.  On the one hand, she really did feel as though she owed him.  On the other?  He almost laughed—almost.

"Just . . . Just for one day, right?" she finally asked, suspicion rife in her voice.

Evan nodded.  "Yeah."

She looked like she couldn't quite believe she was actually considering it.  "No funny business?"

"Totally serious boyfriend," he quipped.

His response didn't seem to make her feel any better, and she heaved a sigh.  "And then we're even?"

"Even-Steven."

She sighed again.  "And you really think your parents will buy it?"

"Well, it would help, maybe, if you grabbed my ass from time to time."

She snorted but giggled, tucking a wayward lock of honey blonde hair behind her ear.  "Don't push your luck, Roka."

"So you'll do it?"

She heaved a longsuffering sigh and stared at him for a moment.  "All right," she agreed, "but remember: no funny stuff."

"No funny stuff.  Got it."  Evan grinned.  "Hey, V . . ."

"What?"

He shot her a sidelong glance and chuckled softly, appreciating the way the morning sunlight shone in her hair.  "Is that your real color?" he asked quietly.

She looked startled for a moment, but her cheeks pinked prettily as she shot him a fleeting smile and ducked her head back toward her task again.  "Y-Yes," she mumbled, paying an inordinate amount of attention to her fruit cutting.  "Why?"

"It suits you," he said.

"Oh, does it?" she countered, a hint of amusement in her tone. "And you?  What's your real hair color?"

He chuckled.  "You're looking at it."

She did a double take at that, narrowing her eyes as she slowly shook her head. "Okay, seriously," she insisted.

"I am being serious," he countered.  "This is the color I was born with."

She still didn't look like she believed him, but she must have figured that he was going to keep insisting that it really was his natural color.  "Okay, fine, if you really don't want to tell me," she breathed in feigned resignation.

"Yeah, yeah, if you don't believe me, just ask my mama when she gets here," he quipped.  "Anyway, why the fuck would you color your hair brown?"

She shot him a droll sort of glance and shrugged.  "I don't know; why would you?"

He laughed.  "Easy," he told her.  "I don't want people to recognize me; that's all.  Is that what you're doing?  Hiding your deep, dark past?"

Hardly," she retorted.  "I'd just rather that people listen to me instead of drawing the conclusion that I'm an airhead because I had the misfortune of being born blonde."

"Nothing wrong with being born blonde," he argued.  "So where did you grow up?"

"What is this?  Twenty questions?"

"Well, it stands to reason that I ought to know a few things about my girlfriend, right?"

She snorted.  "Kentucky."

He glanced at her, pressing his lips together in a thin line.  "Oh?  So you're inbred."

Her knife paused in mid-chop.  "I am not!" she insisted.

He laughed.  "I thought everyone in Kentucky was their own grandpas."

She turned and whipped a blueberry at him.  He caught it in his mouth and grinned unrepentantly.  "You're kind of a jerk, did you know?"

"Yeah, I've been called worse," he replied.  "Okay, so you're from Kentucky, and you're not inbred.  Got it.  Any brothers or sisters?"

"Do you have any?"

Evan shrugged.  "Yep . . . got an older half-sister, Bellaniece—she lives in Japan with her husband, an absolutely perfect older brother, Bas, and my baby sister, Jilli."

"Perfect?  How so?"

He shrugged as he cut the biscuits and arranged them on a baking sheet.  "Aww, you know: perfect—perfect son with his perfect wife and their perfect kids.  Perfect."

She frowned.  He could feel her staring at him even if he didn't turn to verify it.  "And you're not?"

He laughed.  "Hell . . . I'm the fuck up . . . You couldn't tell?"

"Hmm, you're the black sheep; is that what you mean?"

"You savvy pretty well, babycakes," he replied.

She snorted then giggled, pressing the back of her wrist against her mouth to stifle the sound.  "All right, then . . . Did you graduate high school?"

"Yup . . . Well, I tested out early, if that's what you mean."

She blinked in obvious surprise, unable to hide the incredulity on her face at his claim.  "Really?  Then . . . Then you're smart."

"Nah," he scoffed and shrugged, making quick work of cracking about a two dozen eggs into a clean bowl.  "I just really hated school."

She shook her head.  He could feel her gaze still locked on him, and again, he didn't turn around to verify it.  "No . . . You have to be smart to test out early," she said.  "I've seen the test before, and I know I couldn't have passed it if I'd had to."

"Yeah, well, you can 'pass' just about anything when your daddy's filthy fucking rich," he quipped.

She didn't believe him.  The intensity of her stare was enough to convince him of that easily enough.  "So you really do read the Wall Street Journal."

Evan shot her a coy grin and rolled his eyes.  "What?  Oh, that?" he said, catching sight of the newspaper that was lying on the counter exactly where Bone had left it for him yesterday.  "That's not mine.  It's Bubby's."

"Bubby?"

"My perfect brother, remember?  Bubby.  Jesus, V, no one's going to believe you're my main squeeze if you can't remember that much."

"I can remember just fine, you know," she argued.  "You hadn't mentioned this 'Bubby' before—at least, not like that.  Anyway, why are you getting his newspaper?"

"Ehh, he doesn't live here in the city, but he doesn't like to cancel his subscription, either, since that's kinda a pain in the ass."

She really wasn't buying his explanation.  It amused Evan more than he cared to think about.  "'Sides, I only like newspapers like the Star.  You know, it's got pictures."

"The Star is hardly a newspaper," she argued with a very loud snort.  "It's a gossip rag that isn't worth the money spent to buy it."

He chuckled.  "You're right," he agreed.  "So you didn't answer me about siblings.  You got any?"

Her answer was a bit long in coming, but she finally shot him a vague sort of nervous little smile.  "I've got a brother and a sister.  They're a lot younger than I am, though."

"Ni-i-i-ice . . . Is she as hot as you are?"

That earned him a decisive snort, but she blushed and quickly shook her head.  "She's too young for you, you nasty debaucher."

"Ahh, the words of true love," he breathed.

She rolled her eyes and laughed.

'Damn, I love that laugh of hers,' he thought with a grin as he set the bowl of beaten eggs aside and reached for the spatula to flip the sausages.

'Absolutely,' his youkai intoned.  'That woman . . . Girlfriend for the day, eh?  That kinda blows . . .'

Evan was inclined to agree.  'One thing at a time . . . One day for now . . .'

"So how long have we been dating?"

Blinking as he snapped out of his reverie, Evan grinned.  "We-e-ell . . . lessee, here . . . At least a month or you wouldn't be my girlfriend," he suggested.

She shook her head, frowning in concentration as she examined the bowl of fruit.  "No more than two months or they'll ask why you haven't mentioned me before . . ." She whipped around suddenly, waving the paring knife in the vicinity of Evan's chest.  "Why haven't you told your parents about me?  Are you ashamed of me?  Are you?  Are you?" she demanded.

"Of course not, bay-bee," he drawled.  "And have you told your inbreds—I mean, family—about me?"

Her face shifted into a strange sort of grimace, but she laughed and shook her head.  "Hell, no," she retorted lightly.  "I am ashamed of you."

"Now, V, that smarts," he pouted.

She giggled and dropped a sliced peach into the fruit salad.  "Well, you are a long-hair."

"List'n here, girly . . . When I 'uz a youngun, we all knowed how to wear our hair and be respectful toward our elders, nnn?  We didn't wear no no-account clothes with our asses hangin' out fer the almighty God an' sundry t' see, you hear?  Waitaminnit whiles I gets me m' cane . . ." he spoofed.

Valerie's giggles escalated into a full-blown laugh.  "You're so bent.  Why are you so bent?"

"Life on the straight and narrow never was my thing," he commented, enjoying the way her eyes lit up when she laughed.  "All right, so, where did we meet?"

"I don't know.  I think we probably ought to play it close to the truth, don't you think?"

"Okay, so, we met when you came up to me on the streets of downtown Manhattan and grabbed me by the balls, right?"

She giggled but groaned.  "When pigs fly."

"Hmm, look out there.  They're sprouting wings."

She tossed a towel at him, and he laughed.  "I met you when you barged into my office and demanded that I save you from yourself."

"Or that," he agreed with a shrug.  "And our first date?"

She got the barest hint of a smile on her face as her cheeks pinked just a little.  "We freed the fishies," she murmured.

That gave Evan a moment's pause.  It had more to do with her expression than it had to do with what she'd said, really.  'Our . . . Our first . . . date . . .' For some reason, that thought pleased him.  "Oh, yeah . . . That was a date?"

"Close enough," she replied with a shake of her head.  "Besides . . . I had a lot of fun that night."

"Me, too," he allowed quietly.

She turned her head to stare at him, and in that moment, he could almost read her thoughts.  For that one instant, she was entirely unguarded, wasn't she?  And just for that instant, he could tell.  Somewhere deep down, and even if she didn't really understand it, herself . . . She wanted more, didn't she?  She wanted as much as he did . . .

But a moment later, the expression was gone, hidden by the brusque façade that she tended to favor.  "So . . . anything else I should add to this?" she asked, changing the subjects, both spoken and unvoiced.

Evan stifled a sigh and let her have her way.  "Nah, looks good.  'Sides, I doubt anyone but you'll eat that, anyway.  Speaking of eating, here."

"What—? Oof!" She grunted as he shoved a hunk of sausage into her mouth and grinned.  "I 'on't eat 'au'age," she mumbled.

"That whole weight thing again?" he scoffed, making a show of leaning back to admire her ass.  "Hell, you could stand to gain a few pounds in the ass-end, if you know what I mean."

She shot him a scathing look that dissipated as she slowly chewed the sausage.  "Oh . . ." she breathed, her eyes flashing open wide then slowly closing as she gave up and savored the bite.  "O-Oh-h-h-h-h-h . . . Mmm . . ."

He swallowed hard and tried very desperately not to think about the fact that she was moaning and groaning in near-ecstasy.  "Good?"

She nodded slowly but didn't open her eyes.  "Oh, my God . . . This is better than sex . . ."

"Keh!" he snorted as he scooped the sausages out of the pan and onto a plate.  "Depends on who you've been having sex with."

The tolling of the doorbell preempted whatever Valerie had been about to say, and Evan shot her a cheesy grin before loping out of the kitchen and toward the foyer.  "Mama!" he greeted, grasping Gin Zelig and swinging her around in an exuberant hug.  "How's my best girl?"

Gin giggled and held on, lest he should lose his grip.  "My baby!" she gushed.  "I'm so hungry, I could eat a horse!"

"Your mother isn't a toy, Evan," Cain pointed out with a frown as he grasped Gin around the waist and pulled her out of Evan's arms.

"Morning to you, too, Cain," Evan greeted pleasantly.  "I made something special for you," he informed his mother.

"Oh?  What?"

He grinned.  "Peanut butter cup pie."

She squealed.  "Really?"

Cain grimaced since he was closest and had taken the brunt of the sound attack.  "Pfft, son.  You shouldn't have."

"Bite your tongue, Cain!  Mama loves her peanut butter pies."

"Oh, I know it, Evan, and would it kill you to call me, 'Dad'?"

"Come on," he said, ignoring the chiding in his father's voice as he headed back toward the kitchen.  "There's someone you two need to meet . . . Well, Mama met her last night, of course . . ."

Valerie wiped the palms of her hands on her faded blue jeans and smiled a little reluctantly.  Evan could tell that she'd probably hurriedly washed her hands and ran her fingers through her hair, and he could discern a trace nervousness in her demeanor.  He stepped over to her and slipped an arm around her shoulders.  "This is my girlfriend, V.  V, this is my mama—you met her last night—and Cain."

Cain shot Evan a chagrined sort of scowl as he stepped forward to shake Valerie's hand.  "I'm Evan's father," he said.  "You're feeling better, I take it."

She blinked and stared at Cain for a moment, and as a slow sense of recognition came to her, so did a very livid blush.  "Oh, uh . . . Y-Yes," she stammered.  "Th-Thank you."

"You were there last night, weren't you?" Gin suddenly exclaimed as she reached for a sausage patty.  "With that darling little man . . . Mr. Pickle, right?"

Evan chuckled.  "Pinkle, Mama."

"Dear God," Cain said before he could stop himself.  "His last name is 'Pinkle'?"

Gin snapped her fingers and grimaced.  Valerie casually jabbed Evan in the ribs to keep from making any disparaging remarks regarding Marvin's last name.  "Oh, that's it.  I'm sorry."

"Yeah . . . V went with him.  He's an old friend of hers, you know," Evan went on.  "I mean, after I told her that I was going to escort my mama, she figured she'd go with him so that he didn't have to show up alone like a complete and utter loser."

He didn't miss the warning glance Valerie shot him.

Gin smiled and hurriedly hugged Valerie, who looked rather shocked at the exuberant welcome but recovered quickly enough to hug Gin back.  "Oh, you have to tell me how the two of you met!" she exclaimed, grabbing Valerie's hand and tugging her off toward the other side of the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.

Valerie shot him a reluctant sort of glance.  He nodded at her.

Cain was silent for a moment, watching the women as Gin started launching questions at the poor woman.  "Evan, tell me something."

Evan didn't take his eyes off Valerie, who was doing her best to answer the rapid-fire inquiry.  "Hmm?"

"Were you the reason she ran out of there in tears last night?"

"She had a headache, Cain," he replied.

Cain considered that then slowly shook his head.  "How'd you get her to pretend to be your girlfriend for the day?"

Evan shrugged offhandedly.  "Call it a favor."

"But isn't she your lawyer?"

"Is that really a problem?" Evan countered mildly.

Cain narrowed his eyes and sucked in his cheeks as he thought about it.  "It could become one, couldn't it?  I mean, if she really were your girlfriend."

Evan shrugged.  "Mama thinks she is."

"Of course she does.  You told her she is.  Your mama always believes whatever you tell her."

He didn't miss the hint of warning in Cain's voice, though for once, he didn't antagonize him for it, either.  "That was the plan."

Cain let out a deep breath.  "Evan?"

"Yes?"

"Don't make her cry again."