So, I rented a boyfriend online. Yeah, you heard me. Mostly to get my parents off my back. Then the "boyfriend" smiles, and bam—two gold teeth flash at me. Me: ??? He blurts out, "Aw, crap. Guess the whole dragon thing is out of the bag now." 1. To dodge the endless parade of disastrous blind dates my parents kept setting up, I went online and posted an ad for a monthly rental boyfriend. Shockingly fast, someone actually responded to my slightly desperate "Seeking Fake Significant Other" post. "Hey girl, think I'd work?" The message popped up from a user named "SirNickTheDragonSlayer." Attached was a photo. Okay, wow. The guy was seriously good-looking. Clean-cut features, eyes that kinda sparkled, messy blond hair, crisp white shirt. Total package. Except... the background was one of those cheesy, solid blue photographer's backdrops. Dude sent me a yearbook photo. Seriously. A slow smirk spread across my face. I couldn't believe it. A guy so genuinely un-slick he uses his official headshot to chat someone up online? This level of pure, unadulterated dorkiness? You're hired, buddy. I shot back a "You're in" and set up a coffee shop meeting to see if the IRL version matched the photo. Five minutes after I sat down, the coffee shop door swung open, and in walked this guy who had to be at least six-foot-three. His blond hair practically glowed in the sunlight. He slid into the chair opposite me, his voice a cool, magnetic drawl. "Hey there. Nick. Your boyfriend-for-hire reporting for duty." Okay, cute guy, check. But why was he talking like some kind of frat bro? Whatever, not important right now. I took a slow sip of my latte, using the moment to give him a proper once-over. Honestly? Way better than the picture. He had this effortless cool vibe. Damn, I’m good at picking ‘em. Suppressing a smug little grin, I got down to business. "Okay, so, like I said online, the goal here is strictly fake romance. We pretend to be a couple, mostly for a video call with my parents, maybe one in-person meeting, tops." He just nodded. "Sounds good." "Great." I grabbed his arm. "Okay, let's take a quick selfie for the parental units right now." "One, two, three, smile!" He wasn't smiling. Like, at all. "C'mon, Nick, work with me here." Finally, after some serious coaxing, he cracked a grin, showing off a full set of teeth. Hold up. Were those… gold teeth on either side? Nick Sterling winced. "Uh oh. Guess the dragon thing is out of the bag now." Me: "Excuse me?" 2. So, according to Nick Sterling, he was, and I quote, "a dragon from, like, the old country." Apparently, since hatching, he'd basically just chilled in a cave guarding the family hoard passed down through generations. Then he hit marrying age and realized, besides mountains of treasure, he had literally nothing else going for him. Major dragon-life crisis. "Nicky, my boy," some older dragon relative who'd spent time among humans advised him, "just sitting on that gold pile won't cut it anymore. This is the modern world! You gotta get out there, make your own fortune. That's what impresses the lady dragons these days." See, dragons apparently have this thing for treasure – gold, silver, jewels, you name it. Their whole existence revolves around hoarding shiny stuff and fighting for pretty mates. Nick took the advice to heart. He lamented that his devastatingly handsome dragon face apparently held zero sway in the dragon dating pool and decided he had to prove himself by making bank in the human world. Just as Nick was narrowing his golden eyes, ready to conquer the human job market, his relative burst his bubble. "You're not some medieval knight, kid. Pick fights now, and you get arrested," the elder said, clearly exasperated. "So what's a dude supposed to do?" Nick had picked up a ton of internet slang since arriving. He was already peppering his sentences with "dude" and was dangerously close to swearing like a sailor. "Start at the bottom," the elder advised. And so, Nick Sterling became a waiter, a street magician, and even a janitor. He tearfully rented a tiny studio apartment for about a grand a month and began his miserable life as a wage slave. Don't ask why Sir Nicky, owner of literal tons of gold and gems, was 'tearful' about a thousand-dollar rent payment. Just know that for dragons, treasure is strictly a one-way street: In, never out. 3. Nicky (my nickname for Nicholas Sterling now) is seriously cheap. I can vouch for this. Ever since Nicky confessed his work history woes, I decided to offer him a bit more security. Consider it my contribution to interspecies diplomacy. Human-dragon relations and all that. After all, I am descended from pioneers. Or something. I handed him a debit card. "Here, this has… uh… two hundred million Zimbabwean dollars on it. For walking-around money. Also, ditch that shoebox apartment and move in here." "Zimbabwean dollars?" Nicky took the card, looking confused. He clearly hadn't encountered hyperinflation currency before. My place is huge, basically a mansion. Plenty of spare rooms. Plus, having him here would make impromptu parent check-ins less awkward. "You're, like, really nice," Nicky said, looking genuinely touched. Wow. I just got friend-zoned by a dragon. With a 'nice person' card. New low? Or high? Nicky moved in with way more stuff than seemed possible for one guy. Within minutes, the door to his assigned guest room wouldn't close because gold coins were literally spilling out into the hallway. "Nicky, what the hell are you doing?" I pushed the door open further and was instantly blinded by the glare from piles of gemstones covering every surface. "Just unpacking my stuff," he grunted, his back to me, wrestling with a gold brick the size of a cinder block. "My old place was way too small for all this," he explained. "Had to leave most of it back in the cave." Turns out, hearing I had a whole 'mansion' prompted him to make an overnight flight back to his lair to retrieve his entire hoard. Apparently, dragons prefer to sleep directly on their treasure. Obscenely wealthy. Just… obscenely. My eyes locked onto a pile of glittering blue, green, and pink gems. A greedy little light flickered on in my brain. "Nicky." "Yeah?" He turned around, catching the distinctly drool-like trickle forming at the corner of my mouth. He quickly stood up and shut the bedroom door firmly in my face, blocking my view. "Hey! Let me see!" I protested, rattling the doorknob. "Dragon family rules," came his muffled voice from inside. "The hoard is only for the future Mrs. Dragon." 4. Nicky flat-out refused to let me tour his dragon den. To distract me, he actually offered to take me shopping. Using my card, of course. "See anything you like? Buy whatever," Nicky announced grandly as he dragged me into a high-end jewelry store. His own eyes, however, were glued to a display case full of gold chains. I wasn't worried. This was perfect. He was totally leaning into the 'rich, doting boyfriend' persona I needed him to play. He'd ace the family gathering. What I didn't expect was my parents showing up early. Unannounced. I was still dead asleep in my ridiculously oversized king bed (in my ridiculously huge bedroom) when the doorbell started ringing insistently. "Ugh, kill me now," I groaned, dragging myself out of bed and stumbling downstairs. I opened the door to see my mom and dad grinning at me, both sporting their signature flashy gold dental work. Seriously, who does that anymore? "Mom? Dad? What are you guys doing here?" Total ambush. I was completely unprepared. Mom beamed, her smile glinting. "Veronica, honey, can't your mother come visit her own daughter?" Dad chuckled beside her. "Yeah, Ronnie." (My nickname. Long story.) "We just wanted to pop in and see you," Mom said, already stepping inside. Her eyes scanned the place like a high-tech security system, finally landing on the shoe rack by the door. "Whose men's shoes are these?" she asked, like she'd just discovered Atlantis. "What?" Dad chimed in. Suddenly, two pairs of parental laser beams were fixed on me. Sweat started prickling my forehead. "Mom, Dad, listen, I can totally bribe— I mean, explain!" Crap. Freudian slip. "Oh, honey, you don't need to say anything," Mom interrupted, suddenly looking thrilled. "You actually have a boyfriend!" "About time," Dad added helpfully. Well, the cat was out of the bag. Or rather, the dragon was about to be dragged out of his hoard. I hauled Nicky out of his room. He looked completely disoriented, hair sticking up in a blond disaster zone, clearly still half-asleep. "Nicky, these are my parents. Say hi." Nicky shuffled forward, rubbing his eyes. "Uh, nice to meet you, sir. Ma'am." "So, Nicky," my dad started, settling onto the couch, "where are you from?" "The mountains," Nicky mumbled. "The what?" Dad leaned forward, cupping his ear. Oh, this idiot dragon. Okay, damage control time. Operation Rescue Dragon is a go. "Dad," I jumped in smoothly, "Nicky's from out of state. He's the CEO of... uh... Drake Industries." (Sounded plausible, right?) Dad visibly relaxed, nodding approvingly. Crisis averted. For now.
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