Sometimes a
make-believe relationship is better than the real thing.
I knew my new
boyfriend was fake right from the start. It was obvious: He
had unbelievably sexy pictures, a modeling career, obscenely
rich parents, an Ivy League education, and a brand-new
record deal at a Big Label -- all at the age of 26.
OK, maybe I could buy all that. But add the fact that
he wanted to be with me and it was too good to be true.
Our romance began
with an online message. He said something snarky. I
said I liked his moxie. My jaw dropped at his
too-hot-to-be-real JPEGs. Our one-liners continued as
he sent a wide-enough range of pictures to convince me
he was an actual person. Not that it mattered, with him in
New York and me in Los Angeles.
HIM: This sucks,
let’s talk on the phone.
ME: If you mean
phone sex, not my thing.
HIM: Don’t
be retarded.
He had me at
retarded. He was charming, funny, and had a
sexy voice and impressive vocabulary. I lay in bed and
we talked for the next three hours. His name was Josh
Alexander.* (*not his real name) (**not that he used
his real name)
Josh spent seven
years traveling the world as a fashion model. He’d
invested his earnings well, and with his inheritance he was
set for life. He had a knack for songwriting and
sometimes performed at friends’ parties.
That’s where he was discovered by a music exec from
Big Label, which was throwing tons of money behind him
and his debut album. In fact, Big Label’s
chairman was personally grooming him to be a rock star.
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