Fakers (Licking Thicket 1)

I blinked. Next year? “Maybe so,” I said, surprised to find I wasn’t opposed to coming back. “I can train.”

“Sure you can. You boys comin’ to the Melt? Dunn was complaining he’s hardly gotten to see you since you’ve been back,” Dad said.

I winced. The Melt was where the little horn-shaped winner’s trophy would be presented to Mal this evening, and where the whole rest of the Thicket, including all my old high school friends, would likely be hanging out with their families, having milkshakes and burgers, and celebrating another great Lope. “I would, but I’ve got so much work to do…”

“Sure,” Dad said, disappointed. “Well, you know where we’ll be if you change your mind.”

“Your parents are adorable,” Paul said wistfully as my dad led my mom away. “I want a relationship like theirs someday.”

“Listen to you. We’ve been boyfriends for less than a week, and you’re already talking about marriage?” I opened my car to retrieve my ideas notebook from the trunk. “Too much too soon, boo.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe not.” Paul rolled his pale eyes and adjusted his glasses. “Turns out, you’re not meeting my needs, Big Daddy. We just want different things. It’s not you, it’s… Okay, yeah, no, it’s totally you.”

I leaned back against the car bumper. “Could’ve fooled me, judging by the way you planted one on me after the race. You did more to convince this town I’m gay in ten seconds than I’ve been able to do in ten years.”

Paul flushed crimson and stared at his shoes. “I got into the spirit of the thing, okay?”

“No shit. I was starting to wonder if you’d push me down right there in front of the town and have your wicked way with me—”

“Gag.”

“—until you pulled out your inhaler. Kinda ruined the moment, Siegel. Or maybe my kisses are so potent, they take your breath away.” I wiggled my eyebrows.

He gave me a scathing look. “That was a pity kiss, Brooks. You looked so sad, coming in second and then watching Mal slobber all over Ava.”

“First of all, I’ll have you know I didn’t actually come in second. I let Mal win,” I corrected.

Paul snorted. “Sure you did, buddy. You let your ex-girlfriend’s hot boyfriend win the race? I totally believe that.”

“Well, it’s true. And he didn’t slobber on Ava.” I mean, not like I’d actually watched closely or whatever. Except I had. “They hugged.”

“Same difference.”

I slammed the trunk and started toward the house. “Not remotely, My Little Paul. Kiss me again and I’ll show you.”

“I’d rather eat a cow patty, and if you call me that name again, I’ll make sure you do too,” he said without heat. His shoulders slumped. “You know, I’m starting to think you’re right about Mal.”

“That he’s gay or bi, you mean? Thank you. I’m glad you see it too.”

Paul stopped on the front porch and scowled. “No, Brooks. He’s probably straight as an arrow, he’s just a shit boyfriend. In fact… I think he’s even shittier than either of us initially thought.”

“Shittier.” Now I frowned too. “How? He was nice to her today, wasn’t he? I spoke to him yesterday and I thought—”

“Ava wasn’t feeling well earlier,” Paul said, more vehement than I’d ever heard him sound about anything. “She should never have been standing out in that parking lot in the heat in her condition.”

“Really? She seemed okay to me.”

He shook his head like he couldn’t believe my obliviousness. “That poor woman has the worst taste in men ever.”

“Yeah, well, she and I have that in common.” I smacked him lightly on the head with my notebook. “Now let’s get to work on this fucking campaign, boyfriend.”

Though it hurt my heart to do it, I’d finally given in to the inevitable and called General Partridge that morning for an extension on our presentation. I’d expected I’d have to beg a little, but the second I’d mentioned a family emergency, he’d cut me off.

“You don’t have to explain. Nothing more important than family, Brooks,” he’d said. Then he’d added sincerely, “Let me know if there’s any way I can help.”

He was the kind of client I’d always wanted to work with.

Pamela, on the other hand, hadn’t been so understanding.

“Since when do you go traipsing off to Kentucky—”

“Tennessee.”

“Whichever, Brooks. The flyover states all blend together. We are in the middle of producing a campaign here.”

I found myself gritting my teeth against the urge to argue that we weren’t producing anything and if she had supervised her nephew in the first place, none of this would have happened.

“But I told you, my dad—”

“Is not in the hospital or in any imminent danger, right? Meanwhile, we are in very imminent danger of losing this client entirely. Remember your priorities, Brooks.”

As annoying as it was to admit, Pamela had been right. I’d been distracted for days, but I was back on track and determined to make this the best campaign I’d ever put together for Storms Marketing.