Brogan (Carolina Reapers 9)

There were days responsibility fucking sucked.

As if Fiona could read my mind, she looked away and her smile instantly fell, the color draining from her face like someone had pulled the stopper in a bathtub. “Oh, no.”

“What’s wrong?” My gaze jumped to follow hers, but all I saw was a crowd of farmers market shoppers up ahead of us. Scratch that. There was a crowd of shoppers and one Jake-Gyllenhaal-looking douche who was staring at Fiona. “Do you know him?” I asked, dropping my voice.

“That would be my ex.” Her eyes popped wide and she glanced left, then right, like she was about to dart away. “Shit, shit, shit.”

My eyes narrowed on the hipster headed our way. Was that the kind of guy Fiona was usually attracted to? And exactly how many scarves did the dude need? It was fucking seventy degrees out here. I was still in athletic pants and a t-shirt and this guy looked like he was about to indulge in a pumpkin spice latte and hashtag bless his Instagram account. “Bad breakup?”

“He’s a stage-five clinger,” she whispered. “I guess it would be pretty obvious if I just turned around and ran, right?”

“Considering he’s waving at you, I’d say it would be a bit obvious,” I agreed, my grip adjusting on Skye’s stroller. “How long has it been since you broke up?”

“A little over a year,” she muttered as he came our way, cutting in front of a lady with an armful of fresh flowers in his pursuit of Fiona.

If I’d had hackles, they would have risen.

“Stalker?”

“More annoying and insistent than intrusive,” she whispered, sidestepping closer to me. “He calls every couple of weeks, and I always turn him down. He’s only left me alone when—” Her face whipped toward mine. “I will seriously give you anything you want if you pretend to be my boyfriend.”

“Your boyfriend?” My eyebrows jumped.

She nodded. He was almost to us. The plea in those blue eyes nearly took me out at the fucking knees.

“Fine,” I whispered. Not like it was going to be hard, or anything. I snaked my hand around her waist and tugged her closer.

“Fiona?” The excitement in the guy’s eyes was palpable as he stopped just to the side of Skye’s stroller.

I automatically watched his hands and pulled Skye farther away.

“Hi, Carl.” Fiona offered him a forced smile.

“I’m just so happy to see you. You haven’t answered my calls in what?” His light brown brows furrowed. “A few months?”

“Yeah.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Sorry about that.”

I blinked. She wasn’t sorry and she didn’t have to be. He was the inappropriate one here, constantly pressing for contact she obviously didn’t want.

“I was just hoping—” he started.

“Have you met my boyfriend, Brogan?” she interrupted, snuggling in closer.

Damn, the woman felt good against me. She fit perfectly, tucked in just under my arm, right where she was supposed to.

“Brogan, huh?” Carl’s eyes flew wide as he glanced between us for a moment, but then a small smile lifted his lips. “You guys make it past the three-month mark, yet?”

Fiona tensed.

“I’m sorry?” I asked, my voice low.

“Oh, Fifi here is famous for never making it past the three-month mark in any relationship.” The fucker smirked. “She cuts and runs as soon as it gets close.”

“That is not true,” she snapped.

His smirk slipped. “I guess I just always thought I’d be the one to break the streak, to be honest.” The way he looked at her, with such open, desperate longing, made me both pity him and want to shake some damned sense into him.

“Carl, it’s been over a year—”

“But I guess you two must have figured something out,” he pointedly looked from Skye’s stroller to Fiona, and neither of us corrected his assumption. “Or maybe it was just me. Huh, Fifi?”

“One, it was obviously you,” I said, low and slow. “Because when a woman doesn’t answer your calls for months, that generally means she’s not interested, and continuing to call her is just fucking creepy.”

Carl drew back like I’d slapped him.

“Two, what the hell do you call her?” My fingers splayed wide, reaching over the side of her hip.

“Fifi—”

“Like a fucking dog?” My muscles went rigid.

“Brogan—” Fiona whispered.

“What do you call her?” Carl challenged.

“Mine,” I growled, leaning his direction.

Carl went pale and backed up a couple of steps.

Good.

“That means, don’t call her.” I stared him down, which wasn’t hard considering he was a good five inches shorter than me. “Don’t email her. Don’t text. Don’t DM. Don’t send a fucking fax. Leave her alone.”

We stared at each other in uncomfortable silence until he got the message. Then he nodded once to me and once to her before scampering off into the crowd.

I relaxed my shoulders and found Fiona staring up at me, her lips slightly parted. “Was that too much?”