Best Fake Fiance (Loveless Brothers 2)

Violet sighs.

“What are we keeping you around for, then?” she teases.

“My charm and good looks,” Caleb answers, going back to his book.

I lean into the crook of Daniel’s shoulder, trying to look like I’m not sort of smelling him while definitely smelling him. The scent of the brewery has pretty much soaked into his skin, the smell of earthy-sweet roasted grain, plus there’s a note of something else, something rich but faint.

Beard oil? I think. Does he use beard oil?

“Okay, I’ll draw a circle and put together an itinerary for you guys,” Violet is saying. She flips the cover of the iPad closed and tosses it onto the coffee table, then leans back. Eli puts his arm around her as she yawns.

“I should get home,” I tell Daniel. “I’ve got work in the morning.”

I don’t need to tell Daniel that I’ve got work in the morning. I’ve got work every weekday morning. That’s what work is, but I need something to say.

He looks over at me, his arm still around my shoulders, his face quiet and thoughtful and smiling all at once, and I’m pretty sure that right now he can read my mind:

I just need to be alone with you.

“I’ll walk you out,” he says, and we rise.Leaving the Loveless house always takes twenty minutes, no matter what. I could be taking someone to the emergency room and somehow, I’d be waylaid anyway.

I bid farewell to Violet and Eli. I say goodbye to Caleb, then to Clara, then, somehow, to Eli again. Daniel needs to go get shoes so Clara strikes up a conversation, and when Daniel comes back we’re so embroiled in a discussion of whether there should be a stoplight at the intersection of Lawton Drive and Sheers Road that he has to wait another five minutes to walk me out.

Violet and Eli have already managed to leave without discussing a stoplight. Someday I’d like to learn their ways.

Finally, we go. He opens the door for me, his hand on my lower back as we leave, head down the porch stairs, the porch light fading behind us. Daniel glances back, takes my hand.

Then he gives me the wickedest grin I’ve ever seen and pulls me behind the cab of Caleb’s truck, pushing me against the cool glass and metal, his lips on mine again before I can think.

It’s fierce, ferocious, hungry. He’s got a hand in my hair again, my head back against the truck window and my own fingers somehow find his belt loops, tug his hips toward mine.

We kiss so hard that teeth scrape my lip. I open my mouth under his and deepen the kiss. My hands find their way to skin, his muscles shifting underneath. He’s got a hand on my face, cupping my chin, like he’s making sure I can’t escape.

When it ends, we’re both breathing like we ran a mile. He leans his hand next to my head, on the glass of the truck window, and I put my hand on his forearm.

“They think we’re engaged,” I say, still trying to catch my breath. “We don’t have to hide.”

Daniel just chuckles.

“You really want to do that where my mother can see us?” he teases, still breathless. “Maybe we can go back in there, see if Caleb will give us some pointers.”

He moves his hand to my face, traces the bottom of my lower lip in the dark with his thumb.

“We’re going to need a flow chart,” I murmur.

“Of who thinks what?” Daniel asks, and I just nod.

He puts his forehead against mine.

“And what do you think?”

“I think you should kiss me again,” I say, and he does.

It’s slower, more deliberate, just as deep. We explore each other, fingers and hands and tongues, and I’m surprised at how familiar it all seems, like I’m finally visiting a place I’ve only seen in photographs.

It’s new, but it’s not strange.

Suddenly, the porch light goes off, and we both turn around. I peek through the windows of the truck, but nothing seems to be happening.

“Did we just get busted?” I whisper.

“You know, we are adults,” Daniel says, his lips so close to my ear that his voice buzzes.

“I think making out behind your brother’s truck in your mom’s driveway negates any possible adulthood we may have reached,” I say, and Daniel laughs.

“They probably don’t realize we’re still out here,” he murmurs. “Eventually I’m going to have to knock to get back in because I don’t have my keys.”

“You can’t climb back in that window?” I ask.

“The last time I did that I was about a foot shorter and fifty pounds lighter,” he says. “Besides, I think we cut that tree branch down. Not that I’d trust it anymore.”

“So you’re stuck out here until you work up the nerve to go back in,” I tease.

“Yeah, it’s terrible,” he says.