“Then why do it? Why not tell them the truth and explain that you don’t want this guy there? Surely they value you enough to listen.”
I shake my head. It’s hard to explain Rich and how well he’s entrenched himself in my family’s life. Hard to explain the fear and shame that keeps me from telling anyone the whole truth—whether it’s my family or Shay. Or maybe I don’t want to explain that I’m too much of a coward to ask my sister or mother not to let Rich come—too afraid they’ll ask questions I don’t want to answer. Or worse, that it will piss off Rich and he’ll tell them my secrets. “It’s not that simple.”
“But this is?”
“Pretending to be with Carter beats any alternative I can come up with.” Even if it makes me a liar and a coward. God, I wish I weren’t so damn afraid.
She folds her arms and arches a brow. “And that’s it? Just pretend? No ulterior motives in choosing Carter?”
“He was convenient.”
Shay grunts. “I’m sure that’s all there was to it.”
I shrug. We won’t discuss how good it felt to have him pressed against me or the flurry of butterflies that swarmed in my belly when he touched me at the bar. It would’ve been so easy to stay in his arms all night, to thank him for this favor by taking him home with me. But after running through the details of our weekend together, I left. I didn’t trust myself to stay. Not with the peppy cheerleader lady looking at Carter like he’d broken her heart.
“Do you know anything about Carter and Myla?” I ask. “She was blowing up Carter’s phone last night.” Never mind the fact that she whispered something to him and smacked his ass.
Shay snorts. “Her and most single, age-appropriate women in Jackson Harbor. He’s become such a flirt.”
“It seemed like more than flirtation. Have they been dating?”
“Myla Quincy, right?” She frowns and grabs her phone. “I don’t think so.”
“Who are you calling?”
She grins. “Ava. She used to work with Myla. She might know something.”
I snatch the phone from her hand before she can connect the call. “Don’t. Please?”
“If you and Carter are involved, don’t you want to know?”
I wave a hand. “I have no claim on him. I was just curious.” And jealous. More jealous than I want to admit. I find the bottle opener, open my beer, and drain half of it in one go.
Shay laughs. “I guess you don’t want a glass?”
That easily, the subject of Carter and me is pushed aside. This weekend might be difficult, and maybe I’m making the biggest mistake of my life—lying to my family because I’m too scared to tell them the truth and risking my friendship with Carter when he deserves better—but for now, Shay and I are back to being a couple of single girls. Just the way I like it.
Teagan
There are books you read when you’re lonely and need to smile, but sometimes, those are the same books you definitely shouldn’t read when you’re actively lusting after your fake boyfriend. I’ve been waiting for this novel to come out for months—a sexy friends-to-lovers romance about a woman who sets out to seduce her best friend and falls in love in the process. It isn’t doing my libido any favors. I either need to find something else or tell Carter I’m changing the rules of our arrangement, because the way this heroine thinks about her friend feels all too familiar.
One more page, then I’ll put it down and find something else to do.
My phone buzzes before I have to confront how badly I just lied to myself.
Carter: You home?
Me: In my pajamas and curled up with a book. I’m trying to enjoy the calm before the chaos tomorrow.
Carter: Want to come to the door?
Frowning, I push the blanket off my lap and peek out the window. Sure enough, Carter’s Jeep is parked in front of my house. I run to the door and pull it open to find him standing on my front step, a bouquet of bright sunflowers in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. My stomach flip-flops, practically reaching out and dancing happy circles with my libido. I try to ignore both. Friends.
“What’s this?” I ask, pulling the door wider to let him in.
“Can’t a man bring his girlfriend flowers and wine?”
“Sure he can. But that doesn’t answer my question.”
Chuckling, he heads to my kitchen, sets the wine on the counter, and opens cabinets.
I follow him and grab a vase from under the island. “The wine glasses are by the fridge.” As I reach for the flowers, the brush of our fingers sends a buzz of warmth through me—the twin to the buzz I felt when I opened the door and saw him. It’s been a long day running errands and preparing for the wedding. I should’ve been too busy to think Carter’s name . . . and yet I found myself alternating between giddy anticipation at spending my weekend with him and worries about spending it near Rich.