Fake (West Hollywood 1)

“You shark.”

“Hustler, thank you,” she said primly. “It’s more ladylike.”

Patrick snorted.

More people than just Harold were watching us. As always, going anywhere with Patrick was an adventure. Everyone made eyes at him. From the receptionist who wanted to bang him to the janitor who wanted to be him. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to walk through the world getting all this attention all of the time. Mostly he seemed not to notice.

“You told him about the family curse?” asked Gran.

“There is no family curse,” I said.

Patrick patted my knee. “I’m willing to take my chances, ma’am.”

“Hmm. Give me strength,” she said. “Mildred and Katherine are hiding behind that tree over there staring at us.”

“Really?” I frowned.

“They’re fans of his.” She poked a finger at Patrick. “You should have heard them at the ice cream social yesterday. Wouldn’t shut up about him.”

“Huh. You appeal to all ages.”

“My demographics are good,” he confirmed.

“Katherine’s got her damn camera out.” Gran cursed beneath her breath. “Patrick, give me a roguish smile and then laugh like I just said something hilarious.”

It was amazing. As directed, he snapped straight into character. A devil-may-care grin stretched his mouth wide, white teeth flashing, then a booming laugh echoed up from deep in his belly. He smacked a hand against his muscular thigh and everything. But that smile . . . holy shit. My heart basically gave up and just handed itself over. Same went for my sex. Patrick Walsh up close letting loose the full force of his good looks and charisma was nothing short of dazzling.

All I could do was stare. Here I’d been working for ages on trying to coax anything so much as a grin and Gran just got the whole show. It was fake, of course, but then that was a running theme in my life right now.

“Well done,” said Gran, side-eyeing our spies. “Right. I have quilting circle shortly, so you’ll have to go. It’s been a nice visit. Very constructive. Let’s do it again soon.”

“You give your blessing, then?” asked Patrick, now back to his normal subdued setting.

Gran gave him a long look. “You know, young man, I believe I do. But don’t let it go to your head. I’ll be watching you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And there will be no elopement. I expect to be at the wedding.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good boy,” she said with a smile.

When I tried to help push her chair, she brushed me off and made her own way along the path. Leaving behind my slightly stunned fake fiancé.

“She likes you,” I said. “Thank you for being kind to her and performing when requested.”

“My pleasure.”

Truth was, he’d been in full fake boyfriend mode. Amusing and adoring and everything you could want. His hand was even back on my knee. Even though we probably no longer needed to be in character. I should remove it, boundaries being both good and wise, but I didn’t. Let’s not question why.

“We never talked about knees, did we?” he said, now also looking at where his hand lay.

“Guess it’s good that we’re used to each other now. Makes the touching a bit less weird.”

He nodded and sat back in his chair, taking his hand with him. Which was sad, but for the best. “I’m not ashamed to admit I’m slightly afraid of your grandma. She’s a hell of a woman.”

“I thought you did quite well.”

“She and my mom would either get on like a house on fire or actually set the house on fire.”

“In all likelihood.”

“You’ll have to dump me, you know,” he said.

“What?”

“When our time is up, it’ll have to be you ending it. Publicly, too. It can’t be me that’s to blame. I can’t let down your Gran—I couldn’t live with myself.”

I thought it over. “Not so sure about that. I’m the one who has to be with Gran for the rest of her life. I think I should get to be in her good graces.”

“I don’t think you could do anything and not be the light of her life.” He turned in his chair to better face me. His gaze was curious. “Were you ever going to tell me about her accident being the reason for you dropping out of college and working all those jobs?”

“I don’t know. It’s not really something I tend to talk about.”

For a moment, he said nothing. Then he held out his hand, little finger extended. “Pinky swear.”

“To what?”

“Total honesty,” he said. “With the caveat that if we don’t want to talk about something, fair enough. But what we do say we mean.”

I wrapped my pinky finger around his with a smile. “I can agree to that. But it’s not like I lied.”

“Never said you lied. But I think it’s a good rule just the same.”

“Okay.”

While his smile wasn’t the blindingly brilliant one he’d performed for Gran, it was real and warm and all for me. It was way better.